The Spare
Outside Screaming
She was peeling the outer layer of her steering wheel off as he came out of the front door of their house. He opened the garage door and she watched as he pilfered through the mass of items.
He finally rolled a tire out of the garage and struggled to pick it up for a moment.
He walked to the passenger side of the car and she heard him drop the tire’s heavy weight outside of the vehicle. After setting the tire on the ground he opened the door and got into the car, his body leaning towards her. The door was still wide open and his leg hung out to the driveway pavement in the warm air.
She didn’t look up.
“It shouldn’t take me too long,” he was looking across her dashboard, over her cupholders, around the radio dials.
She nodded quickly, pulling a long strip of the paint off the steering wheel, finally. The sun was going down and the hot air was getting into her car.
“Do you know how to change a tire?” he was truly curious. She shook her head no. “I can change it for you then.” He made no move to get out of the car.
Somewhere a child screamed, but neither of them moved. The inside door to the house was still hanging open.
“Is that our last spare?” she finally mumbled. He nodded.
They both stared out of the front window of the car into the garage. Her stuff was labeled on one side and intermingled with his. His stuff was a mess around the rest of the remaining space.
“How long does it normally take?” she looked across him out the door, referencing the tire.
He looked at her. “Only a minute.”
Her eyes went back to the driveway.
“I bought spaghetti for tonight,” he said to the glove box. “It will take only a half hour to make.”
She shook her head. “I’m eating out tonight.”
He nodded.
“Do you want me to check your oil after I get done with this tire?”
“The oil’s fine.”
“Okay.”
Parts of the clock numbers were shorted out in the car. What was supposed to look like a “5” looked like a broken “W,” and the “8” looked more like an “E.” They both knew about the shorts, so the time was still readable.
She turned the car off. The inside of the car was heavy. Around them the world began to scream, crickets and locusts.
“I’ll leave the extra pasta in the fridge, with the sauce in a separate container. I’ll teach you how to make that sauce some other time.”
“Okay.”
“Didn’t the other tire give out last week?”
“Yeah. That tire took a lot longer to change.”
“It was the back, left tire. This is the front, right tire.”
She folded her hands in her lap. The front or back, left or right, the tires were all tires to her. She didn’t see the difference in which one of them needed to be replaced this time. Within the last year, all of them had needed to be replaced.
“It's expensive to keep changing the tires,” she said, even though her old car was easy to find parts for it was always breaking down. She had to push her foot heavy on the pedal to get it to move, and it wasn’t meant for most terrains out in the country.
The sun started to twinkle above the house.
“Do you want me to just call someone?”
“No, I can change it.”
“It’s hard to do.”
“Not that hard,” he put his hand in her lap.
“I should keep a spare in the trunk just in case, now,” she said more to herself than to him. “Then, anywhere I am I can fix it.” She pondered over the tools she would need to keep in her trunk, counting them up until they were more fathomable.
“You don’t know how to fix it by yourself.”
“I can learn.”
Oranges and yellows flooded the sky.
The locusts took a breath before resuming.
About the Creator
Lisa H
I'm learning to be wildly inappropriate, ridiculous, needy - and alive.
Thank you so much for all the support!
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Masterful proofreading
Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
Comments (4)
Dear Ms. Lisa - Didn't realize I read this already - You 'Spare' me, once again, I never Tire of your TireLess -Typing - Seriously, Lisa, it's so refreshing to see that you are such an incredibly talented original StoryTeller among the new 'cut-paste' writers of late. As you may have noticed - who me be sarcastic - I call this my "Crack a Book Theory" Swipe the story as if it's theirs. If they are 'Writers' Write - anyone can Zerox - - Always a Pleasure, Ms. Lisa - Jay
oh gosh the tension between them was so thick without even mentioning the precise cause of the grief. i love that, i could feel the heat of the summer day...and everything that was not said.
Lisa - We all can relate to this; on so many levels. You talk to your readers - a lovely rarity. *I'm following you; my pleasure. Jay Kantor, Chatsworth, Cal 'Senior' Vocal Author
There is such a distance between them, even as they sit next to one another & talk, their stuff intermingled in the garage. And yet there is something that still holds them together, the idea of teaching her how to make pasta, "going out to eat tonght," implying things might be different tomorrow, but needing to keep a spare in the car so she can fix it herself on the road. It's like a Rorschach Ink Blot Test. What we see & feel in this brief exchange tells us more about ourselves than anything else. Are they separating or simply a couple who have become so accustomed to one another they don't really need to look or react anymore? Perhaps they're simply roommates or friends who share a storage space. Sister & brother? Perhaps. But at the same time there is something we know is missing, a hollowness, an emptiness we know we'd like to fill but simply don't know how (or just don't have the energy left). Lisa, once again, what you communicate with this piece goes so far beyond the few words you have written. It's the kind of scene that sticks with us. We can make whatever we want of it, or let it be nothing at all, yet it clings to us like a feeling just beneath our chests that won't go away (& even as we think we might miss it if it did).