Parking Lot

By Cory Fosco

 

“I found God in a parking lot,” Adam says.

“Which one?” Molly asks.

“Which God?”

“Parking lot,” Molly says. “Was it this one?”

Adam nods.

The couple sits on the bed of Adam’s gray pickup truck in the empty parking lot of Patti’s Pancakes, where he’s the line cook and she works the register. They worked the afternoon shift and closed together.

Adam has swapped his white t-shirt and apron, for a black retro Led Zeppelin concert t-shirt and a black untucked unbuttoned flannel to ward off the fall chill that increases as the evening is turning to dusk. He stares at the parking lot and shakes his head.

Molly follows his gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“This place,” he says. “It’s a shit hole.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

Adam sighs. “People don’t even know where to park,” he says. The yellow paint that marks the parking spaces has faded to a faint chalk. “And the asphalt is all cracked and dried out. I don’t know if I’m going to fall on my ass from tripping into a chuck hole. Patti’s just too cheap to fix anything.”

“I don’t know,” Molly says. “My parents used to take me here after church almost every Sunday when I was younger. I like it just the way it is.”

“Anyway,” Adam says.

Molly shrugs. “Did God speak to you?”

Adam nods. “He said, `tell me what you’re after.’”

Molly pulls out a Marlboro Menthol from her bag and offers one to Adam. He shakes his head, deferring to the Marlboro Red tucked behind his right ear. His long, curly brown hair hides it from Molly’s view.

Adam lights her cigarette with a green Bic disposable. She takes a long drag and exhales slowly, waiting. He takes the cigarette from his ear, lights it, and takes a drag.

“I brushed it off,” he says. “The thing I kept thinking was that I know what I am after. Like, it’s not even a question.” Smoke comes out in spurts as he speaks. “Like, come on, God, stop wasting my time.”

Molly flicks ash off her cigarette, taking care to do it outside the bed of the truck. That movement causes her black plastic glasses to slide down the bridge of her nose. She pushes the frame back in place. “What are you after?”

“It’s you,” Adam says. “It’s always you.” He takes another drag.

Molly closes her eyes, rubbing her temples with the thumb and middle finger of her right hand. She takes a deep breath, then opens her eyes slowly, her gaze shifting away from Adam for a moment before she reaches into her bag. She pulls out the pint of Jim Beam, unscrews the cap, and takes a swig. When she starts to replace the cap, she pauses, then offers the bottle to him without a word.

“I’m good,” he says. “For now.” He winks at her.

She leans back on the side of the truck and flicks her cigarette into the lot. She looks at Adam..

“Watching Juno in your room,” Adam says. “Playing music I could only write for you.” He flicks his butt into the parking lot.

“Adam,” Molly says, softly. “You embarrass me when you say things like that.”

He raises his hands. “I’m just putting it all out there for the world to see. I’ve always been drawn to you. From the moment you started working here. I never want it to be forgotten.”

Molly takes another swig from her bottle. Adam reaches over and opens a cooler in the bed of the truck. He takes out a can of Old Milwaukee, opens it, and takes a long sip, belching softly when he is done.

“I miss you when I wake up,” Adam sings. “You’re on my mind. Dreaming of the past on a Friday night.” He bends toward Molly, going in for a kiss.

“Don’t,” Molly says. She slowly pulls back, blinks her eyes, and holds back a smile. She tucks a section of her blond hair behind her right ear and lowers her face.

“I wrote that for you,” he says.

Molly considers. She bends toward Adam and kisses him on the cheek. She pulls back to her former position.

“I’ll take that,” Adam says. “For now.”

They laugh.

Adam looks over Molly’s shoulder at the traffic on Main Street stopped at a light. He notices a red Honda Civic and squints to see the driver. He quickly diverts his attention back to Molly who tries to light another cigarette with her lighter. She flicks the sparkwheel. Nothing. She shakes it and tries again. Nothing.

Adam flicks his Bic and holds it out. His eyes dart toward the Civic as Molly takes the flame. He releases the lighter, sees the light turn green and watches the car drive away.

He takes a deep breath. “I have a paper grocery bag full of lighters.”

“You what?” Molly takes a drag from the cigarette.

Adam reaches into the open window on the back of the cab. He pulls out a large grocery bag, and offers it to Molly.

She puts her cigarette between her lips and looks inside. She smiles. “Cool!”

“There must be at least a hundred or so,” Adam says. “Most of them have never been used. I’ve been saving them since I was in high school.”

“Can I have one?” Molly asks.

“I don’t know,” Adam says. “I mean, clearly you need one, but I’ve had some of these a long time.” He looks over and notices the traffic stopped again at Main Street. He does not see the Civic.

“It’s just,” Molly says. “I like this one.” She pulls out a long blue lighter. “It looks like a thin candlestick. I really like how smooth it feels.”

“I mean,” Adam says. “I would have one less if I gave it to you.” He takes the lighter and puts it back in the bag.

