Windows, part 1

[Originally written 1/11/2008]

John and I had been sitting on the porch for most of the afternoon, since getting home from school. The weather was too nice to stay holed up in the house, and since we had just moved to this subdivision, we didn’t have all of our games unpacked or the cable connected yet. After getting home, we decided to grab a couple of cokes from the fridge, and hang out on the porch and check out the neighbors.

 It was getting close to five, and we had each had a coke and a half. John had gone inside to make some sandwiches, since we were on our own for the week. Our parents had just gotten married – my mom and his dad – right after they closed on the house. They decided to go ahead and move everything in before they left on their honeymoon, leaving us to our school schedule and trying to unpack some of the simple things and start getting settled into our rooms.

 John and I have know each other for years through school. His folks split when we were about seven, when his mom tried to run his dad over with her car. She kept saying he was abusive, and he was having an affair, but the courts disagreed when three other men and two women stepped forward to say that she was their lover. John spent a lot of time at my house in those days, and when my dad had his heart attack, he was there for me. It didn’t really bother either of us when our parents started dating a couple of years ago.

 While I was waiting for John to come back out, I watched a car roll past the house, slowly, as if looking for something, like they were trying to count houses and make sure they were on the right street. I watched the car as it continued to the end of the street, then turned right to go to the next block. It was a deep navy blue Aston-Martin, with a dark tint on the windows.

“John,” I called.

“Yeah?” he said, coming to the door carrying our ham and turket sandwiches, and a bag of chips.

“Dude,” I started, still amazed by the sight of the car. “I just saw a sweet looking care. Dark, dark blue. Tinted windows. I swear this thing looked like an Aston Martin.”

“Yeah, right,” he said. “In this neighborhood?”

I knew exactly what he meant. There may be a lot of BMWs and some Lexuses in our neighborhood, but there were more Hondas and Fords and Toyotas. The odds of someone in our neighborhood owning an Aston Martin were about as good as the odds of winning the lottery. “I know, man, but I swear it was a Martin. The lines were just…”

“Dude?” he asked, looking at me. He turned his head to follow my gaze. The Aston Martin was back, and was slowly – even slower than before – coming up our street. It looked as though the car had circled the block before coming back. It came to a stop in front of the house. The engine, what little I could hear, was like a purr from where we were sitting.

The doors were opening. John and I were staring at the car. From the passenger side, there was a man emerging from the vehicle. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and in pretty good shape. He was dressed in a solid black suit, with a white shirt and black tie. His hair was closely cut. He was clean shaven, and wearing a pair of black sunglasses.

As the figure emerged from the driver’s side, though, we both let out a gasp of air. She was dressed in similar clothes as the man, only wearing a skirt instead of slacks. She wore flat shoes. Framing her face was a shoulder length mane of red hair.

I could feel my pulse start racing as they paused, looking directly at both of us before walking up the sidewalk towards us, with the woman in the lead.

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