by H. Karhoff
“Ok.” I nodded.
“All right. I have to get back to work, but I’ll see you then.”
“See you then.”
He closed the trunk and walked back toward the store. I watched him until he passed my mom. She looked at him. Then back at me. From her quizzical expression, I guessed she had another lecture brewing, so I hurried to the passenger door and unlocked it.
“What took so long?” Mom asked.
“He wanted to make sure he didn’t squish the bread,” I answered.
She scowled at me. “Get in the car.”
I opened the door and slid into the seat. Mom waited until I had buckled my seatbelt. Then she started the car and backed out of the stall.
“Do you mind if I go out tonight?” I asked.
“I thought you didn’t have any plans this weekend,” she said.
“Devon just asked me out.”
“Devon? The bagger?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded.
“Well, he seems like a nice enough boy. I guess that would be okay.”
As soon as we got home, I helped Mom put the groceries away before I went up to my room and raided my closet. By the time I was done, most of my clothes were in piles on the floor. I’d tried on everything I owned in an attempt to find the perfect outfit, but nothing looked right. My clothes were all too preppy or immature. I wanted something that more closely resembled what the dark-haired girl and her friends wore. I didn’t have anything like that in my closet, though. I had to settle for the next best thing—a cute pink and gray plaid skirt and matching cropped sweater.
When Devon didn’t show up by six-thirty, I started to worry that he’d changed his mind. Sitting down to dinner with my family, I poked at my food absent-mindedly while James grumbled about everything from politics to the tub of butter Mom had left on the table. It irritated me that with everything else going on in the world, he found the time to complain about butter. I was so tired of hearing him go on and on that I sprang from my chair the second the doorbell rang.
“Where do you think you’re going?” James demanded.
“Out,” I answered. “I already asked Mom.”
“Liz?” James looked across the table at my mom.
“I told her she could go,” Mom said. “Have fun, Honey.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I kissed her cheek and hurried out of the kitchen.
“Make sure you take your heavy jacket,” Mom called after me. “It’s supposed to get cold tonight.”
“Yes, Mom,” I sighed.
I grabbed my jacket off the coat rack and opened the front door. Devon stood a few feet away, staring out at the yard. When he turned to look at me, his hair fell into his face and I was relieved that he’d changed out of the grocery store uniform. A concert t-shirt and blue jeans suited him better, even if he did look a bit scruffy.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he said. “I got held up.”
“It’s okay,” I replied.
Stepping outside, I closed the door behind me and followed Devon off the porch. He led me to a small, dark blue car parked in the street in front of the neighbor’s house. It was full of rust and had red tape over one of the tail lights. I wrinkled my nose when he opened the passenger door. The inside was worse than the outside. There were cigarette burns and tears in the dirty seat. After the time I’d put into finding the perfect outfit, I didn’t want to mess it up by sitting in something gross.
“It’s not mine,” Devon explained. “I borrowed it from my sister’s boyfriend, RJ. He said if I got it running I could drive it until I get my own. I was going to clean it, but it took longer to finish putting the new starter in than I thought and I figured you were getting tired of waiting.”
“It’s all right,” I lied.
Despite my reservations, I took a deep breath and got in the car. Devon waited until I was completely in before he slammed the door shut. The sudden bang startled me and I jumped.
“Sorry,” he said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “I probably should have warned you. It won’t shut all the way unless you slam it.”
I sighed. Everything about the car made me uncomfortable. When he started it, I thought it would fall apart. The engine was loud and something behind me rattled.
“Did you already eat?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“All right.” He took a deep breath as he grabbed the pack of cigarettes stuffed in a hole where the stereo should have been. He started to light one. Then he looked at me. “Is this okay?”
“Sure.” I nodded.
In one motion, he flipped open a rectangular silver lighter and struck the fire. I watched as he touched the flame to the end of his cigarette. As soon as it was lit, he closed the lighter and put it back in his pocket. Then he took a long drag and exhaled.
“Are you sure this is okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
He studied my face for a second as if he were trying to decide whether or not I was telling the truth. I smiled and assured him that I didn’t mind. The way the smoke curled from his lips when he exhaled was titillating. Everything he did captivated me. As he drove out of my neighborhood, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Nine
A block past the school the car sputtered. Devon slowed down, dropped his eyes to the dash, and cursed loudly. I glanced at the windshield in time to see smoke coming from under the car’s hood. With a final thud, the engine died. Devon gripped the steering wheel firmly and guided the car to the side of the road, bumping into the curb. Then he put it in park and took the key out of the ignition. Reaching under the dash, he pulled something and there was another thud.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It overheated,” he answered.
“What does that mean?” I knew it was a ridiculous question the second I heard it come out of my mouth, but at that point it was too late to take it back.
“The engine got too hot,” he said. “I’m going to take a look at it.”
