A View of His Chevy
I stand with my family...waiting for the photographer to take our damn picture.
I stand with my family, my body bent with anger and my slitted eyes as thin as dimes, in front of the doorway of our newly purchased home, waiting for the photographer to take our damn picture. My husband looks straight into the camera while his busy fingers pull at some imaginary nuisance on the leg of his pants, while our four-year-old wraps her arms around her father's less distracted leg, gazing up at him, begging him to see her. Maybe she'd be less desperate for his attention if her Daddy spent less time in his car, maneuvering around curves and bumps. His hand sits at my waist as if it's hopeful, as if it did nothing wrong, as if it gets yet another redo, while I cradle our sweet baby conceived in promises like "it's the last time" and "never again" in my arms.
My husband's blue Chevy sits in the driveway, peeking out over the photographer's shoulder, but four hours earlier, his car sat in the Walmart parking lot. I'd gone to buy curtains for our new "let's start over fresh" home. Apparently when you drop off a copy of the homeowners' insurance policy to your young, hot, blonde realtor in person, you get "hands-on" treatment in return.
Margo has worked in public education for over thirty years and is the mother of two daughters and to the best rescue dog ever, Harley. Margo's work has appeared in interesting places such as Bending Genres, Twin Bird Review, Bright Flash Literary Review, Literary Namjooning, Roi Fainéant Press, and Brilliant Flash Fiction. Twitter @67MGriffin and Bluesky @67MGriffin.bsky.social.
