The Undercarriage Brian McVety Zachary counted the change that he found under the passenger seat of his navy colored Volvo station wagon. The coins were sticky, having lost their shine long ago: two quarters, two dimes, a nickel, and three pennies “Another seventy-eight cents!” he yelled over the whir of the vacuum. “We’re up to twofourteen!” He added the coins to the others in the back pocket of his jeans. Debbie continued to dig the circular nozzle into the crevice of the driver’s seat. Her curly brown hair fell across her face as she worked. She had bought him the Shop-Vac, upgraded horsepower and all, last June. She yelled back to her husband over its whir. “How is it that you can get french fries stuck under a seat you’re sitting in? There’s no way this would happen if you ate one at a time!” Zachary continued to dig under the passenger’s seat. “I mean isn’t this physically impossible? Wouldn’t you have to place them there or something? The vacuum can’t even suck ‘em up!” his wife yelled to the cracked leather of the seat. She kept her head down, struggling to suck up the last french fry with the nozzle instead of scooping it up with her fingers, as if that thought had never crossed her mind. “Another dime!” Zachary chirped. “And since when are you eating french fries in the car anyway? Shouldn’t I know about this?
What about your cholesterol?” Zachary flipped over the small mat behind the passenger’s seat, revealing two more pennies. “Two forty-one. Enough for a venti from The Bucks!” Debbie shifted to the floor, digging the vacuum hose into the once beige carpet under steering wheel. She struggled to capture the tiny pebbles that seemed to jump each time she moved the nozzle. Sometimes, the vacuum stuck to the carpet, like it was trying to consume too much, the whir growing louder. “And I know the driveway gets muddy when it rains, but it hasn’t rained in weeks. Where does all of this dirt come from? Don’t you Sometimes, the vacuum ever knock off your feet before getting stuck to the carpet, like in?” it was trying to consume “Deb, this is a buffalo nickel! Do too much, the whir you think it’s worth growing louder. more?” Debbie leaned down, working the nozzle under the pedals, the hose of the vacuum stretching straight. A small patch of skin on of her lower back became exposed, along with the top of her worn, cotton underwear, which rode up past her jeans. Two wheels under the vacuum’s base lifted off the ground. It seemed 32
