Polarity by Scott Craven

A stranger asks to see a suburban dad's luxury car, and he is hard to refuse.

Image generated with OpenAI

When Carl scissors open the blinds, the Saturday morning sun reveals more than the weather; a man stands at the end of the driveway, motionless.

"What the..." he mumbles, instinctively narrowing the slats. The man, unlike the usual cast of dog walkers out this early, simply stares.

Into Carl's garage.

"Hon, you expecting someone?" he calls to Andrea in the kitchen, where the scent of toaster waffles fills the air.

"Yes, my other husband, the one who knows when to take out the trash without being nagged," she replies with familiar sarcasm.

Carl smiles, the blinds snapping shut as he follows the familiar aroma. He kisses Andrea's neck, the mood broken when Brianna hops on the stool with a loud, "Are they done yet, I'm hungry." Her younger brother D'Angelo is right behind.

"Why do you ask?" Andrea hands Carl his "I Brews Easily" mug.

"There's a guy staring at the garage. I thought maybe you invited him."

"Your talent for coming to the most illogical conclusions never ceases to amaze," Andrea quips. "Last time I checked, people are allowed to be outside."

"But he's just... standing. Like a bouncer. A big, menacing bouncer. He gives off strong -" Carl lowers his voice, "'don't eff with me' vibes."

"Don't eff with him. Problem solved." Andrea plates two waffles and slides them in front of Brianna, and holds up two fingers. "Two squeezes of syrup, Bree, no more."

"Ten squeezies!" the six-year-old shrieks.

"Two, and your dad will be watching while I throw on some clothes. Right dad?"

Distracted, Carl pushes the syrup bottle toward Brianna and decides to take a peek into the garage.

"Shit." The garage door is up, revealing the treasure inside, his months-old Polarity.

"Daddy! Bree did five squeezies."

D'Angelo's voice brings Carl back to the kitchen where Bree's waffles float in a syrup pond.

"Bree, honey, that's way too much," Carl admonishes.

"It was two, Daddy, I promise," she argues.

"It was five!" D'Angelo mimics squeezing.

"Fine," Carl surrenders. "Dee, you can have five too. Just this once."

"Pushover!" Andrea's voice drifts from the bedroom.

Carl doesn't argue. The fact that he was passed up for promotion, and Andrea's pointed comments about standing up for himself, echo in his mind.

Carl sets orange juice in front of the kids. "We all good?" They nod.

"Aren't you going to have breakfast?" Brianna points to the cooling eggs on the stove.

"Later," Carl lies, his appetite gone.

Andrea returns to the kitchen and pours a second cup of coffee. "You left the garage door open again, didn't you? It's like you want people to stop and ogle."

Carl remains silent.

"Go talk to him. Get him to move on."

"It's not like he's going to steal the car."

Andrea sets her mug on the counter. "I know this is a safe neighborhood. But it's not always that way for people who look like us, especially to men who look like him."

"But -"

"- and honestly, I don't know why you needed to buy that thing. Don't we stick out enough already?"

Carl nods. "I'll see what he wants."

Andrea rolls her eyes.

---

"Can I help you?" Carl asks, feeling like a salesman.

"Hey sport," the man says, his voice flat. "Nice car."

"Thanks."

"Sorry to intrude, but I couldn't help but notice. I mean, a Polarity." He sticks out a meaty hand. "I'm Paul, live just around the corner."

Carl introduces himself and prepares for a steely, man-defining grip, but it's surprisingly appropriate. "It's something," he says.

"You can say that again." Paul bends at the waist to get a better look. "Stops you in your tracks."

"It gets its share of attention."

"I heard you need a credit check just to make an appointment at the dealer. Ain't that the shit?"

Carl says nothing, shifting to block Paul's view of the car.

"Surprised I haven't noticed you driving around the neighborhood," Paul continues. "I'd be cruising everywhere, even with nowhere to go. Wave at people like from a parade float."

"Not my style."

"Not your style? Then why'd you buy it?"

Carl stammers, but Paul waves his hand.

"No, man, just messing with you. I do that sometimes. My wife, she says it's going to get me in trouble someday."

A loud revving draws their attention. Carl's neighbor Doug straddles a ride-on mower, the machine making quick work of the small lawn.

Paul points, laughing. "Can you say 'overkill?' Like using a chainsaw to cut your hair. Who does he think he is impressing with that monster?"

Carl strokes his chin. "Looks like a lot of fun."

"Ever ask to borrow it?"

"Of course, but he's pretty possessive."

"Not very neighborly." Paul's eyes narrow. "Like he's rubbing it in."

"Doug's a nice guy. I'm pretty sure he'd let me borrow just about anything. The mower is the only thing I'd want to take for a spin."

"Not even his wife?"

Carl stares at Paul's chest. "Uh, look, I'm not -"

"Got you again!" Paul throws an imaginary punch toward Carl's ribcage. "Joking, Hoss. You need to relax."

"Maybe your wife is right about your sense of humor getting you into trouble someday."

