The Virgin Suicides. Jeffrey Eugenides

him after that, he had the sheepish look of a poor relation. By late August, in the weeks of preparation before school, he began leaving by the back door as though sneaking out. His car would whine inside the garage and, when the automatic door rose, would emerge tentatively, lopsided like an animal missing a leg. Through the windshield we could see Mr. Lisbon at the wheel, his hair still wet and his face sometimes dabbed with shaving cream, but he made no expression when the tail pipe hit the end of the driveway, sending up sparks, as it did every time. At six o’clock he returned home. As he came up the drive, the garage door shuddered to engulf him, and then we wouldn’t see him until the next morning, when the clanging tail pipe announced his departure.