I could tell she was a little embarassed about the house, and the neighborhood. As a socially conscious intellectual woman, her parents huge spread was a bit of a political liability. I chose not to make fun of her about it.
I found a mesh back ballcap in the backseat of her car and put it on, looking at myself in the mirror as she backed into the street. She raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing.
Encouraged, I opened her glove compartment and found a pair of sunglasses, which I immediately put on. I have a compulsive need to put on sunglasses, you see.
“Be careful with those,” she warned, “they’re so Prada.”
I was careful with them.
We rode in silence for a bit in her dirty import sedan. I became increasingly unnerved with the speed of her driving, but I didn’t let it show. I was much more concerned about the fact that she drove exclusively with her knees.
Her eyes were flicking back and forth from the road to the pinestraw needles trapped under her windshield wipers as they flapped haphazardly in the wind, making small but insistant ticking noises on the windshield.
“I mean, these are annoying. Can’t you understand that?” she exclaimed, pointing at the flapping needles.
It was the last time we laughed together.
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