Superior

The black SUV glistened in front of her, shiny as a cockroach with a hard, slick back. The silver license plate frame was engraved with black letters – Superior. As if that wasn’t arrogant and in-your-face enough, the bottom edge of the frame added – Believe it.

Tina clenched her fingers around the sticky plastic steering wheel of her Honda until her hand ached. She wanted to ram her car into the bumper, but knew it wouldn’t make a dent worth talking about and would only cause more trouble for her. As if she didn’t have enough already, with her daughter missing again.

The light turned green. Traffic at her left moved forward. The Mercedes didn’t budge. Tina slammed her fist on the horn and held it there, enjoying the pain that assaulted her ears. The driver of the dream machine probably didn’t hear the bleating horn, what with hermetically sealed doors and surround-sound stereo, or a cell phone piped directly into the ear canal. What she wouldn’t give for a car like that. All it took was money, something that had been MIA all her life.

There was movement at the edge of her peripheral vision. She glanced at the sidewalk to her right. Two guys were slouching along, staring with mouths partially open, looking at Tina, and slowing their steps. She shook her hair and tried to relax the muscles around her jaw.

There was one thing Tina had going for her, and that was her looks. The driver of the black car was compelled to announce on her license plate that she, and all those connected to her – high income husband, smart, athletic kids – was better than everyone. Of course, most people thought they were better than others. Even Tina recognized that tendency in her self. She was broke, had a kid headed for trouble, couldn’t find a decent guy, but she knew she was better looking than any woman in the ratty apartment complex where she lived, better looking than the mothers of her daughter’s classmates. They might have pedicures and manicures and hundred dollar haircuts, but Tina had the kind of looks that didn’t need all that. Men, at the end of the day, didn’t care about painted nails and carefully clipped hair. If they were honest, they preferred messy hair, a long tangle down to a woman’s waist, like Tina’s. The guys watching proved that. They were staring at Tina, not the woman in the Mercedes.

It still wasn’t moving. Tina leaned on her horn again. A thin arm emerged from the driver side window of the Mercedes. A bracelet, shimmering with red stones, swung from the sudden movement of the arm. The middle finger emerged, pointing straight up, informing Tina she could wait until the driver was damn good and ready to pass through the intersection.

Tina’s pulse quickened, the pounding increased until she was aware of a vein in her throat fluttering, her temple throbbing, all the blood in her body rushing to put that bitch in her place. It had to be something that would leave Tina free to go about her business without fear of an unpleasant encounter with a police officer.

She shifted her left foot to the brake, pressed hard, then shimmied her right foot over to the gas. She pressed it a quarter of the way to the floor. The engine roared, then squealed. The Mercedes didn’t move, still shoving those words in Tina’s face – Superior, as if the entire vehicle was flipping her off.

Tina slammed the Honda into park, flung open the door and walked toward the driver’s side of the Mercedes. The woman’s head was turned toward the opposite curb, watching the same guys Tina had seen leering at her. As if she smelled Tina’s skin, the woman’s hand dropped to the armrest, hit the button and the window slid shut before Tina could say a word.

Off to her right, Tina saw the flicker of a person running. She heard a door slam. She turned, only half aware, and watched as her Honda lurched into reverse, backed a few feet away from the Mercedes then swerved around it, screeching between the Mercedes and the curb. It took off down the street, the two ogling guys inside. Now, the Mercedes driver decided to move through the intersection. Tina stood in the middle of the street. A car honked and swerved around her. She watched the license plate frame grow smaller. Superior. Believe it.

© 2010 Cathryn Grant