beer-fueled rage.
I got out. A small woman emerged from the driver’s side. In the harsh white glow of the headlights, I could only see her silhouette.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
Without a word, she reached into her car and shut off the brights. She’d done a fair amount of damage to my trunk, and virtually none to her front bumper and grille. An other reason to hate SUVs.
I was idly intrigued by her license plate:MRVL GRL. It was easy enough to add the proper vowels and get Marvel Girl, but you had to be a longtime comic book reader in order to put the name to a face. Marvel Girl was the very first alias of Jean Grey, the female member of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby’s original X-Men. She dropped the moniker in Uncanny X-Men #101, when she merged with a cosmic entity to become the all-powerful Phoenix. Since then, she’s gone on to become Dark Phoenix, dead Phoenix, resurrected Phoenix, and Famke Janssen.
The driver looked like none of them. Whereas Jean Grey was a statuesque beauty with a large mane of flame-red hair, this Marvel Girl was a pixie of a woman, a cropped-cut brunette. If it wasn’t for her denim skirt, I might have guessed she was a teenage boy. Then I would have studied her face. Her small features, combined with contrastingly large eyes, gave her a naïve, golden-age charm. She would have been considered beautiful back in the silent-movie era. Today she was merely cute and pleasant in a Katie Couric sort of way.
She jerked a tense shrug, then examined the damage.
“Well, it’s ugly,” I told her, “but it could have been worse. You do have insurance, right?”
She didn’t answer me. She kept looking at my dented trunk.
“Excuse me? Do you have insurance?”
Shrugging at me again, she took a handheld PDA out of her blouse pocket, then had second thoughts. That’s right, honey. It’s too dark to be taking notes. Who the hell are you?
I held my arms out. “Uh, hello?”
She abruptly motioned to the dark figure in the passenger seat. Get out here, will you?
The door opened, and an icy young blonde stepped out into the night. Very young. Her exaggerated crossed-arm stance pegged her at around fifteen. She was rail-thin and, unlike Marvel Girl, a little more hip with the times.
She studied me, then my car, and muttered an obscenity. Marvel Girl knocked on the hood to get her attention. “What do you want me to do about it?!”
Frustrated, the driver moved her hands in blunt but methodical patterns that clearly said volumes to the girl. They told me a few things as well.
“Wait a second. You’re deaf?” I looked to the girl. “She’s deaf?”
“Yes, she’s deaf. My mother wants me to tell you that she’s sorry for hitting you. It was totally her fault. As if that wasn’t obvious.”
“I didn’t...” I looked to the mother, then back at the daughter. “I didn’t even know deaf people could drive.”
“Yeah. It’s blind people who have the problems.”
“No. I know, but...” This was too strange. “Can you tell her I need her insurance information?”
Annoyed, the girl signed to her mother while talking. “He wants your insurance information.”
Marvel Girl nodded impatiently. Yeah, yeah. Obviously. But consider this.
Unlike all the interpreters I’d seen on TV, the girl waited until her mother was done before translating.
“She says she has insurance, but she thinks it’s a total rip-off. They’re only going to raise her premiums until she pays back twice whatever they end up shelling out for this.”
That seemed like an awful lot of information for such a quick bit of sign language. But she was right on about the insurance companies.
“I agree. But if she’s proposing some kind of split—”
“You’re actually supposed to talk to her.”
“What?”
“My mother. She’s the one you’re dealing with.”
I looked to the woman. She threw me a wave and an edgy smirk. Hi.
“Uh, are you proposing some kind of...split... ? Because
I got out. A small woman emerged from the driver’s side. In the harsh white glow of the headlights, I could only see her silhouette.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
Without a word, she reached into her car and shut off the brights. She’d done a fair amount of damage to my trunk, and virtually none to her front bumper and grille. An other reason to hate SUVs.
I was idly intrigued by her license plate:MRVL GRL. It was easy enough to add the proper vowels and get Marvel Girl, but you had to be a longtime comic book reader in order to put the name to a face. Marvel Girl was the very first alias of Jean Grey, the female member of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby’s original X-Men. She dropped the moniker in Uncanny X-Men #101, when she merged with a cosmic entity to become the all-powerful Phoenix. Since then, she’s gone on to become Dark Phoenix, dead Phoenix, resurrected Phoenix, and Famke Janssen.
The driver looked like none of them. Whereas Jean Grey was a statuesque beauty with a large mane of flame-red hair, this Marvel Girl was a pixie of a woman, a cropped-cut brunette. If it wasn’t for her denim skirt, I might have guessed she was a teenage boy. Then I would have studied her face. Her small features, combined with contrastingly large eyes, gave her a naïve, golden-age charm. She would have been considered beautiful back in the silent-movie era. Today she was merely cute and pleasant in a Katie Couric sort of way.
She jerked a tense shrug, then examined the damage.
“Well, it’s ugly,” I told her, “but it could have been worse. You do have insurance, right?”
She didn’t answer me. She kept looking at my dented trunk.
“Excuse me? Do you have insurance?”
Shrugging at me again, she took a handheld PDA out of her blouse pocket, then had second thoughts. That’s right, honey. It’s too dark to be taking notes. Who the hell are you?
I held my arms out. “Uh, hello?”
She abruptly motioned to the dark figure in the passenger seat. Get out here, will you?
The door opened, and an icy young blonde stepped out into the night. Very young. Her exaggerated crossed-arm stance pegged her at around fifteen. She was rail-thin and, unlike Marvel Girl, a little more hip with the times.
She studied me, then my car, and muttered an obscenity. Marvel Girl knocked on the hood to get her attention. “What do you want me to do about it?!”
Frustrated, the driver moved her hands in blunt but methodical patterns that clearly said volumes to the girl. They told me a few things as well.
“Wait a second. You’re deaf?” I looked to the girl. “She’s deaf?”
“Yes, she’s deaf. My mother wants me to tell you that she’s sorry for hitting you. It was totally her fault. As if that wasn’t obvious.”
“I didn’t...” I looked to the mother, then back at the daughter. “I didn’t even know deaf people could drive.”
“Yeah. It’s blind people who have the problems.”
“No. I know, but...” This was too strange. “Can you tell her I need her insurance information?”
Annoyed, the girl signed to her mother while talking. “He wants your insurance information.”
Marvel Girl nodded impatiently. Yeah, yeah. Obviously. But consider this.
Unlike all the interpreters I’d seen on TV, the girl waited until her mother was done before translating.
“She says she has insurance, but she thinks it’s a total rip-off. They’re only going to raise her premiums until she pays back twice whatever they end up shelling out for this.”
That seemed like an awful lot of information for such a quick bit of sign language. But she was right on about the insurance companies.
“I agree. But if she’s proposing some kind of split—”
“You’re actually supposed to talk to her.”
“What?”
“My mother. She’s the one you’re dealing with.”
I looked to the woman. She threw me a wave and an edgy smirk. Hi.
“Uh, are you proposing some kind of...split... ? Because
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