Fingertips: Wreck My Car

Fingertips: A Flash Experiment, is a project where I’m writing a different flash story for each bit of the They Might Be Giants’ “Fingertips” songs from Apollo 18. See info here.

This story is dedicated to my friend Doc Blue. And I’m attempting something closer to chick lit than science fiction. Don’t hate me.

Come On and Wreck My Car

My mother used to tell me that if I asked the universe for something, it would give it to me.

Which is bullshit, cause I asked It for a stable relationship and it gave me the hot yet wandering drifter who came into town, swept me off my feet, then caught a ride back out of town.

I found out about Wayne’s departure that morning, as he had checked out of the Y. No note, no good-bye. Don’t know why I thought I could entice a drifter to hang around and get a respectable job just to stay with me. He washed dishes at the La Rez, the local upscale restaurant, slept with me, and then left.

OK. I’ll be honest. I never really did ask the Universe for anything. I just wanted it. That’s not the same. I know this, because as I was driving home from the Y, yelling at the ceiling of my car about why men were such assholes, I actually did end up asking for something.

“GOD I need something to hit!” I yelled. “It’s not like Wayne’s here for me to punch. And while I’m at it, why can’t I meet a nice guy? A doctor or something. And goddammit, I never got that pony I asked for!”

And at that moment I passed a sign on a side road. It was a dirt road I’d noticed before, but hadn’t paid much attention to. The posterboard was well-lettered and clear to read: “ECONOMY SUCKS? NEED AN OUTLET? COME DESTROY MY CAR WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER – $5 PER SWING ($10 FOR WINDOWS)”

What else could I do? I made the turn. After about a mile, another handmade sign pointed me up a long driveway to a farmhouse. Some half-interested cows in the pasture watched me drive up and park beside a barn. There, a young man leaned against a small Honda hatchback that had to have been from the 1980s.

The man was lean and ruddy, dressed in jeans, work boots and clearly a farmer, he grinned at me when I got out of my Subaru.

“You’re not the type I was expecting,” he said.

“You were thinking someone more male?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly. “I was thinking someone either gleeful at destruction. You are too focused.”

I shrugged, mostly to lessen the tension in my muscles. “Rage does that to me. So what’s the deal with the car?”

He hefted a sledgehammer in one hand and held it out to me. I accepted it, trying not to let it show how heavy it was. He pointed at the car doors. “Body damage is $5 a swing. That includes bumpers, doors, hood and roof. But the windows, they’re apt to be the best part, and I’ve only got six of those. So those are $10 each.”

I switched my grip on the sledgehammer. “Why are you doing this?”

He shrugged. “Engine is shot. Rebuilding will cost more than a good used car. Junkyard wanted to give me fifty bucks for the parts, and the wife and I figured I could make some other money and have a good time doing it if we did it this way. Haven’t you ever wanted to completely shatter a window?”

I swallowed and nodded. Boy, had I.

“So how many swings would you like?” he asked.

I dug in my pocket for my emergency $10 bill i always carried. “I want the windshield. Afterward I’ll decide on if I want more.”

He chucked “I figure the windshield would be the first to go. You’ll get best angle if you climb onto the hood.”

I stepped onto the bumper and then up to the hood, the car bouncing slightly under my weight. He handed the sledgehammer up to me and I steadied myself. I remembered softball from high school, the coach telling me that the more I choked up on the bat I would be sacrificing power for accuracy and control. I got a good grip on the handle and hefted it to sit on my shoulder.

“The suspense is killing me,” the farmer said.

I didn’t look at him. “This has got to count.”

“What was his name?” he asked.

I winced, annoyed that I had the look of broken-hearted woman. I gritted my teeth and said, “Wayne,” and swung the hammer. For an instant I saw his face, lean, handsome, stubbly, in the glass, and then the hammer connected with a loud crunch.

A spider web of cracks burst from ground zero and the windshield buckled but remained intact. “Goddamn safety glass,” I muttered.

The farmer whistled. “That was a good swing. One more oughta do it.”

I rotated my shoulder and decided I was up for a couple more swings. “Do you take checks?”

“Sure.”

“Then start a tab.” I swung again and was nearly pulled off my feet as the hammer broke through the glass. I stepped back and swung at the hood, denting it handsomely. I killed both headlights (bonus glass for only five bucks each!), both mirrors, two windows, and one door before something tore in my shoulder.

I swore and dropped the hammer. The farmer came up to me. “You all right?”

“I think I tore something,” I said through clenched teeth. “I should probably go to a doctor. I’ll call a friend to come get me.”

“Nah, we’ve got a vet dropping by in about fifteen minutes,” he said. “He’ll take a look at you. He set my broken leg last year before I went to the ER.”

I sat on my own hood, trying to ignore the pain. “What’s he coming for?”

“We breed Shetland ponies here, and I’ve got a mare about to drop any day. And he wants a swing at the car, too. He just got dumped.”

I blinked. “A single doctor. And… a pony.”

The farmer raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

I rubbed my throbbing shoulder. “I look forward to meeting him.”

Fingertips 7 – Wreck My Car (LP Version)

Fingertips: A Flash Experiment by Mur Lafferty is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.