gotten pretty lucky on the eggs these last two runs. We’ve got flour coming out of our ears, so, if nothing else, we can survive off pancakes.”
“Better than canned veggies, ” I say through a mouthful of potato. “Some water would be great.”
She yells for Francisco . He reluctantly appears and fetches a bottle of water. I thank him. He doesn’t respond, just glares at Katia before returning to the next room.
“So , what was life like for the urban cowboy before the shit hit the fan?”
“Quieter, much quieter. Less bullets. Less death.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, ha, ha. Where’d you live? Where’d you go to school? What’d you do for fun?”
“Well,” I swallow a piece of egg and tap my fork against the edge of the plate, “I’m from a backwoods town and went to a backwoods school that you’ve probably never heard of.”
“Try me.”
“Watkinsville.”
She laughs. “Okay, you’re right, never heard of it.”
“It’s okay, we like it that way. Keeps the degenerates away.” I wink. She laughs. The pancakes are dry and tasteless. “Dance was my thing. I did talent competitions and recitals. Wasn’t that popular because of it, a lot of sideway glares, more jeers than cheers, but, it was my passion. Gotta follow the passion, you know?”
She’s smiling.
Kindness? Surprise? Restrained laughter?
“Dance? I’d never have guessed.” She props a cheek on two fingers. She’s sitting sideways, facing me, legs crossed.
“I’ve heard that a lot. It’s usually followed by open mockery.”
She frowns and shakes her head. “Well, they’re assholes. You get one life, live it doing what makes you happy.”
“If all this blows over , I might have you come spread that gospel in Watkinsville.”
“ What? Are there no girls there that can appreciate a guy that knows how to move?”
“None th at I’ve found,” I squeak out as I quickly focus in on the next bite of pancake.
“I make you nervous, don’t I , Tim?”
It’s clear now.
She’s enjoying this. She’s having a go at me.
I thought that perhaps she’d taken a genuine interest.
Stupid Timmy, real dreamer you are.
I set my fork down. “I’m okay,” I answer flatly. I meet her eyes and force a smile before turning my attention back to my food.
She clicks her tongue. “Well, glad to hear your nerves are steady, that means you should be able to start work when you’re finished eating. Got a place all carved out for you with the other grease monkeys.”
“What?”
“Mechanical.”
“Like...working on cars and shit?”
“ Yessir.”
“But, I’ve n ever worked on a car in my life,” I object. Her back is already to me, her hips carrying her towards the door.
“You’ll manage. You can be their wrench bitch or something.”
***
And so it is.
Wrench bitch.
Katia introduces me around. The guys all shake my hand with little interest, some visibly annoyed. They obviously have their routine. Their circle. And here I am, this fresh faced know-nothing, fucking it all up.
As soon as Katia is gone, they go back to their engines and start running me around like a pack animal.
“Hey , kid, gimme that breaker bar.”
“What’s a...”
“Long ass silver thing...the fuckin’ bar...c’mon kid, you’re slowin’ the works here.”
As soon as I hand off the giant hunk of silver nonsense to the smelly guy in the blue onesie, someone else is growling for me.
“Throw me the combo wrench and a couple zip ties.”
“Combo...”
“It’s that one...Jesus.” He stabs an aggravated fin ger towards the mass of tools lying on the ground. “You know what zip ties look like?” He licks his rotten teeth, glaring at me beneath bushy eyebrows.
“...yeah.” I drop my head, my face flush, as I walk over to a cardboard box filled with multicolored zip ties.
“So, why zip ties?” I ask as he yanks the items from my hands.
“We don’t really fix shit here, kid. We plug it. We tie it. We pray over
“Better than canned veggies, ” I say through a mouthful of potato. “Some water would be great.”
She yells for Francisco . He reluctantly appears and fetches a bottle of water. I thank him. He doesn’t respond, just glares at Katia before returning to the next room.
“So , what was life like for the urban cowboy before the shit hit the fan?”
“Quieter, much quieter. Less bullets. Less death.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, ha, ha. Where’d you live? Where’d you go to school? What’d you do for fun?”
“Well,” I swallow a piece of egg and tap my fork against the edge of the plate, “I’m from a backwoods town and went to a backwoods school that you’ve probably never heard of.”
“Try me.”
“Watkinsville.”
She laughs. “Okay, you’re right, never heard of it.”
“It’s okay, we like it that way. Keeps the degenerates away.” I wink. She laughs. The pancakes are dry and tasteless. “Dance was my thing. I did talent competitions and recitals. Wasn’t that popular because of it, a lot of sideway glares, more jeers than cheers, but, it was my passion. Gotta follow the passion, you know?”
She’s smiling.
Kindness? Surprise? Restrained laughter?
“Dance? I’d never have guessed.” She props a cheek on two fingers. She’s sitting sideways, facing me, legs crossed.
“I’ve heard that a lot. It’s usually followed by open mockery.”
She frowns and shakes her head. “Well, they’re assholes. You get one life, live it doing what makes you happy.”
“If all this blows over , I might have you come spread that gospel in Watkinsville.”
“ What? Are there no girls there that can appreciate a guy that knows how to move?”
“None th at I’ve found,” I squeak out as I quickly focus in on the next bite of pancake.
“I make you nervous, don’t I , Tim?”
It’s clear now.
She’s enjoying this. She’s having a go at me.
I thought that perhaps she’d taken a genuine interest.
Stupid Timmy, real dreamer you are.
I set my fork down. “I’m okay,” I answer flatly. I meet her eyes and force a smile before turning my attention back to my food.
She clicks her tongue. “Well, glad to hear your nerves are steady, that means you should be able to start work when you’re finished eating. Got a place all carved out for you with the other grease monkeys.”
“What?”
“Mechanical.”
“Like...working on cars and shit?”
“ Yessir.”
“But, I’ve n ever worked on a car in my life,” I object. Her back is already to me, her hips carrying her towards the door.
“You’ll manage. You can be their wrench bitch or something.”
***
And so it is.
Wrench bitch.
Katia introduces me around. The guys all shake my hand with little interest, some visibly annoyed. They obviously have their routine. Their circle. And here I am, this fresh faced know-nothing, fucking it all up.
As soon as Katia is gone, they go back to their engines and start running me around like a pack animal.
“Hey , kid, gimme that breaker bar.”
“What’s a...”
“Long ass silver thing...the fuckin’ bar...c’mon kid, you’re slowin’ the works here.”
As soon as I hand off the giant hunk of silver nonsense to the smelly guy in the blue onesie, someone else is growling for me.
“Throw me the combo wrench and a couple zip ties.”
“Combo...”
“It’s that one...Jesus.” He stabs an aggravated fin ger towards the mass of tools lying on the ground. “You know what zip ties look like?” He licks his rotten teeth, glaring at me beneath bushy eyebrows.
“...yeah.” I drop my head, my face flush, as I walk over to a cardboard box filled with multicolored zip ties.
“So, why zip ties?” I ask as he yanks the items from my hands.
“We don’t really fix shit here, kid. We plug it. We tie it. We pray over
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