In The Balance - Part III: Finale

On his nineteenth birthday, he woke up late and smiled at the thought of the night ahead. Though the legal drinking age was now twenty-one, the state had graciously grandfathered him into the life of an adult. Tonight he would legally taste alcohol, in ridiculous quantities, for the first time. He was quite certain that the taste wouldn't be any sweeter than the dozens of times he had imbibed as a minor and he could only hope that the forbidden nature of earlier binges hadn't been the best part.

He was smart for a teenager, though still blindly driven by the same urges that consume the mind of every boy moments from manhood. He had a girl that he loved, or, at least, loved in this instant of his life. He had friends that really knew him and liked him just the same. He had a family for whom he actually cared and a brother that he took great pleasure in corrupting. 

And most importantly, he had a car. She was a fast and loose, rebuilt in large part with his own hands. She was more a labor of desire than love. She had an angry streak, but that only made her more beautiful, more exciting. 

He'd drive her that night, the hulking '70s era Chevy Nova, and they would ride out his last teenage year together. Everyone makes a last grab at adolescence and this car was built to catch youth.

But he never got the chance.

*****

The Nova, while sleek and swift, also struggled with the inevitability of age. She was a movie star who liked the soft lens. For that reason, he knew she would need primping before their date. He understood the nuances of her personality by now.

Friends were coming in a few hours to join him in his night of new manhood. His anticipation of drinking hard and driving fast held singular places in the left and right sides of his brain. Disconnected.

*****

He had to work quickly to tune the old girl in time for the emancipation. Out in the driveway, he drove her slowly onto the sapphire ramps, headfirst, as he had countless times before. Because she was so often temperamental, he locked a large chunk of wood behind one of the back tires, holding her securely in place.

As he laid back on a thin piece of lacquered plywood, he was in his element. The steel wheels and cushy headrest attached to the board granted him comfortable access to the underside of his creation. From there, he could make the changes that would make her better. And maybe angrier.

A tweak here to make her roar a little louder. A tweak there to make her ride a little smoother. A turn of a bolt. A twist of a screw. 

And then.

Then.

Then he rolled out from under the quiet girl and ran his hand along the fender. She couldn’t wait to get out and run now. He could feel it. Who was he to deny her?

As he rolled out of the driveway, he had only thoughts of freedom.  She would take him to rolling flight.

He slammed the gas pedal to the floorboard and surged up the long street, tumbling over the ice-cracked pavement like they were on ocean waves. She responded, then sputtered slightly. She felt too loose – out of control. She drifted. She…

*****

Damn it, he thought.

He slowed and looped into a turn, eventually guiding her back down the street and into the driveway. Not much time to get ready for his big night out now. Up onto the ramps she went. Jerk her into park and hop out, door flung open. Down onto the plywood crawler. Slip underneath.

A twist here. A turn.

At his feet, somewhere in the grass nearby, was a large chunk of wood.

*****

“OH MY GOD! YOUR BROTHER IS TRAPPED UNDER THE CAR!!” my mom shrieks from downstairs.

Her footsteps pound up the staircase. A panicked mumble-yelling.

“Honey…oh Jesus…please…” she stammers as she steps into the bathroom where I’m washing my hands.

“God mom, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” I ask, eyes already in a wide panic.

“Your brother, he…he…his car fell on him,” she stutters.

“Oh shit.” I say in plain fear.

I can see the wheels of her morality turning and grinding against the situation. I’ve cursed for perhaps the first time in my life in front of her, but there are larger issues at the moment. Her mind struggles with the predicament.

Before she can reason through it, I ask, “Is he okay? He’s trapped right now? I mean, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” she says weakly. “He was trapped. He’s out now.  Honey, there was blood coming out of his ears. I think it crushed his head. Dad and I are taking him to the hospital now.”

“I want to come wi…” I start to say.

“Sweetie, I need you to stay here at home. Someone needs to be here. I’ll call you and give you detail when I know more,” she says as she runs back down to the garage.

I stand stunned in front of the bathroom mirror.

Alone. And lonely.

“Honey!” she shouts suddenly from below.

I lean over the railing above and yell back, “Yeah, mom?”

“You shouldn’t swear,” she says.

*****

After they leave, I go down to the garage.

There, in the middle of the floor, is the little plywood crawler. The steel wheels have broken through from underneath, splintering the thin wood at the four corners. Dark blood has dripped down the head cushion and is drying on the varnish below.

I drop down and sit on the garage step, staring at the scene with dull tears burning the edges of my eyes.

*****

The phone rings.

“Mom? What happened? Is he okay?” I ask.

“The car rolled back off the ramps right on top of him. How many times have we told him to put a piece of wood back there? Him and that damn car. Dad says his mouth got lodged around one of the pipes underneath the car. Bill from next door saw it happen and ran over to help. He and your dad couldn’t just pull him out because his mouth was caught. They tried to have one of them lift the car and the other pull your brother out, but the car was too heavy. Then they tried starting the car and pulling it back up on the ramps, but your brother started screaming,” she explains as calmly as she can.

“They tried to drive it off of him? Are they insane?” I yelp.

