She had to slam on the brakes for God’s sake. Damned stupid blind fool of idiot spawn. With his I heart Gotham sticker. You love it so much, go back there. Honest to Pete, cell phones fine; I-pods wonderful; texting just great. But, use a turn signal? Not on your life! And that was irony for you, wasn’t it? Turn without signaling, and you end up as she just had - jammed up against her steering wheel and praying the bloody airbag didn’t deploy. “Deploy.” What a tricked-up term for something that went BANG in your face. Blew you up. Tore off your limbs. They’d “deployed” her son, they had. Right over to Iraq. And blew him up, BANG. Deploy. Deplore, more like it. ---
And look at that!
There was that unthinking arrogant ass again. Right ahead of her. And now he was driving like he was blind, or sick, or something. Fifteen miles an hour. Now, TEN miles an hour. Jesus baby Jesus, give her patience. Ana a N.Y. license plate of course. Very smart, beautifully maintained, some kind of old, old-model automobile. - Well, you couldn’t call that gorgeous beast a “car”.
SHIT! Oh my land. And she never said “shit.” Well, with this flaming dimwit in front of her. --- Now, NOW, he’d stopped. Dead. Just - stopped. She’d almost slammed into him. Again. What on earth?? Why is he coming out of the car when he’s got it stopped in the middle of the road? Is that a child?! No. It couldn’t be.
But whoever - whatever - it was had just gone ‘round the front of the car. “WHAT-ever”. She hated that. “Whatever” was a perfectly good word. Had been a perfectly good word.
-- Well, she could see no sign of anyone, of any size. Backing up carefully - she respected other drivers, at least! - she maneuvered her way past, but could see no sign of anyone of any size anywhere. Not in the rearview mirror, neither.
Well, just wait until she told Izzy about this. He was a New Yorker, originally. Came down here to Cobb Cove more that 40 years ago. Loved NYC. And according to him, the name “Gotham” had belonged to that city long before Batman came along! Izzy never saw the humor in Batman. The Big Apple, that’s what he called his city. But maybe Izzy’d know who - or what - had been driving that roadster with its I HEART GOTHAM bumper sticker. “I HEART GOTHAM” She damned well didn’t heart anything. If you mean love, you say love.
She didn’t stop mumbling and fussing all the way home. And Izzy didn’t known. Nobody else, neither. “I HEART GOTHAM?,” everyone said, who heard the story, and they’d shake their heads in that way of disapproval, mixed with a good dollop of distaste. Like a mouthful of bad fish. “Just hope whoever it was is gone,” was the general consensus. Nobody’d seen the car stopped right in the middle of Fortner Road, neither; nor on the road into or out of town. Nor on the highway.
“It musta been Robin,” became every joker’s tag-line. And it always fussed her so that Izzy’d have to calm her down. Then, even as much as a year later, you could count on it, every once in a while, someone’d call to her, “Hey, Ethel. Have ya seen Batman lately?” And then Izzy’d have to spend a week or more in order to get her ruffled feathers smoothed back down.