"At this my heart began to race. I couldn't believe what was happening here. I tilted the mirror downwards trying to adjust it to see all of her but the narrowness of the mirror made it difficult. "You can only move it once. Now hands off Sir!!"At that time the mirror had focused on her upper body. She sat facing the front of the car and pulled her hair back behind her shoulders. She lifted her blue baby-T just enough so that if I craned my neck I could just see her belly button. She then lifted her hips off the seat and began to undo her jeans. My hands began to tremble. But her hips plunged back down out of view. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter as I ached to get out of my pants.A young pretty dark haired girl walked past the car and I wondered if she could see what was going on in the back seat.I watched in torture as her hands moved out of view to what I could only imagine was her wetness. Her eyes would look directly at me in the mirror but her eyelids would slowly. Gloria reached over, patted my hand, “So, how are you?”“Pretty good, considering. I’m still a little low-energy. Lethargic. But I’m on the comeback trail. Headaches are mostly gone.”“When will you be ready to work?”I was conscious of the kids’ sudden, self-imposed immobility. They were curious. Worried about me, but wanting things to return to normal at the same time.I said, “Next week, starting Monday.” Just as if that were a real, medically-approved timetable. Sanctioned by the Surgeon General. Or at least his receptionist.The truth was, Dr. Epstein had told me, “Every patient, every brain surgery, is different. Yours was as low-key as any I’ve done. But it’s still a serious operation. Monitor yourself, your body will let you know.”In fact, I was a step slow. Maybe two. But I needed the work. Anything would be better than sitting around thinking about what my poor head had been through. Plus I wanted to Charles Bronson those two fuckers in the garage. And whoever had sent.
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