(This is an entry for the
Halloween Story Contest 2023
. It's more than a bit different. I'd really like to hear your comments on the unique perspective. Good or bad! Please comment and rate! Thank you!)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Violet never knew why she got into Stingray. Stupid car. Stupid husband, stupid Marc. MOSTLY stupid Marc, who always had to act like a big and tough man. Sometimes she couldn't believe she'd married him. It had all just happened so fast. Women in 1950s Nebraska were expected to get married, stay in their lanes, obey their husbands and not ask questions.
She didn't desire Marc either. Violet hadn't desired anyone since high school, but Allison got married to some man and moved to Boston. That was ½ way across the country from Scottsbluff, Nebraska. Still, when Marc lay on top of her, thrusting in and out, Violet lay there bored and dreamed of Allison. How beautiful she'd been.
On those nights when Marc lay above her, Violet could just think of her and Allison doing unspeakable things. Unspeakable things that went on between man and woman...not woman and woman, at least not in 1960s Nebraska!
Women stayed in their lane and married a man. It was how things went; it was only proper and what conventional society wanted. So it was what a woman did...Violet supposed it was the same for a man who wanted a man.
All of Violet's friends were getting married; some even had children! She wasn't getting any younger! Marc, her neighbour from down the street, had asked to marry her before he shipped out to the Korean War.
So Violet had said yes to Marc, even though she knew it was a mistake. They'd quickly gotten married at the Scottsbluff Courthouse. No ceremony, no flowers...all practical, no honeymoon. Signed, sealed and done. It had taken fifteen minutes. None of the romance that Violet longer for. He'd taken her virginity in the back of his precious Stingray car. Five days later, Marc shipped out for Korea. They didn't see each other for three years.
Violet had gotten a secretarial job at the local high school. She didn't make much, but Violet figured a terrible job was better than no job. Her correspondence with Marc was sparse to none over the next few years. Word trickled back to her from various high school classmates, who were also soldiers in Korea that Marc had taken a Korean Mistress. A woman who would wash his clothes, cook and provide "services."
Violet just sighed and bitterly accepted it, as she did with many things in life. She kept on working dutifully at the high school. She needed to raise money for their apartment---but hopefully, house when he came back. Marc was thousands of kilometres away. Someone had to cook/clean, and provide services.
It broke her heart about his Korean Mistress but what could she do? Yet, at night she dreamed of Allison,, of being entwined with her---as husband and wife intertwined, but they would be a woman and woman....if only such a thing could be possible! She would run to Allison in a second, even though Allison was ½ way across the country.
The Korean War ended, and Marc came back to Scottsbluff, Nebraska and back to his wife. There weren't many jobs in Scottsbluff, and Marc hadn't graduated high school. But, with Violet's connections, Marc got a job as a janitor at the high school. It was a steady job, but Marc thought he deserved better!
He was a veteran; he'd seen the world. He shouldn't be stuck in a dead-end job like a janitor in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. Stupid Violet, this was all HER fault! If he hadn't married her, he could be out seeing the world and having adventures. He could be out in California drag racing down Sunset Strip...or hanging out at the Playboy Mansion. What real man wouldn't want a blonde and busty Playboy playmate to hang out with?
Marc's only enjoyment was taking care of his Stingray car, driving it around, and showing it off. Even though, at 28, he was far older than most drag racers, Marc was still considered to be the best drag racer in Nebraska.
Marc spent most of his time caring for his Stingray instead of caring for Violet. But Violet didn't mind; okay, maybe she minded a LITTLE; she'd like to go down to the creek or to the Red Barn steak house for her birthday...but Violet ultimately understood. Men were like that. Marc had things to contemplate. He was a man, her husband, and a husband's happiness was more important than a woman's, or so conservative 1950s society told her.
Marc was the best drag racer in Nebraska. He even beat drag racers from far away big cities like Omaha and Lincoln. Marc knew he was the best and grew bored of the title. He needed a real challenge! Marc had heard a whisper of a rumour; there was a legendary drag racer just over the state line in Wyoming. The racer was supposed to be fast as a wolf chasing prey. The racer was supposed to be as tough as nails. Naturally, Marc had to prove he was the best in the Midwest. Marc had to be better than the other drag racer. He had to beat the racer! He had to prove he was tough. He had to prove he was a real man!