He opened the door and stepped out of the car. I settled into my seat, watching as he walked to the front of the car. When he opened the hood, I lost sight of him. I heard him cursing about something, but I had no idea what it was. After a few minutes, he shut the hood and walked to the passenger side door. I rolled down the window and looked up at him curiously.
“The radiator hose is busted,” he said as if he expected me to know what that was.
“Okay,” I replied.
“Can you get in the driver’s seat and steer it?” he asked.
I furrowed my brow.
“I’ve got to push it out of the road,” he explained. “Just steer it into that parking lot.” He pointed to the closed pharmacy down the street.
“Okay.”
Sliding over the center console, I sat on the front of the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel. Devon walked to the back of the car and put his hands on the trunk. I felt him push the car, but it didn’t go forward. As soon as he stopped, it settled back to where it had been. I turned around to see what was going on and he said something. I couldn’t hear what it was, though. The sound of another car’s engine drowned him out. Devon waited until it had passed. Then he walked to the driver’s side window and tapped on the glass.
I rolled down the window. “What’s wrong?”
“Put it in neutral,” he instructed.
I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t know how to change the gears so I waited until he’d walked to the back of the car before I attempted to move the shifter. It wouldn’t budge. Thinking I just hadn’t gotten the button on the side of the shifter in all the way, I pushed it as hard as I could and pulled on the shifter with all my strength. It still wouldn’t come out of park.
After a moment, Devon came back to the window. “Problem?”
“The thingy won’t move,” I explained as I tried again.
He leaned down so that he could see inside the car, looked at my feet, and sighed. “You have to push
the brake to shift it out of park.”
“Oh.”
I pressed the brake pedal down and finally got the shifter to move. In the rearview, I could see Devon waiting. He put his hands against the back and looked toward the side.
“Let off the brake,” he called.
Slowly, I lifted my foot from the pedal and the car started moving. It startled me and without thinking, I put my foot back down. The car slammed to a stop. I heard Devon curse and looked in the rearview. Resetting his jaw, he stood up straight, turned away, and ran his fingers through his hair. From his demeanor, it was obvious that he was irritated and I didn’t blame him. If I had been in his position, I would have been upset with me, too.
Turning back to the car, he rolled his shoulders, set his hands on the back, and called, “Let’s try this again. Let off the brake.”
I lifted my foot and held onto the steering wheel as the car rolled forward. My heart raced. I didn’t want to mess up again. As the car moved toward the empty lot, I kept my hands locked to the steering wheel, guiding it into the entrance the moment the curb broke. Devon pushed the car up to the building. When he yelled for me to stop, I pressed down the pedal and waited for him to walk back to the window.
“Put it in park,” he said.
“Ok.” I looked down at the shifter and used both hands to move it back to the “P” position. Then I turned back to Devon.
“Hand me my cigarettes.”
I retrieved his cigarettes from the hole in the dash and held them out the window. He took them roughly, walking to the back of the car. I heard him take a deep breath, followed by the clicking sound of his lighter opening. After a moment, I folded my arms across the bottom of the open window and leaned through it.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Sorry about the car.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “It happens.”
He turned to look at the car. “I guess I need to pick up a hose. The auto parts store isn’t too far. I should be able to walk up, get one, and be back in about twenty minutes if you don’t mind waiting.”
“Do you mind if I go with you?” I asked.
“If you want.”
Opening the door, I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and got out of the car. Devon rolled up the windows, checked to make sure he had the keys, and locked the doors. As we walked across the parking lot, I glanced over at him a few times, wondering if he was still irritated with me. After my mishaps with the car, I was worried he’d take me home as soon as he got the hose fixed.
His silence made me even more anxious. With no one else talking, my insecurities were free to scream in my ears. I wanted to say something, but everything I could think of sounded immature or foolish. He probably already thought I was a complete airhead. I didn’t want to do anything that might confirm his suspicions.
When we got to the hardware store, he paused briefly. There was a notice on the door that said, “Help Wanted. Part Time. Hours Vary. Apply Within.” He squinted at it for a moment. Then he looked away and started walking again.
“Are you thinking about getting a job at the hardware store?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he answered. “Depends what it pays.”
“Don’t you like your job at the grocery store?”
He shrugged. “It’s a job.”
Taking the final drag from his cigarette, he tossed it into the road before he reached across himself and scratched his bicep. When he did, I spotted the tattoo on his arm. It looked like a bird, but I couldn’t make out most of it because his hand was in the way.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“What?” He looked at me.
“Your tattoo,” I said. “What is it?”
“Oh.” He stopped walking and pulled his sleeve up to give me a better view. “It’s just something one of my brother’s friends drew. I thought it was kind of cool.”
I stared at his arm. Just below his shoulder was an eagle tangled in thorns with its wings outstretched. It was in grayscale except for spots of dark red blood that dripped from one of its talons and its wing. The artist had captured the bird’s agony in vivid detail. I was amazed that someone had been able to create such a lifelike image on skin.
