Free Something in My Eye: Stories by Michael Jeffrey Lee

vehicle which rests in my driveway, where my old car used to sleep?”
    â€œWhat color is the vehicle?” said the old woman.
    â€œIt is black as the asphalt in Colorado,” said the young man. “Does this ring a bell?”
    â€œI have been twenty years blind,” said the old woman. “I only asked so you might paint a pretty picture for me.”
    So the young man walked to the north and knocked upon his neighbor’s door, where an old man greeted him.
    â€œYou are the young man with more time than the Lord,” he said.
    â€œYes,” said the young man. “Do you own the lugubrious vehicle which rests in my driveway, where my old car used to sleep?”
    â€œWhat are the dimensions of the vehicle?” said the old man.
    â€œWide as a dinghy, long as a shark,” said the young man.
    â€œI’m afraid you shall have to try again,” said the old man.
    â€œSpatiality eludes me,” said the young man. “It looks like any other vehicle, save for its blackness and inherent sadness.”
    â€œWell, I drive a high, threatening vehicle,” said the old man. “But her color is blue.”
    So the young man walked to the east and knocked upon his neighbor’s door, where a little child greeted him. “You are the young man whom I have worshiped from afar,” it said.
    â€œYes,” said the young man. “Do you or your guardians own the vexing vehicle which rests in my driveway, where my old car used to sleep?”
    â€œFool,” said the child. “Can’t you see that myself and my guardians haven’t the money for vehicles?”
    â€œBut you live in such luxury,” said the young man. “Your house looms large.”
    â€œThere is nothing beyond this exterior,” said the child, rapping upon the doorframe.

    The young man returned home and inspected the lonesome vehicle, all the black windows, all the wiring beneath. He pulled on the four doors, but the four doors were all locked. In frustration he called the authorities and read them the license plate.
    â€œThe vehicle belongs to somebody,” replied the authorities, “but unfortunately we collect information rather than dispense.”
    In frustration the young man called the towing company, who sent someone out to tow the lonesome vehicle.
    â€œI can’t haul this vehicle,” said the towing man, “for it was I who towed the vehicle here from the forest, on the orders of a little man who said he lodged with you. It is highly likely that you stood upon your balcony contemplatively drinking tea while all of this was going on.”
    After the young man had sent the towing man away, he began to violently search the entirety of his house. He knocked over tables, scattered sofa cushions, and put his fists through lampshades. Then he looked beneath his bed, where there lay a little man with fearful eyes.
    â€œAh,” said the young man, “you must be the owner of the loathsome vehicle which rests in my driveway, where my old car used to sleep.”
    â€œI am,” said the little man.
    â€œWhy are you under my bed?” said the young man.
    â€œOstracized from my dwelling in the forest,” said the little man, “I sought refuge in a country home. I noticed you on your balcony one day, unhurriedly drinking tea, and thought I might incur very little of your wrath should you discover me. So I stayed here under the bed until night, when I nibbled at little leftover morsels, and even took a bath while you slept. I also conducted myself quite nobly when you brought a woman home from the tavern and you said immaculately vile things to her while in bed.”
    â€œThe only thing that concerns me,” said the young man, “is that an upstanding little man such as yourself should be ostracized from his community. You may lodge with me as long as you wish,
but tomorrow we will drive to the forest and together we will raze your