Welcome to SeniorVu’s daily ‘flash fiction’, with the continuing saga of Mary Lu at the Vu. Mary Lu is a 78-year old fictitious resident of a fictitious senior living community called Hickory Hills View (a.k.a. The Vu). Every night, while her husband Bobby (he’s fictitious too) sleeps next to her, she sends her sister Carolyn (yup, fictitious) an entertaining email updating her on the day. These are her stories. We hope they become as addictive as your morning cup of coffee.
Disclaimer: Even though these stories may sound familiar to your community, the story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this series are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
I’ve been dreading this day.
In our 58 years of marriage, your brother-in-law only ever asked three things of me: a cold beer after work, Monday Night Football and that whenever we go out, he does the driving. His doctor nixed the beer years ago, and lately, he’s dozed off by halftime.
And now I’m gonna have to take Bobby’s keys away.
I was inside shopping when the Buick plowed through the drugstore window. A loud, horrifying sound. Glass flew everywhere. The car’s a total loss, but nobody was hurt — and that’s a miracle. Hell, it’s a miracle Bobby only got a few bruises. The only real wounds were to his pride.
“Damn thing lurched,” he insisted. “Cars never did that back when I worked the assembly line.”
I nodded, you know, to be agreeable, but we both knew the truth. He’s mixed up the gas and brake pedals before. The first time, back at the old house, the lone casualty was my hydrangea. Today, it was the façade of a CVS. I can’t let it happen again.
But how do I tell my grumpy ol’ husband — a war hero, for heaven’s sake — that I don’t trust him at the wheel? You know Bobby. Cars are his life. He built them. Fixes them. If I’m being honest, I’m pretty sure we conceived Linda in the back of his old Chevy Bel Air, but don’t you dare tell her that.
Bobby’s snoring beside me, blissfully unaware I’m about to take his beloved Buick away. I’m afraid he’ll never forgive me. Maybe Angela, Noreen and Jackie have some ideas. I’ll ask them when we play bridge in the morning.
But I have to do this. It’s time.