Fiction, Melbourne, Relationship and marriage, Writing

The Kingswood

‘No!’ My breath comes in gasps, and my face is flushed with rage. ‘I’m done with this heap of crap.’

Dylan’s had to come rescue me, after his beloved 1978 Holden Kingswood broke down on me for the…I don’t know…maybe the twentieth time. He’s standing with his hands on hips, next to the car. He’s been pleading with me, begging almost, to not sell it.

‘Dylan, I can’t drive it.’ My voice is shaking. ‘It just raises my anxiety too much. I never know if I’m going to get to my destination.’

‘Sheryl, come on. It’s a classic. They’re known to be temperamental.’

‘Dylan, yesterday’s cars belong in the past.’ I firmly believe this. It’s the only contentious issue in our relationship.

‘Sheryl! Come on, be reasonable.’

Seriously, I reckon I’m going to push this rusty shitbox down the slope of the hill, at the end of our street. It ends at a type of gorge; the river long since dried up, so many locals dump all kinds of rubbish there. A yellow, corroding piece of metal won’t be an eyesore, any more than the furniture, mattresses, and landfill already there.

‘Get rid of it, Dylan. Or I will.’

Photo by Alexander Schimmeck on Unsplash

9 thoughts on “The Kingswood”

      1. Yes. If I was Dylan, I’d explain to Sheryl that it’s time to end the relationship. It’s about her, not him. I trust Dylan will find a life partner who can appreciate the fine things in life.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I can understand the frustration associated with unreliability. That’s what holdens are known for. If Dylan feels Sheryl is “the one”, perhaps she should purchase her a car she’d prefer and preserve the Kingswood to avoid Sheryl’s wrath.

        Liked by 1 person

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