Frank took his wife’s car. His was in the shop. It seems that the whining squeal he would hear while stopped at traffic lights was not always some other car after all. Becky stopped him at the front door before he left, as if she wanted to tell him something. When he paused she seemed to forget, or think better of, what she meant to say.
“I was just wondering if the car had enough gas,” she said. “It, it does; never mind.”
Frank let the car warm up a while. He had thought he might need to scrape frost from the windshield but it wasn’t too bad and he decided to let the defroster do the work. After adjusting the mirrors he turned on the radio. He didn’t recognize the radio station. It wasn’t a station he had preprogrammed to one of the buttons. It wasn’t a station he thought his wife knew about. Frank wondered how she had discovered it.
It was some mellow station, playing the hits of the 80s, 90s, and today. They liked to talk about the weather. ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ came on the radio.
“ Awright,” Frank said, aloud. “Excellent song.”
He sat in the idling car listening to the song, enjoying the memories it evoked, no longer wondering where Becky had discovered the station.
In the glove compartment, beneath the registration and insurance card, was a pair of wooden chopsticks in a red paper sheath. Frank didn’t know about the chopsticks.