A Trunk's Tale

NEW PROMPT: Write a short story or poem about finding something unexpected in the trunk of your car. Thing is, it can't be a body
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The hissing noise, like that of a broken air hose, first drew my attention when I headed out that morning to work. It seemed to be coming from my car’s trunk, though, and not the engine, but I was in too much of a hurry to investigate. Probably the plastic container of water in my car’s earthquake kit broke open and is spewing water all over the place, I thought, immediately forgetting about the noise.

That evening, there was no noise other than those familiar ones made by a 21-year-old car. As I drove by the town’s Toyota dealership, I started my usual daydreaming again. Why not go in and check out the new cars? went through my mind, the same thing that I thought every evening while passing by all the new cars parked outside. Once again, however, I kept driving until I reached my apartment.

The next morning on the way to work, I heard the same strange sound in the car trunk behind me. After pulling over to the side of the road, I got out and popped the trunk. Nothing seemed out of place. There was the tire jack next to the earthquake kit I’d absentmindedly left open after I bought it. Two dresses and a winter jacket I’d got from the cleaners last week still were there, the plastic bags around them untouched. A bag containing apples I’d bought at a roadside stand last weekend was on its side, forgotten the same as the clothes from the cleaners were. While growing up, my parents often scolded me about my lapses in memory, and I still tended to let my mind wander at times.

After reminding myself to bring in the apples and clothes after work, I slammed the hood shut and got back into the car. The day passed uneventfully at work, and once again I found myself on the way home passing the Toyota dealership. This time, though, I drove in and parked next to the door marked “Office.”

“Well, little lady, how can I help you?” A rather nasal voice behind me caused me to spin around. Heading toward me was an older man dressed in one of the ugliest chartreuse-colored jackets I’d ever seen. When he gave me his obviously patented salesman smile, my attention was drawn to his yellow teeth, probably made that way from years of smoking. I caught him stamping out a cigarette on the pavement just before he reached me. As he held out his hand in welcome, I reluctantly shook it despite its dampness.

Stepping back to avoid the strong smell of stale cigarettes coming from him, I quickly said, “I’m interested in trading in my Dodge Colt for a new car.”

“You came to the right place, little lady, and Stan the man is here to get you into a brand new car.” Hearing that, I told myself if he called me little lady one more time, I might forget I’m a lady and spit in his eye. Unaware of my future plans for him, Stan the man motioned toward my old car. “Is this the baby you want to trade?” When I nodded, he slowly walked around the car, shaking his head now and then. I even heard him going, “tsk, tsk” once or twice. “Can I see what’s under the hood and what the trunk’s like?”

He watched as I popped the trunk and stood back for him to look inside. I have to say his scream of panic startled me more than what I saw inside the trunk. Who knew a man’s voice could go that high!

When he quickly back pedaled away from my old car, I was able to look inside the trunk and couldn’t help smiling. Looking up at me was a small, gray animal with almond shaped eyes and a pointed nose. Draped over her body were almost a dozen smaller babies of the same species. The mother possum, for that’s what she was, continued to hiss in terror. I will admit the sound was scary and felt sympathy for the salesman. By now he was back in his office staring out at my car behind the safety of his window.

I figured the possum had come up through one of the many holes in the floor of the old car’s trunk to make a dry home for herself and her babies. It was at this point I decided to keep my old car until the babies grew up and left home.

Who else could brag that their Colt had just had possums?

Microsoft word count = 764

One winner of 11/15/07 "The Writer's Cramp - Poetry Week!"  daily contest