And Then She Did That Orange, Glowy Thing
“This thing hasn’t run in fifteen years,” I reminded her.
She didn’t look up, still fiddling with the fan belt. “We should have left days ago,” I continued, “but you insisted –”
“Rubber mallet,” she ordered, still not looking up.
I laid it next to her. “- insisted on wasting time on this rusty -”
Several meaty thumps reverberated under the hood. Her minute frame wobbled as she used the radiator as a fulcrum, feet in the air.
“- broken, lifeless heap -”
A clang and a muffled curse as the dropped mallet bounced off the oil pan.
“- and now you’re ignoring me!” But as I spat my last words of protest, a muted orange glow began to emanate from the engine block. There was a noiseless blast of intense heat, and for a moment she appeared to go limp, leaning on the engine with both hands. It struggled to turn over once, then twice, finally heaving to life in a belch of smoke on the third try.
She emerged from under the hood with a coy smile, my face contorting in disbelief.
“Go ahead,” she dared. “Ask me how.”