So one autumn day, Marc took Violet for what he said was a "second honeymoon" in his Stingray. Violet was excited! They were finally starting to get along! Weren't they? They could start anew and not fight! They could be a couple in love! They could start to have a relationship liked she wanted to have with Allison. Everything was going to work out for the better!
Violet had happiness in her heart, something that had been lacking for a long time! Little did Violet know the only reason Marc was taking her was for leverage. He felt the other drag racer would race him if Violet were there. The other man wouldn't back down if a woman were there. It would be cowardly. If the man turned down his invite to race in front of a woman, he would be a sissy. Surely, the other man didn't want to be a chicken. He wanted to be a tough man---like all drag racers were.
The couple drove all the way from Scottsbluff, Nebraska, to Antelope Hill, Wyoming. (A distance of over 200 miles/300 kilometres), looking for the best drag racer in Wyoming who raced around Antelope Hill. Eventually, Marc found the car and the driver.
The couple pulled next to Antelope Hill's "Shake Shack" to discuss the drag race. Corrie came out drinking a strawberry shake. Corrie was only eighteen but lived to race.
"Wait...you look like a broad. Are you broad?" questioned Marc. He hoped Corrie was one of those hippies—the men with long hair who rebelled against conventional society. Women couldn't race! They were women! They shouldn't even be driving! He wouldn't let his wife drive---so no women should be driving. They were just women incapable of doing anything besides staying home, cleaning, having sex with their husbands and nursing children.
"Yeah..." said Corrie. So she was a woman. She put a lot of care into her car. Corrie knew she could drag race as well as any man. She'd raced a lot of men and won!
"I can't race you!" protested Marc. He knew full well he could race Corrie, but Marc was worried. What if a woman did beat him? How could he ever live that down? He was a man; hence he was automatically better in all things! 1950s Nebraskan society had told him so. Still, doubt perstited.
Corrie wanted to race Marc. Corrie was proud! She wanted to prove that she was the best. She wasn't having any of Marc's sexist crap. She was as good as a man! Corrie was angry too. How dare this man challenge her without knowing anything? Corrie had been warned by her Alpha not to race, but Corrie couldn't let Marc's sexist crap pass.
"I'm a woman, but YOU can't beat me...I see your runty little car. It looks like a jalopy...whatcha drivin'...some little car your Mama bought for you? I can win the race in first gear. So you drive your Mama's little car at full speed, and I'll race you in first gear. THAT will be a challenge." Corrie stated. She was barely able to contain her smirk. This was really too easy. The sexist stranger would never back out of the race now! He had to prove to strangers that he was a real man!
While Marc and Corrie were figuring semantics out, Violet was in awe of Corrie's car. It was a beautiful red XKE Jaguar. It was well taken care of. Corrie clearly put a lot of care and work into it. Maybe it was better-taken care of than Marc's Stingray...Violet was starting to doubt Marc's skill. Most of his races had been nearly to close to call and Marc couldn't be the best in the world after all.
One of the teens in the crowd nervously spoke up. "Corrie. I don't know if you should drive that road this time of year. It's a slight curve...barely noticeable, BUT it can get slick around the curve in cold weather...lots of bad spinouts..." said Lara.
Lara was the practical boring one in the group. It was the 1950s. There were no seatbelts or airbags in either car. The only point of the Stingray and Jaguar was to get from point A to point B...and to be "cool" for teenagers...and immature adults like Marc.
To Marc's dismay, Corrie seemed to listen to Lara's counsel. Lara was smart and practical. Corrie knew the slight curve on the North Road could be dangerous. There had been skid outs by safer cars and in good weather---not drag racing. But, the slight curve added to the thrill and provided an unexpected challenge. It took skill instead of speed and horsepower.
Marc could see Corrie was on the verge of backing out. Safety be dammed! He wasn't a pussy. He was a real man! He could beat any broad! He hadn't driven all this way not to drag race...Marc took a gulp of whiskey from his bottle.
"Ah, come on...the curve can't be that bad, I could probably do it with my eyes closed...you must be chicken...you know you can't win a race against man. Why don't you just admit defeat right now? I came all the way from Nebraska. I thought you were a real racer. You must be a pussy little girl, not the tough driver I've heard about. You're just a little girl...Corrie. You're afraid to race a real man, " stated Marc, cackling. He took another swig from the bottle, emptied it and tossed it into the open prairie, where it shattered. It was his third whiskey bottle of the night. It had been a long drive.
