A Man with Nothing
412 Words
Victor Carter leaned over the hood of a weathered sedan, the smell of oil and rubber mixing with the faint scent of gasoline that hung in the air. It was an old car, its owner just as tired as the vehicle itself. Victor wiped his brow with the back of his hand, his shirt sticking to his back from the late afternoon heat. He wasn't a man of many words, and when he did speak, it was usually to talk cars, not people.
But today, his mind was elsewhere.
His thoughts kept drifting back to last night's family dinner-the one with Eliza's parents. Again. The one where he had been made to feel, in no uncertain terms, that he was nothing but a liability to her.
"Victor, darling, have you thought about upgrading your business?"
That had been Margaret, Eliza's mother, speaking in that sickly sweet tone that made Victor want to hit something. "Perhaps you should hire a few extra hands. You know, take the next step."
"Upgrade?" Victor had all but laughed. The only thing he could "improve" was his patience.
It was not the first time Margaret had said such a thing to him, but it was certainly one of the more pointed jabs. Then there was Eliza's father, Reginald, sitting at the far end of the table with his arms crossed, his eyes as heavy as a bulldozer. Reginald had no words for Victor, but that was beyond him. Every glance he shot spoke volumes: You do not belong here.
Victor had always known his place in the world: the poor mechanic who married the beautiful, ambitious daughter of two successful people. But every reminder stung, especially when it came from the people who were supposed to be his family.
He shook such thoughts from his mind and worked once more, wrenching free the bolt from under the car. "Concentrate on the work," he told himself, "don't let them beat you.
But just as the moment of quiet frustration began to sink in, a sudden thought flitted across his mind, wild and impossible-sounding, yet there: What if he could change all this? What if he once, just this time, took control over his life-showed his wife's family, showed everyone in fact-that he wasn't some kind of joke?
He paused mid-turn, wiping the grease off his hands. The idea hung there for a few seconds before he shook it off. A pipe dream. But it was a nice thought.
- Writer
