“Freddy my feet are killing me.” Lightning flashed. For a silent second of time brightness illuminated the countryside. From nothing appeared, and for the space of time of the blink of an eye, a dim violet world, glass-fronted stripmalls and rows of cars of a dealership. And beyond, to the west, the preserved farmland of the site of the battle of Monmouth. The stubble of a mowed field looked like hacked up people on a hillside before a sawhorse split rail fence and the worn irregular teeth of colonial-era tombstones. She tensed for a boom but silence flowed back into the space left by the vanished light. Rain pattered on the windshield.
Charlene stopped yanking at her boot heal to close the window just before heavy rain stampeded. The world vanished in a blur. Freddy turned on the wipers. The blades squeaked but did not clear the view. The highway lights became a knot of writhing glowworms pressed flat against the windshield. “Shit! I think I missed your exit.” Freddy shouted over the noise. “I can’t see a damned thing! I’m gonna wait this out under an overpass.” They passed through the curtain of water before the sheltering bridge and instantly the snare-drumming stopped. Freddy coaxed his car over the curb onto the sidewalk.
“Oh c’mon it’s not that bad. Freddy, it’s late, I’m tired. Please just get me home.”
“I can’t see Charlene. I can’t drive if I can’t see. It’ll slow in a minute. It can’t stay this bad for long.”
She pulled at her boot heal.
“It’s no wonder your feet hurt. How can you wear those things?” he gestured at the eight inch, stiletto, thigh-highs she wore.
“The podiatrist said that. That same spot I had the stress fracture last year is acting up.”
“The ole’ gray mare ain’t what she used to be.”
“Screw you. I’m only twenty seven. What are you like thirty something? Huh old man?”
“Try thirty five in two days.”
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