Molly smiles at Adam and scoots closer to him. “I would really like to have that one,” she says softly.

“Tell me you love me,” he says.

Molly looks away and then quickly back at him. “What?”

“If you really want it,” Adam says, “I’ll need a profession of love.” He reaches for the bottle of Jim Beam and takes a long sip. He purses his lips as the whiskey burns down his throat.

Molly opens her bag and shuffles things around. She pulls out her cell phone and keys and puts them next to her. She continues rifling through the bag.
“What are you looking for?”

“My lip stuff.”

Adam bends toward her and looks into the bag. He reaches in and offers Molly her tube of Berry Explosion Blistex.

Molly smiles. “I can’t live without this stuff.” She uncaps the tube, applies some to both lips, and tosses it back in her bag.

“Well?” Adam says.

“We’re not quite there yet, Adam,” Molly says. She bends toward him, leaning in for a kiss.

“You read me like a book,” he says.

They each tilt their head to their right. Adam places his hands on Molly’s face and they kiss harder. Deeper. She pulls back and smiles.

“I know what I’m after,” he says. He pulls two more cans of beer from the cooler and offers one to her.

“Cheers,” he says, holding his can up toward hers.

Molly taps her beer with his. “This is nice,” she says.

They sit in silence slowly drinking. The red Civic turns back into the parking lot and speeds toward them.

They both look at the car.

“God damn it,” Adam says. He chugs the rest of his beer and goes for another.

“Who is that?”

“No one,” Adam says. “It’s nothing.” He opens the beer and takes another long pull.

The Civic squeals to a stop next to them. The passenger window opens. “Hey asshole!” the woman inside shouts.

“Don’t do this,” Adam yells.

The driver laughs. “Do what?”

The driver looks directly at Molly. She has short brown hair, fair skin, and neon red lips. Molly thinks about how different they are from each other.

“Whatever he’s saying to you is a lie. Tell her, Adam.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Gina,” Adam says.

“Nothing to tell? I drive by here to see if you are still at work, and I see you sitting in your truck with this bitch–”

“Hey!” Molly interrupts. “I don’t even know what the hell is going on here.” She moves further away from Adam.

Adam shakes his head and looks at Molly. “Ignore her. She’s a psycho.”

Gina laughs ironically. “I’m a psycho? You’re the one who came after me. You’re the one who called me late at night. You’re the one who was clearly feeding me lines. What was it,” Gina says. “You wished you could turn back time and hit restart?”

Molly’s mouth opens wide. “Did you say that to her?” She shakes her head.

“She’s full of shit,” Adam says.

“You wanted to take back the things that broke my heart,” Gina spits, air quoting with her hands, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Molly snaps her head toward Adam. “Are you kidding me?” she shouts.

“Here’s my favorite one,” Gina says, reading from her phone. “Watching Juno in your room. Playing music I could only write for you.’”

“Just leave out of here,” Adam insists.

Molly stands up, stumbling a little.

Gina laughs.

“Not you,” he says.

“I’m not staying,” Molly says. “I’m an idiot for being here in the first place. I should have known better.” She takes her cell phone and keys and throws them into her bag. Same with the bottle of Jim Beam.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Gina yells. “This is clearly what he does. I can show you my phone.”

“Stop, Gina,” Adam says.

“I don’t need to see your phone,” Molly says.

“Molly, just sit back down,” Adam says. His eyes dart back and forth between the women, hoping for an ally.

Molly grabs the grocery bag and pulls out the blue lighter. She throws the open bag at Adam. Lighters spill out all around him and the truck.
“What the fuck?” Adam says.

She slings her bag over her shoulder, hops off the truck bed, and walks to her car.

“My job is done here,” Gina says. “Bye, bye psycho,” she says, giving Adam the middle finger with her left hand. The window slowly closes. Gina puts the car in drive and guns the gas. She drives to the exit and screeches onto the street.

Molly climbs into her car and slams the door. She starts the engine, checks her mirror, puts the car in reverse, and heads to the exit.

“Fuck me,” Adam says. He picks up his beer and takes a long pull, finishing the can. He sits in silence. He bites his fingernails and spits them out, staring off at nothing specific.

Adam stares at the lighters scattered around him. He starts to slowly pick them up and put them into the grocery bag, but pauses on a yellow one that resembles the lighter Molly took. He holds the yellow lighter in his hand and clicks the button. A flame sputters to life. He watches the fire flicker, his face reflected in the truck window.

 

Cory Fosco from Chicago, US, received his MA, Creative Writing (nonfiction) from Northwestern University and his BA, Creative writing (fiction) from Loyola University Chicago. His chapbook, Empty Streets, was released on June 12, 2024 by Alien Buddha Press. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in November 2024 for his short story "Die Forelle." He has previously been published in A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bright Flash Literary Review, Superstition Review, Hippocampus Magazine, and other small press publications.