“It’s…” I started to say it was beautiful, but the word wasn’t right. I didn’t know the right word, so I just said, “I like it. It’s really cool.”
“Thanks,” he replied, dropping his sleeve.
“My dad has a tattoo,” I announced awkwardly.
“Really?” He feigned interest, but it was obvious that he couldn’t have cared less.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “It’s the Marine Corp thing.”
“Your dad’s a marine?”
“Not anymore. He got out before I was born. I don’t know what he does now. I don’t see him that much.”
“I take it your parents are divorced,” he said.
“Yep.” I nodded. “It sucks, but it’s not like I can do anything about it, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Are your parents still together?” I asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “My mom’s never been married.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but we’d made it to the auto parts store. Devon opened the door and waited for me to enter before he followed me inside. He walked across the dirty floor to the cluttered counter.
“What can I get for you?” the man behind the counter asked.
“I need a radiator hose,” Devon answered.
“What’s it going on?”
“An eighty-five Chevy Citation.”
“All right. Need clamps?”
“No.” Devon shook his head.
The short, portly man waddled into one of the aisles behind the counter. I could hear him rummaging. He returned with what looked like a flexible black pipe, dropping it on the counter.
“Here you go,” he said. “Anything else?”
“That’ll do it,” Devon replied.
After Devon paid for the hose, we left. I wanted to pick up our previous conversation once we were outside. Before I had the chance, however, he asked if I wanted to stop at the diner we’d passed. It wasn’t the nicest place, but I agreed. I was hungry and I didn’t know how long it would take him to fix the car.
Because there were only a handful of restaurants in town, the diner was busy. The waitress that stopped to greet us said it would be a while before we could get a table and invited us to wait next to the door.
“You all right?” Devon asked when I sighed.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I fibbed.
“We can go somewhere else if you want.”
“That’s okay,” I replied. While I didn’t want to wait, I didn’t want to go back outside either. It was cold and I hadn’t thought to get my jacket before we left RJ’s car.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded.
When we finally got seated, the vinyl booth seat was sticky. I adjusted my skirt underneath myself so that my bare legs weren’t touching it, but I could still feel it every time I moved. Devon sat across from me, set the hose on the booth seat next to himself, and glanced at the arrangement of condiments pushed against the wall.
“What can I get you to drink, Hon?” the waitress asked.
Devon looked at me, prompting the waitress to do the same.
“Pepsi,” I said.
“We have Coke,” she replied automatically.
“Okay.” I nodded, even though I didn’t care for Coke.
She turned to Devon and her tone changed. “What do you want tonight?”
“Dr. Pepper,” he answered. “And an ashtray.”
She looked around at the nearby tables and stole the ashtray from one that had been recently vacated. “Here you go, Hon.” She smiled as she put it down in front of Devon. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“Thanks, Janey,” Devon replied. He took his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. Then he look
ed at me. “Having fun yet?”
“Sure,” I lied.
“So, what do you normally do for fun around this town?”
“Not much. There isn’t really much to do. I mean, there’s the rec center, but nobody ever goes there because it’s run by a church and there’s always people following you around preaching at you about Jesus and stuff.”
“I take it you’re not religious,” he said.
“My family doesn’t really go to church. Does yours?”
“No.” He shook his head and chuckled as if he were amused by the idea.
Janey returned with our drinks and set them on the table. “Are you ready to order?”
“Could we have a menu?” I asked.
“They’re over there.” She exhaled as she pointed to the other end of the table.
“Thank you,” I said.
I retrieved one of the laminated menus from behind the napkin dispenser. It was two-sided with pictures of their more popular selections. The worn edges held a sticky brown substance that may have been syrup, but I didn’t know for sure. I set it on the table in front of me and did my best not to wrinkle my nose.
“I’ll give you a minute.” Janey tucked her pen into the side of her dark, feathered hair. Along with her Pollock-inspired spandex tank top and tight aquamarine pants, the do completed her “just stepped out of the Eighties” look.
I glanced over the menu as she walked away, not finding anything particularly appetizing. It consisted of various cuts of meat, burgers, barbecue, and basic sides. After a few minutes, I decided to get a salad and hope for the best.
“Figure it out?” Devon asked when I set down the menu.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Do you know what you want?”
“Uh-huh,” he answered, taking the final drag from his cigarette before smashing it into the ashtray.
“Do you come here a lot?” I asked.
“My sister works here.”
“Really?” I glanced around the restaurant. “Is she here now?”
He shook his head. “No. She works in Beaumont at night.”
Picking up his cigarettes, he lit another one as Janey returned to the table for a third time. She asked if we had decided what we would like to eat. As I ordered my salad, I thought I heard Devon chuckle and looked over at him.
