Teresa’s Bio:

Teresa Davis, an accounting graduate from the University of Alaska, spent numerous years as a CPA until she turned her focus back to her first love: writing. Her work has appeared in a trade newsletter and several online magazines. She has also written teaching curricula for GoTeachIt.com. She now lives and writes in Germantown, TN. This was her first contest accomplishment, and she was honored to be among the finalists.

The Girl

By Teresa Davis

 

Today I think I'll wear my periwinkle dress with the white lace collar. When I was younger, I would have never worn this pale color. But, now that I'm a relic, periwinkle actually works for me. It puts a little pink back into my sallow, worn out skin.

I wonder if I'll see her today. Of course, I know I will. We will meet at the same spot in the road as usual where she tries to sneak up behind me. Silly girl. I will see her coming though, as I always do, because I'll be watching for her. She'll slip up in her shiny yellow beetle bug convertible, with the top down, and greet me. She'll accelerate just enough to glide up to my side. She'll pause there for a moment until I look over at her. She'll throw her right arm up, tilt her head back slightly, and mouth, "Good morning!" in a youthful, cheery way. Then she'll gradually float off into the horizon. Every Sunday it is the same. I don't know who she is or where she is going, but every Sunday for the past year and a half, we've shared this moment together.

I like her. She reminds me of me when I was that age. She wears bright snappy colors that scream out, I love me! She wears scarves in her hair like all the girls in my time wore. You don't see young ladies today wear scarves in their hair just for the sake of letting it blow like crazy in the wind. She's happy, and lovely, and fun.

I've often wondered if she's on her way to church, as am I. But there are no churches other than mine up the road where we are headed. There is nothing but a small town where only old people live now, with two abandoned restaurants, one rusty, dusty gas station, one broken-down church and one sleepy grocery store. Beyond that...nothing.

Occasionally, when my arthritis has kept me awake all night, I'm tempted to skip church—sleep in a bit. I never do, though. What would she think if I weren't there to jiggle my saggy arm back at her? She'd think I'd keeled over, that's what. She might even be sad. No, I couldn't do that to her. Thus, I gather myself up and go to church anyway, so we can have our moment together.

Maybe I should get a beetle bug convertible. Wouldn't she be surprised! It makes me giggle to think about the look that might be on her face if I were to pull up beside her for a change, grinning wildly from a topless speedster with a beautiful print scarf fluttering about. Ah, that would be grand. She'd get a kick out of it, that's for sure.

I think I'll drive with the windows down today.

As I approach our meeting spot, I check my rearview mirror. I see a speck—right on time. In seconds, she's with me. She flashes a playful smile, then eases into the next lane to pass. When she reaches my side, I teasingly mimic her gestures: waggling arm up, head back, "Good morning!" We share a good laugh today, and off she goes.

I am still chuckling about it when I pull into town several miles later. A commotion just past the grocery catches my attention. It's difficult at first to sort through the shapes, but then I see it—beetle bug yellow under a large truck. Oooh, no! My heart pounds as I slam the car into park. Leaving my car in the middle of the street, I run, as best I can, toward the wreckage. I pass a small gathering of people gawking at the motionless pile. Whyyyy isn't anyone trying to free the poor girl? I frantically tug at shard metal with my bare hands. Crimson blood flicks onto pale periwinkle. And then I see a stretcher with the sheet pulled high and a colorful scarf trailing behind.

 

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