Helen stared at its absence between the cedars; the silence — interwoven with the chirps of cicadas — and its gentle glimmer of hope moved towards her, like early morning light, as she scrubbed the dishes.
It had carried them to church, on honeymoon, vacations when they still had vacations, they named their girls after it — the eldest now in college, the youngest determined to repeat her parents’ mistake.
Everything was new then; barefoot on her mother’s porch under an unending sky of summer stars as the smell of corn drifted in; sixteen with wild dreams, which his proposal — on one knee, a bottle a bourbon in one hand, a ring outstretched in the other — promised to fulfil.
The truck coughed into the yard in a cloud of acrid smoke and interrupted her reverie. This emblem of discord, with its body crumbling beneath whatever veneer remained and its wheels which kept turning and threatened to never stop, occupied its space again.
In response to: FFfAW Challenge-Week of February 7, 2017
Image by Mike Vore.