The Local Driver

She parked in front of the local Police Station. Jumped out the driver’s seat with a skip in her step, and smiled at the intermittent shine amongst the dented rusted panels that made up most of the farm ute.

Today was the day.

She wiped sweaty palms on her skirt. Her stomach churned as she pulled the heavy glass door open and stepped inside.  Bleach, urine, and stale air bit at her sinuses forced her to wince. She jumped at the thwack from the closing door behind her.

On the other side of the front counter, the Sergeant arched his eyebrow at her, with his glasses balanced on the end of his nose. ‘You’re wearing a dress.’

With wide smile, chin up, she smoothed out the cotton floral. ‘I know. And it’s not even Sunday.’

‘You here to pay for your parking tickets?’

Her mouth twisted the side, screwing up her nose. ‘I’ve got none.’ She hoped.

‘Well, the neighbours have been silent on that front. Your school hasn’t called me, and there’s none of your family asleep in the drunk-tank for you to drive ’em home. So, why are you here annoying me? What did you do?’ He asked, lowering his head as his frown deepened.

She gulped air. ‘Nothing—’

Yet.’

‘I ah, um…’ She frowned, teething on her bottom lip.

‘Young lady, I’m a busy man, spit it out.’

She smiled wide and said, ‘it’s my birthday today, and I’m now of the legal age to apply for my Driver’s license.’

(250 words)

 

FROM MOVING MOMENTS

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6 thoughts on “The Local Driver

  1. Nik says:

    Great picture and what an excellent post. What appears to be a very simple tale on the surface reveals a lot of past history and has great depth. Nicely done as always Mel

    Liked by 1 person

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