Fiction – 2 minute Read
Lucy’s Dad did not like pizza. He pronounced is pisa and added the never heard of, pie. Pisa pie! They were in the car together to collect the pizza. It was early but already dark and Lucy was being directed by her Dad. After all, he was the local.
They were in a different part of town and nothing was looking familiar. Lucy’s Dad was a bit flustered and joked about taking the scenic route. A dash light reminded Lucy that her Dad’s car was running near to empty.
It was becoming obvious with no street lights that her Dad had got them all turned around. Lucy kept the chatter light and jokey as she did her best to get them back to a town area that would have a petrol station.
Soon she could see the sort of street lights that would take them back towards the shopping area and the much needed garage.
Lucy was experiencing the combination of feeling competent, in charge and gently fixing a situation in the ‘parent’ role as she pulled her Dad’s car beside the pump.
“The caps on the other side,” said her Dad.
“No worries.” Lucy smiled at her Dad and executed a perfect turn to bring his car into the next lane and facing forward again.
For a split second they both looked at each other then burst out laughing in that exquisite manner that a spontaneous belly laugh brings.
There was no need to mention that the cap was still on the other side.
They pulled the hose over the back and added the much needed fuel.
Lucy went in to pay the attendant, an older fellow with nothing to say.
Just as she was about to step back out through the automatic door she heard him drawl, “I saw someone do that three times, once.” She smiled back, knowing she was busted.
Lucy and her Dad found the pizza shop.
By unstated mutual agreement they did not tell anyone back at the house of their antics that night. For his remaining years Lucy and her Dad often exchanged a private cheeky glance when anything that was going on reminded them of their combined boo boo on a simple pizza run.
C Writes 