I saw Sasquatch driving a blue punch buggie. His shoulders were up against the roof, his one hairy elbow out the driver-side window, his giant, hairless, sausage fingers on the wheel. I mean, I assume it was a he. I guess I don’t know that for sure.
My sister punched my shoulder. “Punch buggie,” she said. We were both in the back seat of our parents’ Lincoln.
“Did you see who was driving it?” I asked, rubbing my shoulder.
“Some kinda monkey.”
“It was Bigfoot!”
“Stop making up stories,” Mom said.
“He did have some damn hairy arms,” said Dad.
“Why would a Bigfoot drive a bug?” my sister asked. “Why not a big truck? I bet he’d press both the gas and the brakes with one foot.”
“Maybe he uses the edge of his foot,” I suggested.
“Probably uses cruise control,” said Dad.
“Robert,” said Mom.
I said, “I doubt he bought that car. He probably took it from someone who drove too close to his home.”
“But how’s he know how to drive?” my sister asked. Mom sighed. She had given up.
“Driving’s probably not that hard,” I said. Dad chuckled.
“So he’s going for a joy ride?” he said.
“Maybe he’s going on vacation too,” Mom said. We all laughed. She couldn’t help smiling.
“Where does Bigfoot go on vacation?”
“Phoenix, like everyone else.”
“He’s from the wild, though, so maybe he wants to take a vacation in the city.”
“Sure. Pop onto Airbnb, get himself a room in a cozy apartment. Cat on a bookshelf and all that.”
I lost track of who was talking. It was all smiles and laughs and wild suggestions. But my smile faded. I really did see Sasquatch. I don’t know why he was driving a bug and I don’t know where he was going, but I know it was him. I hoped he’d have a good trip.
Today’s three prompt categories were, “Sasquatch,” “Cat on a bookshelf,” and, “Punch buggie.”
Sometimes you see the strangest people in other cars on the road. Mythical or otherwise.