Tire Iron

Aunt Molly disemboweled her nephew’s car and beat it senseless with its own tire iron. The mustang never had a chance against the wrath of his lunatic aunt and her feverish anger. Sunny watched from inside his mother’s house as his red dream bled oil and glass onto the pavement below. He stood motionless by the window for the hour and seventeen minutes it took Aunt Molly to mutilate and destroy the car for which he had been saving most of his life.

In the end, she kicked the fender lose with her bare foot. Breathing heavily, she held the tire iron by her side and admired her work as the sun set behind her sister’s house.

“There. No more nightmares. No more isolation,” she whispered as she walked back to the house.

The creaking of the door startled Sunny some, but he didn’t take his eyes off the wreck outside. Aunt Molly walked toward him and ran her fingers through his dirty blonde hair. She held his chin in the palm of her hand and kissed him on the cheek.

“Virtue is here to be seen, not heard,” she said as she tapped the tire iron gently on his head. She walked away, not really expecting a response.

He didn’t look at her. He didn’t move. The light of the sun faded away, leaving him in the dark and in silence until the sound of crickets outside filled the house slowly.

He held his driver’s permit in his hand, perfect in every way. They even got his name right this time. I didn’t even get to drive it, he thought.

“Dinner is ready! It’s turkey, your favorite,” his mother yelled from the kitchen.

Her voice awakened him from his stupor. He touched his pocket and felt the twenty dollar bill his father had given him the day before. He grabbed his cap from the couch and walked out of the house.

Off he went into the night and never looked back.