After the explosion, I sat at the side of the road on my suitcase. All the valuable stuff was in there anyhow. The least I could do was keep it safe by sitting on it. There were fragments of tire all over the road like sad, deflated balloon remnants. I was mad. Maybe I should have felt grateful that the tire, nearly bald, and inflated by the summer heat, had not killed us when it exploded with a boom.
I awoke to the site of Marco expertly maneuvering the car to the side of the road. He had good reflexes, but I told him the tire was bald six months earlier. His Daddy said it wasn't. Where was Daddy now? We were in the middle of nowhere, 80 km (about 50 miles) from the nearest gas station.
Well, at least Daddy put a full sized spare in the trunk. I was fuming. Marco said he respected my intelligence, but he believed any man before he took my word for anything, and he somehow prided himself on his feminism.
"Do you want an ice cream?" Marco asked. Where was he planning to find ice cream? But he had put the spare tire on, and I was anxious to get going before someone found us.
"We should probably check the other tires," I said. Marco laughed, as though I had made a joke. Then he booped my nose. That was when I suddenly realized what I would have to do. I got into the car, stowing my suitcase carefully in the back. I forced a smile on my face while a sense of grim determination set into my soul.
If I hadn't been distracted by these thoughts, I might have noticed what was going on. I was in danger.
Well, I didn't actually use the word "inflation," but I think that is ok? Am I forgiven? I hope so!!!
