Endowed in perpetuity by the Glenna Luschei Fund for Excellence

Creation Myth

Christopher Citro
Vol. 87 Issue 3

Overgrown weeds had hidden the car until
the brushfire revealed it. Once the doors cooled,
neighborhood kids came to investigate. One rubbed
a circle clear with his sleeve and clicked his glasses
against the window. A beautiful woman lay
against the seat—black dress, sparkles
around her neck, confetti in her hair.
Next to her sat a man in a tuxedo,
a noisemaker stuck out of his lapel
where there was also a flower—his face toward
the woman, and each of their eyes were closed.
One of the boys banged on the hood to see
if that would do anything. Timmy saw
the man open his eyes without moving his head.
He saw the woman and smiled. The moment he did,
she opened her eyes and smiled. They turned,
he started the car, she adjusted a dress strap,
and the car exploded to life. It leapt from the ash pile,
just missing the boy who’d slammed on the hood.
Timmy, having jumped back, watched it
run through the field, up to the road and away.
Later, as a grown man, he’d sometimes
think of the woman, the way she looked straight
ahead as she reached to her shoulder, sliding
the black strap up and over, and when
he walked his feet barely pressed the ground.