Ragtop
He wears a smile wide as the sky, eyes gleaming in the last of summer’s warmth. He stands on first one foot then the other, a look of pleading at the surface of his tanned and rosy cheeks. “Mother, May I take the ragtop for one last spin before you garage her for the winter?”
An approving nod sends him grabbing keys, darting out the door, making a bee line for Julie’s house. (Mother didn’t ask).
She opens the door, smiles. He takes her in hims arms, kicks the door closed as she whispers, “They won’t be home until late tonight.”
© cj Schlottman
September 11, 2011
Linked to Saturday Centus
