a common sight among the condos and apartment buildings and duplexes and houses shoved close together in the meandering streets that used to be cart trails: two story garages, with a deep basement below the huge entryway.
first my sister pulled up in her boyfriend’s car, stopping right outside the garage door. we got out. we pulled out all of the bags of groceries and items that needed to go upstairs in the apartment.
she used her room key in the arch of the garage door. the door opened. then, she used her key again to operate the car lift. inside this garage, three cars can park side by side on stiff metal slats. when my sister turned the key the metal slats lifted the three cars up one level, to the second floor, revealing the second layer of the garage. she pulled her boyfriend’s car inside, careful to get it exactly straight. she looked up and down to the two different levels from the nose of the car to make sure nothing was going to impede the progress of the car.
she returned to the archway, her boots clomping on the steel slats. She turned her key, and her car descended into the darkness below the earth. the three cars came back down from the sky.
she complained about it. she said that when it breaks, it’s a horrible hassle. she said it was a terrible invention, really.
i watched her boyfriend’s car fade down into the darkness, sunset and the weak garage light flickering on the glass like some kind of fire. six cars fit in a spot that’s wide enough for only two.