“They didn’t know what else to do! He was trapped!” she says defensively.

“So what happened? How did they get him out?” I ask anxiously.

“There was this man jogging by, out of nowhere. Dad's never seen him in the neighborhood before. He got behind the car and helped Bill lift while your dad pulled your brother out. And then the man was gone,” she nearly whispered.

“Wow. That’s amazing. So how is he? Is he going to be okay?” I ask.

“It looks like he’ll be fine, honey. He wasn’t bleeding from the ears. The blood from his mouth ran down his face into his ears. His front teeth are chipped pretty badly and he’s got some burns from the hot underside of the car and some cuts and scrapes, but he’ll be okay. We’re coming home tonight. Soon,” she says with the sigh.

“Well, thank God. Sounds like it could’ve been so much worse,” I say with relief.

“Definitely,” she replies. “You know what I think? I think that man who was jogging by was Jesus. And he saved your brother.”

“Um. Okay mom.”

“I’m serious. There was nobody around and then there he was. Jesus came and saved your brother’s life.”

“I’ll…uh…see you guys soon, mom.”

“Okay, honey. Why don’t you go stay with the neighbors until we get home. We love you.”

“Love you.”

*****

I see their car pull into the driveway and I run across the street to see my brother.

As I open our front door, he’s already on the couch. I want so much to go and jump on the couch next to him and give him a hug and cry big girlie tears and tell him how happy I am that he’s alive and how glad I am to have him as a big brother and…

“Hey idiot,” I nod.

“Hey ass-munch,” he nods back.

“Not very bright are ya?” I say.

“Eat it,” he says through cracked teeth.

“Anyway,” I laugh, “mom says that Jesus saved you today. You of all people. He must not have much to do if He’s got time to save you.”

“What?” he asks.

“That man who was jogging by and helped pick up the car. I think he was Jesus. He came out of nowhere and then he was gone. He was there when you needed him,” my mom chimes in.

“Mom, that guy was wearing a track suit. You think Jesus is going around in jogging outfits now? Jesus active wear?” my brother laughs.

“Don’t get smart, that man saved your life,” she huffs.

“Okay. Well, anyway, it’s still my birthday for a couple more hours. I’m going to go get a few drinks with the guys,” he says as he stands.

As he walks past me, he looks down and smiles a messy smile.

“Try not to get any more large pipes stuck in your mouth tonight, moron,” I laugh.

“I’ll try not to,” he laughs in return.

“Happy birthday, dude. Welcome home,” I say.

“Thanks bud.”

Comments

[Rohit]

Very nicely done...ass-munch!

[Brandon]

Good story, great writing. . . . .and I'm pretty sure Jesus would be wearing a track suit. I mean, if he's gonna be jogging, he might as well fit the part.

[UnderwearNinja]

What else would he be wearing while jogging? Makes perfect sense to me.

[emily]

now i feel like the ass-munch.

glad the story ended this way!

[cathy in canada]

wicked story telling/writing ...i smell a book.

[jw]

This is a wonderful story that SHOULD have had a profound effect on you. But did it? I think not!

After going through something so traumatic you should have learned something, but you didn't.

The message you should have gotten from this experience comes from a very wise woman, “You shouldn’t swear.”

[sue]

You are a terrific storyteller... I'D buy a book you wrote! Please don't stop.

[Almost Lucid (Brad)]

I'm really glad your brother is ok. Your perspective on the story is what I like the most. Alone and lonely truly are different things.

[Jillian]

Wow, GREAT story. I thought it was going to be MUCH more serious. You really led us into that one!

Nice job, again.

I'll be back for more Witt. ;-)

[frstlymil]

Bravo. Well told. And had every possible ingredient. Fear, tears, humor, name calling by boys, happy ending, And I agree about the book.

[panajane]

That was a great story, ass-munch.

[Michael]

I realize that you had to tell it the way you experienced it, and perhaps the details of the ordeal were a little hazy after the fact, but it still seemed a tad anti-climactic. A great story, but feel free to fill in some of the details there. I want to know more!

[tj]

I'm inclined to agree with Michael somewhat. While I certainly like the piece, there is a sense of imbalance between the introductory parts I and II and the dramatic part III. It could just be that what's discussed in the first two parts (this idea of the tie-breaking birth and how that made you important to your brother, and vice versa) isn't brought back around in the third part.

I don't mean to be overly critical, I'm a big fan of your stuff and visit on a regular basis (and even die laughing at gems of comments left in others' sites), but something just felt a little off about this piece.

As for Michael's other comment about having to "tell it the way you experienced it," my question is (for everyone): Do you? Even in nonfiction there's room to breathe in recreating the details, and even the point of view from which it's told. Speculation for the sake of dramatization is acceptable, isn't it? I mean, we accept that the dialogue in this piece is probably not verbatim, but instead has an "emotional truth."

Sorry for such a long (and kind of workshoppy) comment. I really do love the site.

[cw]

Thanks for the feedback. I definitely hear what you're saying on it being anticlimactic. The whole story is probably something I could've spent a little more time trying to perfect. Maybe I'll go back and do that someday.