Paul furrows his eyebrows. "What did you say about my wife?"

A chill runs down Carl's spine. What the hell is going on?

"Geez, you should see yourself right now." Paul squeezes Carl's shoulder. "I do carry it too far sometimes, that's just me."

That's one squeezie too many, Carl thinks. He is about to thrust out his hand with an insincere, "Nice to meet you," when Paul brushes past him.

It was no longer a visit. It was an invasion.

Paul walks the length of the Polarity, his left hand dragging along its polished surface like a dog marking its territory. Not just any dog, but a pit bull.

No more squeezies, Carl thinks. Make an excuse. His wife needs him. The kids are cranky. That wrench hanging there wants to bury itself in your skull.

Before he can say a thing, Paul clasps his hands in front of him. "Carl, I'm the guy who knows when it's time to leave, and I'm sure you have things to do. But I'd kick myself if I didn't at least ask." Deep breath. "Would you mind if I took, you know ...?"

The Polarity for a spin? Carl surmises. "A peek under the hood. Then I'll leave you to things. Swear."

Carl nods. Anything that gets Paul out of his garage, the sooner the better.

Paul half-bows, bordering on obsequiousness. Carl pops the hood, and it whispers as Paul lifts it. "The car is not meant for the average Joe, am I right?" He peers inside. "Couldn't even imagine driving one, I mean, that would be so freaking incredible."

Carl senses an edge to his visitor's voice, and a dark look comes over Paul's face. But as suddenly as it appeared, it's gone. A few minutes pass silently before Paul lowers the hood and steps back to examine the distinctive grill.

"You see this beast come up behind you, you're going to shit your pants," Paul observes. "Bet people get out of your way real quick."

"That's a fact," Carl says, realizing how that sounds. "At least until they see who's behind the wheel. I'm not the most intimidating guy."

"I get that." Paul eyes Carl, who takes it as a challenge. "Still, a car like this makes anyone king of the fucking road. Even you."

Carl's face falls. Why the hell is he tolerating this guy, this stranger -

"I did not mean that to sound how it came out, Carl." Paul offers another grin, the kind that could start or end a bar fight. "I've gone from being dickish to being a dick, as my wife says." He slings a beefy, tattooed arm over Carl's shoulders. "I'm sorry. Thanks for letting me take a glimpse into your world."

Not knowing what to make of that, Carl shrugs. "Sure."

"My old man would die if he saw this, he loved cool cars. Then again, he's already dead. Good thing because it would break his heart to know this was way out of reach." Paul levels his gaze at Carl as if daring him to comment.

Carl offers nothing but his hand with a lie - "Have a great day." Even Paul must get the message.

He does. "You're not going to do me like that, are you?" Paul waves off Carl's hand. "I can't just let this go."

Carl's lips move, but no words issue forth, his brain still trying to form a coherent response to a stranger who just threatened him in his own home.

"You STILL have not learned." Paul's smile returns. "Your face, man, like I pulled a gun. My wife is going to want to meet you, if just to apologize for her husband."

Carl picks up on an unnatural exuberance each time a potential conflict surfaces, and sees that Paul runs on confrontation. He steps back, and it is coincidence he is within reach of that wrench.

Probably.

"Just one more thing and I swear I'll be on my way. Can I sit behind the wheel? For a few seconds, that's all."

Carl imagines Paul in the driver's seat, giving the wheel a squeezie. How many does he get?

NO! Carl screams to himself, but says, "I'd love to, but I need to get back to my kids."

"Two, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"Boy and girl. I see them playing outside. Must be proud of them."

"I am," Carl says, nearly buckling when talk of his kids comes out of Paul's mouth. He sucks in a deep breath, musters a little courage. "And it is because of those amazing kids that I must go and return to my fatherly role."

Paul performs another clumsy half-bow. "This is me begging, Carl. And I'm not a guy who begs."

Carl is shocked when he realizes he's issued an indecisive, "Well," giving Paul enough room to pounce. He brushes past Carl to open the car door and settle into the driver's seat.

Where he's been all along, Carl recognizes.

Paul places his hands at ten and two as if in a showroom instead of Carl's garage. The seat hums as it backs up to fit Paul's bulky frame. "How do I look, Carl?" Paul says. "Like I belong?"

Carl glances at his watch, sees that twenty minutes have elapsed since he came into the garage. Angela must be wondering -

Paul again. "One last favor?"

"Huh?"

"Mind if I fire it up? I know it's electric and won't have that rumble we all love, but it would be awesome to see a dashboard out of a sci-fi movie. My truck is so old it still has knobs and shit."

"I don't have the key," Carl lies, the fob glowing red hot in his pocket.

Paul stabs the Start button, screens glowing to life and sending a jolt to Carl's ever-tightening rectum.

"Look at that," Paul says. "That key has quite a reach. Just another perk, am I right?"

Carl swallows the bile rising in his throat. "Never tested it before, but yeah, good to know."

