Thanks to Sarah O. for her great editorial help this week!
I just want to take this chance to thank each and every one of you readers for continually coming back to this humble little blog and reading my quirky little story. It really means the world and more to me. Thanks so much.
I have an especially busy week coming up (saving the world, eating baklava, that sort of thing), so I am rescheduling Tuesday and moving it to Thursday. I will be unable to make my Tuesday deadline, so the next installment of the Quin story will be posted on Thursday instead. If you would like, you can continue to call the day after this Monday a Tuesday, but you will be wrong. It’s not Tuesday. It’s a Thursday. Tuesday won’t come until the day after Wednesday this week.
Mr. Brownfield took the gas can, opened the gas door to his tank, and poured the gas right in. Quin’s gas can was an old square metal one with ‘gasoline’ written on the side in red letters and a metal goose neck spout on the top of it. Mr. Brownfield didn’t care. At this point, he just wanted to pour any form of flammable fluid into his tank and get down the road.
“Okay,” he said, “Let’s get moving. I don’t want to spend any more time on this highway than I have to.”
“Sure thing.” Quin said, and vaulted into the minivan.
Curtis and Sandy had watched their father talk to this man outside their minivan. As suspicious teenagers, (Sandy was sixteen. Curtis had just turned thirteen years old.) they expected the very worst out of this young man with absurd hair. He was probably a serial killer or something worse. Maybe even a literature teacher.
Mr. Brownfield turned the key of the van, and to his vast surprise, it started. He immediately swerved out into traffic before the magic of his running vehicle escaped him.
“You may want to use your blinker, dear.” Mrs. Brownfield said.
“Dear, you can’t drive like a weakling on the highway. Driving on the highway is just like life in the world. You can never show weakness. If you do, the whole world will take advantage of you.”
There are silent rules of etiquette in society. One of them is to never ask what kind of underwear a person is wearing. Another is to not stab anyone who you happen to dislike in public places. Yet another is that you must conduct yourself in a manner that is disgustingly polite to a person or persons who gives you a ride in their car or minivan.
Quin ignored this last rule.
“You’re wrong.” Quin said. “There’s an uncanny power in being weak. Falling into a position of weakness is the only time you can learn strength. From what I hear, there’s a rumor going around that the meek will inherit the Earth.”
Mr. Brownfield, not wanting to seem an opinionated boor before his family, said,
“I suppose that’s your opinion.”
“It’s not just my opinion.” Quin said. “I’m right and you’re wrong.”
“Now see here young man!” Mr. Brownfield exploded about the same time his van made exploding noises.
Thanks for reading! See you on Tuesday! (The day after Wednesday.)