One Fine Storyteller

Rosemary's Stories


by Rosemary Wilson

The VW gas cap perched on the Rabbit's metal flank like a cogwheel awaiting a purposeful twist. That counterclockwise turn was made at a remote western gas station by our eager teen's hand. The swipe of the credit card at the pump signaled the ignition of the car's throaty throttle to propel us on our leisurely way. Almost immediately, acceleration ceased on the shoulder of the interstate. Our amnesic son sprinted back whence we had just traveled--oblivious to his roadside jeopardy. The usefulness of that gas cap was as over as the pancake it had become.

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