"Really good to know. Looks like I taught you something about your own car. Ain't that the shit?" Paul touches the "Menu" box on the touchscreen, leaving a greasy fingerprint. That same finger hovers over the screen, traveling right to left and back again. It pauses over "INT" followed by a light bulb. "What does this do?" Paul jabs it and the cabin glows with a blue LED light. He hits it again, the light seamlessly shifting to purple.

"This is first class," Paul blurts, the interior now glowing in a sunset orange.

Carl can't help but stare at the button marked "D," lit up like a beacon. One press of that and Paul would be on his way. Not that the car would get far, but that wasn't the point. It was the nearly three hundred pounds of possessive determination sitting in the front seat.

Paul surprises him by punching the start button again, and the dashboard screens blink off. He steps out and shuts the door.

"Carl, I am truly impressed." Paul turns and leans lightly against the Polarity. "Really appreciate you showing off for me." A pause. "Showing it off, I mean. No doubt your wife has plenty of chores stacked up for you, just another Saturday in the suburbs. Better leave before I steal more than your time."

This time Carl smiles, and it's returned by Paul, who adds, "You're learning."

"Glad you stopped by."

"You're not, but that's cool." They shake and Paul is halfway down the driveway when he turns before Carl can get to the garage door button. "You know, I'd be kicking myself for days if I didn't at least ask."

"What's that?" Carl calls.

"Now that we've met and all, would you mind... no, it's too much to ask."

Paul lets his words dangle, and Carl is not about to take the bait. He starts to say, "OK, see ya," when Paul completes the thought.

"How about a spin? Just a block or two, a small taste. Because nothing like this is ever going to be in my garage."

Carl's shoulders slump. "Now's not the best time." He takes a breath, knowing a bolder move is needed. "We don't know each other that well, and I'd feel weird seeing my car driving off without -"

"Wait, you aren't thinking I meant to take it myself?" Paul shakes his head. "Carl, you're a fucking hoot, dude. No, man, I mean getting a quick view from the passenger seat."

"Oh, the way you said it, I wasn't sure."

"What kind of man asks to drive a stranger's car? You don't think I'm that kind of guy, do you?"

"Paul, we just met. I don't know what kind of man you are." But Carl is getting a better idea with each passing minute.

"I'm not, dude. I am just a common guy who sees a unique chance to be something more, even if just for a few minutes. A quick cruise, something to tell the guys at work. And if you would allow me the immense pleasure of getting behind the wheel for just a block or two. Or maybe..."

Carl has his answer. The problem is voicing it while he has the chance. And he is this close when Paul continues.

"...hit the drive-thru of that fancy coffee place, me ordering some la-de-da drink from the driver's seat, feeling like a big shot for once. That's what I'm asking for Carl, one damn time to be somebody -"

"Hon?" Angela pokes her head into the garage. "Can you - oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt."

Carl lets out a silent thank you to his wife, who certainly means to interrupt.

"This must be your wife," Paul observes without hesitation. "She is every bit as lovely as you said, Carl. You get luckier and luckier."

"Yes, I do," Carl nods. "Angela, this is Paul. Paul, Angela."

"Feel like I already know you the way Carl's gone on." Paul steps around the Polarity to shake hands, Angela remaining half in, half out of the doorway.

"Paul was walking by when he noticed the Polarity," Carl explains, "I've been giving him the tour."

"That's nice," Angela says. "But hon? Your son just threw up his breakfast all over the couch. I could use a little help when you get a chance."

"Sure thing, be right in," Carl beams at his beautiful, beautiful wife. As soon as Angela ducks inside, he puts up his hands. "Daddy duty calls, Paul, hope you understand."

"I sure do," Paul agrees. "More than you know."

"So then -"

"I remember those days, Carl, indeed I do. You need to get inside and 'address the mess,' as my wife used to say. It takes a dad to put things as they should be, am I right?"

Carl holds up a hand, backs toward the door. "Which is what I'm going to do right now before Angela starts wondering where I am."

"Of course. Happy wife, happy life. Before you go, I'm dying to know one thing, Carl. Just dying."

"O... kay," Carl manages, the look on Paul's face bordering on a snarl.

"What's your secret sauce, Carl?"

"I'm not following."

"It must be something I'm not seeing. No one in the neighborhood would ever expect to see a Polarity in these parts, yet here it is, parked in the least-likely garage. How can a guy like you afford a car like this?"

"What do you mean, 'a guy like me?'" Carl says, knowing precisely what Paul means.

"You know exactly what I mean, neither one of us is blind." Paul pauses, allowing the tension to breathe. Carl stays silent, forcing Paul to say it. To reveal himself.

"A suburban dad. Wife. Kids. Bills." Paul winks. "What did you think I was talking about, Carl?"

Carl puts his hand on the garage-door button and gives it a soft press. The door shudders and descends, erasing Paul inch by inch. Only when he is gone does Carl exhale, sure of one thing.

Paul will be back to put the squeeze on him.

Before the light flickers out, Carl lifts the wrench from its rack, admiring its heft in his hand. He slips it under the Polarity's front seat, because he is tired of being squeezed.