POWER TRIP

More about POWER TRIP

I captured the sun on a Tuesday, using equipment the manufacturer described as a parking aid.

By noon I had it mounted above the dashboard.

“You’ve made it smaller,” Elena said.

“Only from inside the car.”

Outside, the Mediterranean had gone black. Restaurants were lighting candles and adjusting their prices.

The mirror worked beautifully. I could see everything behind me: the coastal road, the white hotels, my first marriage. Objects were considerably closer than they appeared.

I tilted it.

My father stood in the glass holding a receipt.

“What’s that?”

“What you cost,” he said.

I adjusted it again.

Now there were golden arches behind us, elaborate enough to suggest that somebody had spent centuries concealing a structural defect. Between the columns hung enormous copies of my face. All wore sunglasses. None looked pleased with the arrangement.

Elena checked the glove compartment.

A small man in a business suit was sitting inside.

“Your introductory period has expired,” he said.

“I own the sun.”

“You own the bracket.”

He handed her a contract. She read it while I steered around a bend that had been approaching for seventeen miles.

“He’s right,” she said.

The sun began displaying advertisements.

HAVE YOU CONSIDERED A MORE AFFORDABLE CHILDHOOD?

I pressed the dimmer switch. Somewhere behind us, the Renaissance went out.

“Careful,” Elena said.

On a terrace above the sea, a woman stood beside a cello. She drew the bow across one string. The engine answered.

I took my foot off the accelerator.

The engine kept answering.

“That isn’t an engine,” Elena said.

I had begun to suspect this. Under the hood, something was remembering how to be a horse.

The man in the glove compartment cleared his throat.

“For a modest additional payment, we can restore the standard explanation.”

“How modest?”

“All remaining explanations.”

I looked into my sun.

For the first time it reflected the car correctly.

There was no one driving.

Elena sat beside an empty seat, speaking gently to a pair of sunglasses suspended above the upholstery.

“He likes to think he’s taking us somewhere,” she told the little man.

“Very common with this model.”

I gripped the wheel. I could feel it. That ought to count for something.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

Neither answered.

Behind us, the sun flashed its headlights.