Roberta and I leave the restaurant. I wait for her, as she steps down the curb between our car and the next one. The bag with a take-out dinner is heavy, so I put it on the trunk of the car.
I push a button on a remote, but the doors remain closed. A few more, increasingly impatient, pushes, and I accept that it doesn't want to work. I pass the key to Roberta, who is blocking my way, and ask her to open the door manually.
She tries, but can't do it. I get frustrated. "Why can't she do this simplest thing?" - is what's rattling in my brain.
I hustle Roberta aside and poke the key into the keyhole. It goes in just a little bit, but stops there. I poke it in a couple more times, afraid to break the key in the lock.
- "Is that your car?" - Roberta's voice reaches me through the fog of incredulity.
I look over the smooth golden car top to another one, the same color, but with sun-roof. Like what my car has...