In the Moment - Prologue

[Fiona McFly]

Prologue ~ "In Which Fiona's Car Breaks Down..."

7 September 2017 + 0940 GMT
WOLF CREEK DRIVE + ARLINGTON, TX

Being stuck on the side of the road was one thing.

Being stuck on the side of the road in your own neighbourhood? Unfortunately, it's happened to Fiona McFly.

Surely, her vintage Aston-Martin was parked next to a driveway near a brick home, but alas it wasn't THE house she shared with her husband Jack Gaither. Their house had red bricks, and the one she was at had white. Eyeing a large white bag marked "LIN'S BAKERY AND CAFE" in big, bold letters, Fiona frantically turned the ignition to the ring, keeping one foot on the clutch whilst hoping and praying that the V8 motor would fire.

But on this sunny and unseasonably cool Thursday morning, nothing happened.

Gritting her teeth, almost to the point of a demonic snarl, Fiona turned the ignition switch to the right again, only for the engine to not turn over. Taking a deep breath, she panned her gaze towards the vehicle's digital screen and iPhone docking station--the lone "modern" convenience she had inside the 1965 grey British import--and stared at a Twitter post she had made a few minutes prior to her car going kaput.

@fifimcfly2017 - (via mobile) As if ppl telling me what I can't do in me spare time wasn't bad enough... #JAFD

It was as if the hashtagged initials "J-A-F-D" began to make sense to her--more than ever.

Of course, the standard job description she would tell somebody was that she was a wrestler, nothing more and nothing less. Yet deep in her soul, above and beyond the gig, she was a public figure, and as such she'd be barraged with fan responses and the like on all fronts, in or out of an arena, what she's doing and how she's faring, positive and negative criticism on her work.

Negativity was what made her blood boil faster than a morning drive to the local cafe.

FIONA MCFLY:
(sigh)
Just Another Fucking Day...

It was the perfect summation of how Fiona's days USUALLY went.

Pounding her fist on the steering wheel, she tried to start the car up for the third time; yet as in the previous two attempts, this one failed to materialise. "FUCK'S SAKE!," she angrily muttered, giving the steering column a good, old-fashioned headbutt.

~HONK!!~

Under certain conditions, the sound of Fiona's horn would wake up everybody along Wolf Creek Drive. Yet Thursday was a school day for most of the children of this locale, which also meant that most parents were out doing their own work in some field in different parts of DFW. Of course, Fiona would come home after morning errands and proceed to work on her usual training regimen, ending with a sit-down at her desk so she could record her thoughts--with poetry, song lyrics, etc.--in her private diary.

But she, like everyone else, was a human being...and given the state of affairs she was in now, an emotional wreck.

Fiona hated trolls and bullies more than anything else. She loathed people who told her what she couldn't do when she was NOT in an arena plying her weekly craft. The stress had been piling up for months, and now that her favourite vehicle was broke down, she was on the verge of blowing up at somebody.

That "somebody" was the first person she had on speed-dial...her husband.

Using the on-board hands-free phone system, Fiona dialed Jack's number and prayed to get a response.

JACK:
(voice on speakers)
Hello...?

Fiona gnashed her teeth, pulling her hands through her hear upon the realisation that Jack was still happily snuggled up in bed, and at first, she played it cool, calm, and collected.

FIONA:
Jack, I've got donuts from Lin's in the passenger, and I KNOW much you love them to pieces and all that, but...

Her lips quivered, trembling as she tried to articulate every word in a somewhat loving manner. Mentally, she turned her focus towards the Twitter posting she had made, with acronym and all, and took a moment to catch her breath, trying to come up with the right words to say over the line.

Then...the shit hit the fan.

FIONA:
But...ME FUCKING CAR'S BROKEN DOWN NINETY YARDS AWAY FROM THE HOUSE ON THE OTHER END OF WOLF CREEK AND YOU ARE STILL IN FUCKING BED! SO GET UP OFF YOUR FUCKING ARSE AND GIVE ME A FUCKING PUSH!!!

Her scream was quite evident, complete with her slipping into her very distinctive Gaelic dialect that would have reminded the average Joe Plinko to question whether or not she was drunk. Moments later we hear the sound of a phone dropping on the bedroom floor, along with Jack screaming "Ow! God...DAMMIT!!!" as he stumped his left foot on a nightstand.

Indeed, Jack was wide awake.

Fiona's screech made him grumpy.

JACK:
(voice on speakers)
OW! OW! OWWWW...Jesus CHRIST!! Scream at me like a banshee, will ya?! On my way...

Fiona punched the red "hang-up" button on the touchscreen to end the conversation. If these were normal circumstances, she would often try and hum a tune to help calm herself down. Yet as she popped the car into second gear, stepped outside, and slammed the door, she stared down the sidewalk, waiting for Jack to arrive.

And he did--wearing his Dallas Cowboys pajamas and blue Crocs--gingerly power-walking down the street to help put less pressure on his foot.

The damage, however, had been already done.

Fiona...was WAY past angry.

~TO BE CONTINUED~