Waiting for a Ride

"You go racing too much", she said. He sat at the table, his eyes focused on the racing paper that was spread out in front of him.

Her fingers drummed softly on the kitchen counter, waiting on an answer. But there was only the sound of the newspaper as he turned the page.

"I think you should stay home tonight", she said with a voice somewhere between hopeful and demanding.

A child raced through the kitchen, shouting. A smaller child raced behind him, laughing, his hair wet with sweat from intense play. Their noise filled the room, then vanished as they went outside.

He was oblivious to the noise. He stared at the paper, devouring the words and pictures.

"You've got no business spending money on a pit pass", she said. Her dark eyes pierced into him, but evidently without inflicting pain. He read on, unflinching.

She walked toward the table, and she heard a crunch. She lifted her foot and saw the small grains of an errant Cheerio, now reduced to dust.

"The grass needs cut", she said. His hand reached into a bag of chips just to his left. There was no sound but the crunching of chips, and the rustling of newspaper.

"You went to the races on Mother's Day, and on my birthday", she said, moving to sit on the table next to him, her legs dangling off the edge. "You need to pay more attention to me."

He nodded blankly, and from his throat came one of his deep, intelligent responses: "Ummmm..hmmm.

"My mother warned me that you wouldn't pay enough attention to me," she said, her voice growing more frustrated. "Mother was right about you".

Maybe I can get Mr. Chamberlain next door to cut the grass", she said coyly, running her finger along his arm. "He's kind of cute"

He reached into the bag of chips, grasping an entire handful. He stuffed them into his mouth, working his jaw and carefully packing the payload far back into the cavernous opening, consuming the entire handful in one bite. Small crumbs scattered onto the table, and littered his shirt, some dropping to the chair. His eyes remained locked onto the story he was reading.

She grew restless, hopping from the table and walking to the sink. She turned on one toe, and leaned back against the counter. Her hands gestured as she spoke.

"OHHH! You're not even listening to me! All you think about is that stupid newspaper!"

"Well, I'm telling you, I've had it. I mean it. I'm sick of all your stupid racing magazines, and your stupid newspapers, and those stupid little cars you collect, and your stupid friends who call and want to go to the races."

He looked up, as if lost. He looked at her, and he was philosophical and deep once more. "Huh?"

"They're here", he said, jumping to his feet. His paper remained on the table, spread in three sections. The bag of chips rustled as he walked quickly past. Small crumbs scattered like shrapnel, silently leaving a trail toward the door. Small brown clumps of dirt littered the floor where his shoes had been.

"I'll see you later", he said happily. "Oh, shoot, I forgot, your sister called and asked if we wanted to go out to eat tonight. Dang, that was four hours ago, she's already gone by now. Anyhow, I'll grab a bite on the way to the track, so don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Love you!"

She stared. She opened her mouth, but no words came. She quivered. Her eyes were wide. Her face was flushed. Her hair seemed to stand up, as if electrified. The muscles in her body tensed, and her small hands slowly balled into fists. Still no words.

He started out the door, then stopped. She stared at his back as he stood still just for a moment, his arm holding the door open. He turned back toward her, with a sheepish, funny grin. He spoke, with a coy, playful edge to his voice.

"Say, why don't you wait up for me tonight..."