PHOTO PROMPT© Lisa Fox (thanks for choosing this photo I took at The Gilmore Car Museum)
Back then Harl wasn’t rickety. Back then, neither was I. Blessed to have a dad who tinkered with engines and had a patient way about him, it was only natural that gasoline and oil ran in my veins.
When I cruised down Main after school, Carla, who had graduated last year, would wave from the D&C window as she arranged seasonal displays. Even from the distance and through glass, her smile shone like a beacon. My loins stirred.
I saw Carla with her folks and brother at commencement. She laughed and hugged me tight as we puttered toward the lake.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the steady host of Friday Fictioneers.