Left Their Lights On

2020 Short Story & Essay Contest: Honorable Mention, Adult Essay Contest

June 16, 2020 6:42 p.m.

I noticed as I plopped into a steel chair at the Wild Tomato. Kathy and I had just arrived, finding a parking spot near our table. I congratulated her for not tripping over the curb stops and she noticed I remembered to bring a beach towel to place between that steel and my bony ass. We settled into our usual umbrella table squeezed against the car bumpers. As the sun set, we watched sparrows searching for crumbs among dog watering bowls. It’s a pretty laid-back place.

No one had turned out the car lights and they glowed brighter now. I glanced around, maybe that guy down the way, his back was to the car, yakking away. Not likely to be a woman, they know nothing about cars, but they do turn them off. Yeah, he’s a prime suspect. 

Drinks ordered, white wine for Kathy, Arnold Palmer here. We chatted, beautiful sunset. We talk a lot because we usually have to say it twice. We both have hearing aids and I am instructed to face her when talking, although profile view seems to work as well. We don’t advertise our deficiencies, nodding as the waitress rattled off the special. When she’s gone we look squarely at each other, “What did she say?” 

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My prime suspect paid his bill and left, the lights remained on and I settled on another guy. I studied him, he was old and a bit out of it. He fit the bill. 

It didn’t matter what the waitress said, we knew what we are going to order. Wedge salad—she scrapes off the dressing and cuts it in half, I get to choose which half. And we split the braised short ribs, with collard greens replacing mashed potatoes as I must limit potassium. She separates that also (but not always). 

It’s almost dark and the car lights burn into the scene. Passing people glow white and seated customers shade their eyes. I lean over for a better view and see an “L” on the offender’s grille. 

“That car with the lights on is a Lexus 200H, we know how hard it is to tell when the ignition is off,” I state with authority. 

Kathy turns and looks. “That’s your car!” 

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Suddenly two things were apparent. It was my car and I could hear her far too well. 

I glanced at my prime suspect. Had he been looking at me? 

With full frontal delivery, but moderated tone, I said, “We’ll get it when we leave.” 

“What?” she practically screamed with an amused look in her eye.

I quietly got up and wandered into the darkness, turned out the lights and cleverly returned by another route. My suspect never glanced up. We had chocolate crème pie martini (her call) for desert, which we ate out of the same cup. 

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Stepping back to the car, I warned her about the curbs and she suggested I zip up my fly. 

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