Page 312 - Wordsmith A Guide to College Writing

looked out on a wooded area behind our apartment. Paul

had pulled the Datsun onto the strip of grass that

bordered our small concrete patio. In the twilight, he
was spray-painting our bright orange car a dull, flat

black. My senses suddenly went on alert. I heard the

loud rattle of the ball inside the can as Paul shook it.

I smelled the sharp odor of the paint on the crisp

November air. I saw the fine mist of paint in the air.
In that moment of clarity, I also saw that what we were

doing was illegal. We owed money, and we were skipping

out. I pictured myself being arrested and fingerprinted.

I imagined a future in which Paul and I moved from town

to town, staying long enough to get in debt, leaving
soon enough to dodge the repo man. Still, I felt

detached from the whole process. I turned from the door

and continued to pack.

When four aerosol cans of paint had been emptied onto
the car, we loaded our possessions into the trunk and

the back seat, careful to avoid touching the still-wet

paint. As I went back for the last box, I saw a curtain

twitch at a back window of the apartment next door. Had

our neighbor seen us? I put the box in the car, got in,
and closed the door with a soft slam. We pulled out into

the night, our headlights off until we were safely past

the resident manager’s unit and onto the street. We

drove through deserted streets and finally joined the

ribbon of headlights on the interstate. I felt a sudden