Narrator: Bria N. | Texas, USA
Our garage door opened onto an alley. The light inside had burned out, so when I came home I used to wait for my headlights to sweep across the space before pulling in.
One Friday there was another car already there. An old beige sedan, parked nose out. Its windscreen was opaque with condensation.
I stopped in the alley and called my husband. He was upstairs, apparently. Said both our cars were accounted for and I needed to stop making him guess what I was talking about.
While we argued, a hand wiped a small circle clear on the inside of the sedan’s windscreen. I could see a dark wet sleeve. The hand stayed there, palm against the glass.
My husband switched on the stair light. The sedan disappeared in the time it took me to blink. He was standing in the doorway behind the space it had occupied, holding a replacement bulb.
I made him stay there while I parked. The concrete was dry except for four damp patches where the tires had been.
We haven’t agreed on what happened. He believes the water came from my car, although I’d been stopped outside the whole time. We have agreed that a working garage light is now his responsibility.
