Lula
A Super Short Story
Shawna saw the state trooper in the mirror and kept her foot steady.
“Don’t do that thing,” Lula said.
“What thing?”
“The thing where you try to act natural but look like you shit your pants”
Shawna loosened her grip on the wheel. The pickup drifted a little on the two-lane, then found the stripe again. West Texas opened up around them. Dirt, scrub, power lines, sky. The kind of country that made you think about life and how you ended up right here, right now.
A pink air freshener hung from the rearview. A Peeps Bunny kind of thing with silvery white glitter. Lula stole it from the nail salon three towns back.
The trooper stayed behind them another mile, then two.
“He’s reading the plate,” Shawna said.
“He can read all day.”
“It’s your husband’s truck.”
“Ex,” Lula said.
Lula had one boot up on the seat. Blood dried in a dark line near her ankle where the glass got her. She wore sunglasses though the sun was going down. Her lipstick was faded to almost gone. Her mouth still looked dangerous.
Shawna said, “You shot a man.”
Lula turned to the window. “I shot at a man.”
“He fell down.”
“He was dead drunk before I got there.”
That almost made Shawna laugh.
