*this is a work of nonfiction based on actual events that I witnessed firsthand
They were trying to escape from her garage before her husband got there, but things didn’t work out the way they planned.
The neighbors were having a scandalous affair.
They were both married to other people, and they lived with their respective spouses in their respective houses, which were conveniently located right next door to each other.
Both houses were directly across the street from my living room window. Armed with a pair of binoculars and plenty of free time, I had a front-row seat to my neighbors’ comings and goings.
I watched my amorous neighbors as they waited for their spouses to leave their houses before meeting in the garage that formed the third corner of the lot.
The woman in this story rented that garage. She used the small concrete space to store her tiny Volkswagen Beetle and to meet her affair partner. It seemed like a cozy spot for their illicit affair. At least, they seemed to like it. They were always there.
While I can’t say what the couple did within their cinderblock love nest, I can say what happened one day when the woman’s husband arrived home unexpectedly. As the husband strode toward his wife’s garage with a purpose I’d never before seen, the wife rolled up her garage door and began backing down the long driveway to freedom.
Where was her paramour?
I kept watching to find out.
From my elevated vantage point, I could see that the woman had hidden her rather sizable affair partner in the back seat of her tiny little Volkswagen Beetle. Perhaps he would have been more comfortable in a seated position, but he wasn’t seated. He was reclining if you can call it that.
The man was hiding as low as possible, which meant he had stuffed his body into the rear footwell of the vehicle. His knees were unnaturally bent, and his belly rested atop the back seat because he couldn’t fit inside the space allotted to him.
He looked uncomfortable.
As I watched the scene unfold, the man in the car's backseat wriggled and squirmed. His head popped up and disappeared back down. Then he extended his legs and lifted his feet. One foot slipped out the open window before he pulled it back inside the car.
I saw what could only be a man having spasms and muscle cramps while attempting to be discreet. Why else would he move and risk giving away his location?
Then I saw the reaction of the woman’s husband the moment he saw a man’s head and feet appear and then disappear in the back of his wife's Volkswagen Beetle.
He quickened his pace and blocked the Volkswagen before its driver finished backing down the long driveway. He pounded his fists on the rear window. He shouted things I couldn’t hear.
Then the man hiding poorly in the back seat attempted to get out of the car.
It was like watching someone try to uncork a bottle of wine without a corkscrew.
I don’t know what became of them, the two married couples, the cheating spouses, any of them. I know I never saw the man and woman who had been carrying on the affair slip away to the privacy of her garage again, and my family moved shortly thereafter. So I wasn’t able to keep tabs on them anymore, which was probably for the best for everyone concerned.