Papaya Mom

Sunday Scribblings this week starts with “the end.”

The end can be so many things, and to Amy it was a dare. “End it then” she’d threaten each time one of her new suitors realized she was not the shrinking violet she appeared to be from afar. They would chase her endlessly with a vision in their heads of who she might be. Often men would ask her to walk in the park with them or join them a the museum for an opening. “It’s infuriating” she told her girlfriends, “my financial status should not dictate my personality.” But to most men, and some women, her looks were enchanting and often the sound of her voice was focused on more than the substance of her words, and in the end the large estate she was born into never helped. . She always tried to get it across early that she was not interested in the New York Times story, not even the ones with shiny pictures on the front page, she really just wanted to talk about cars.

“Yes, cars” she’d answer - just daring each suitor to imply that her slim build, beautiful skin and perfect shiny brown hair might make her ill suited to mechanics. Most could read her tone and stepped back from commentary that might land them a swift kick where the sun don’t shine. A few, she remembered with a laugh, could not control the shock of this rich girl from New York City and her love of garage work. She changed her own oil on the car she owned and drove, an oddity in her financial and social circles.

“Amy Woodline?” the woman called out into the crowd of preening preteens. Setting down the magazine she’d pretended to read Amy stepped forward and made eye contact with the receptionist. “Simple manicure” she said with a snarl - she knew it would be required by her father that she looked presentable at tonight’s gala but Amy had no intention of painting her fingernails the color of over-chewed bubble gum. Nope, simple it would be here at the spa, because she had nothing beyond a nail clipper at home under her sink and she used it for *gasp* both her toe and fingernails. Tonight had to be different, they were inducting her father and she would do him this favor, as he had been paying her bills after all.

Sitting in the back of the car felt so strange and the ceiling twinkling with fake LCD stars felt disorienting. Her father sat next to her with his handkerchief twisting in his left hand, his right holding Amy’s tight. He was so proud of this night but she knew that it was never going to feel just right without her Mother. It had only been a few weeks since the burial but this gala would not be changed, they did it at the same time each year and the Networks would be none to happy about changing the date and advertisers for just one of the three inductees. So here they sat on their first public appearance since the memorial service and both felt slightly uneasy. Mother had been the social director in the family - without her Father would have never achieved such success but Amy probably would have been allowed to take that auto-shop class at boarding school, officially.

At first she thought this godforsaken vehicle had massaging leather seats. In the very next moment she realized the front tire was going flat and being halfway through the long drive down to the city left them in the woods. “This cream dress” she said to Father “is going to get a bit dirty.” He spoke her full name in his firmest tone and made sure she understood he had no intention of allowing his daughter to change a tire, but she knew he did not have the strength and the driver was a very large man with more than a spare tire of his own. She smiled politely and slipped her hand to the door and felt the cool night air rush in.

Focusing her eyes ahead she walked up the left side of the limo towards the driver. Cool gravel crunching beneath her sharp heels, the night air brushing her hair away from the face. Suddenly it was dark, the driver had turned off the headlights and the change left her eyes searching for light. The door creaked and the light reflected silver at the very moment that the quiet night shattered with the sound of a gun and Amy fell back into the gravel. Unable to move, speak, breathe she could feel blood near her neck but nothing else when a young male voice spoke to her father “fuck you.” Another shot and a crunching sound as her father’s body was rolled to the ground. His eyes wide open and facing her as the gravel showered out behind the car - only neither of them saw a thing. They had already passed into the end.

Popularity: 52% [?]