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road rage - excerpt...
One day, I had to pick up some groceries, so I took Freddy to the supermarket. He parked himself beside the most attractive BMW Z3 I'd ever seen. She was midnight blue and wearing eighteen-inch seven-spoke shoes with low profile tyres. He would have his hands full with that one, but I wished him luck. I went inside the supermarket and left Freddy to work his magic.
Unfortunately, when I came back out, Freddy was being nudged out of his space by a Jeep Grand Cherokee. I guess it was the Z3's boyfriend. I only saw that Jeep push him twice before Freddy reversed and then charged the Jeep, head on. There was a hair-raising screech as Freddy's chrome mesh grille rubbed against the Jeep's heavier frame. Freddy's bumper popped out a little and hooked on to the Jeep's bull bars. They were locked together. The little Z3 screamed and took off. Freddy and the Jeep reversed against each other in a mechanical tug-of-war. Clouds of white smoke rose as they laid hot rubber on the tarmac. The Jeep had the upper hand until his engine stalled. The Jeep's owner jumped out as Freddy began to drag his defenceless vehicle backwards through the car park. The big galoot wasn't going to get off lightly.
Freddy spun reverse doughnuts in the car park with the Jeep still caught in his twisted bumper. He smashed the Jeep into other cars and loose shopping trolleys. He only stopped when the Jeep hit a kerb and flipped out of his grasp. It came to a rest on its roof a few yards away from the now-grinning Focus. Freddy then backed up about fifty yards and charged the Jeep. I was about to close my eyes as I anticipated the moment of impact, when Freddy activated his hand brake and turned 180 degrees. Loose grit and stones rained down on the crying, bleeding Jeep.
Bodywork injuries aside, Freddy looked as strong as ever as he circled his victim. The alignment had shifted slightly in one of his wheels, and it gave the impression that he was strutting. While Freddy performed his victory lap, I overheard the Jeep's owner talking on his mobile phone.
"This is Officer Black. Get some of the boys down here now. I've found the car we've been looking for. The bastard just killed my Jeep."
At that moment, I knew that this situation could only get worse. I dropped the groceries and called for Freddy. By the time I caught his attention, the cops pulled into view. He realised that this was serious when he saw the look on my face, but he didn't panic. Instead, he drove towards me as I ran to him and we met in the centre of the car park. His door opened and I dived in, almost breaking my hip on the handbrake. He tore off onto the road before I could sit up straight in the seat.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I screamed.
"He had it coming," Freddy said.
"It was a crowded car park in the middle of the day, you nutcase."
"I said he had it coming."
brennan speaks...
I drive a silver Ford Focus more often than I really want to. I work thirty miles away from home and need to drive every day because public transport in my area sucks. It’d be nice to spend an hour on a bus or train where I could read or sleep but I can’t. Instead I have to put up with road hogs, road rage enthusiasts and boy racers in rush hour congestion. Yay. Your mind tends to wander under such conditions. Especially when a black Mercedes SLK cuts you off or a Jeep Grand Cherokee steals your parking space. Sometime you wish your little car could up and kick those assholes square in the nuts and bolts.
So I wrote Road Rage and it makes me smile when I think about Freddy and his attitude. I gave the cars featured in the story a personality I usually associate with their drivers. An obnoxious Jeep, an oblivious Mercedes and an obtuse BMW. Then I had a little Ford Focus show them the error of their ways. With gusto.
I still haven’t decided whether or not the cars in my story are actually sentient or if the narrator is just a little insane, but I like the ambiguity. I hope you do too.
brennan bio...
Gerard Brennan lives in a small seaside town in the North of Ireland with his beautiful wife Michelle, his groovy wee daughter Mya, his super-cool son Jack and a metallic-silver Ford Focus called Freddy. He has never been to jail. For more information on Gerard and his work visit www.gerardbrennan.co.uk and make yourself at home.
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