Today’s special guest post is from talented talented Lynn van Lier. You can read more of Lynn’s work like her satirical short story Interminable, or her helpful guides 50 Free or Cheap Ways to Entertain Your Toddler and 50 Everyday Ways to Show Your Kids You Love Them. Don’t forget to visit her blog and show her some love in the comments below!
First thing I saw when I walked through the door from the kitchen to the garage was Ferguson running out the bay door. Next thing was the pile of broken shit he left behind; a yellow Schwinn with the chain draped over the seat, a toaster oven, a gas-powered weed-whacker, and a push mower.
“Hey!” I called after him. “Hey, skid mark! This ain’t the junkyard, get back here!”
Residents of Sisco were responsible for maintaining what they used. Technically, no one owned anything, but since we had places to live, we had “stuff” to go in it, and if you had stuff, you were supposed to fix it. We were supposed to clean, protect, and fix it ourselves.
“I’m keeping this shit, asshole! It’s mine, now.”
I looped the chain on the bike and snapped it back together. So easy, an eight-year-old could do it. I felt a pang of sadness as I turned the pedal and watched the wheel spin. My niece had a tiny purple bike with Mylar streamers. She could ride on two wheels before she was four.
The sound of footsteps on gravel snapped me back to reality. Romanda and Daffodil trudged up the driveway.
“Aren’t you clearing brush today?”
“Jansen said brush clearing was man’s work. He sent us over here to help you.” Romanda replied.
“Jansen said that? That little shit.”
Daffodil shifted his weight.
“You okay?”
Romanda spoke up for him, “He said you were busy today.”
“Huh! Thanks to Ferguson. He just dumped this stuff and ran off. Who the hell’s at the front door, if he’s at home cleaning out his closets?”
They didn’t answer.
“Well,” I cast my eyes around the garage, “I wouldn’t say I’m busy. Sure as hell not for them, I’m not. I know you both know basic car repair – we all figured out how to patch flats and siphon gas, didn’t we?”
Daffodil’s eyes met mine for an instant. When he looked away, I thought I saw a little smile.
“Okay, then.”
They were too quiet. Something happened out there, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the details. Besides, I had been looking forward to a quiet afternoon of tinkering. I’m Thich Nhat Hahn like that.
“Well, you could help me get things straightened out in here,” I said slowly. Sent from “man’s work” to straighten up? Shame on me. I’d have to have a little talk with Ferguson. Jansen, too – where did he get off?
I looked at them closely as they surveyed their surroundings. They were a strange couple. Romanda was built like an F150 and her face was flat as a VW bus. Daffodil had knobby fingers and elbows and sinewy arms. A few weeks here would bulk him up, but for now, he looked les Miserable.
“Or, I show you something I’m developing. But it’s top-secret. Could I trust you to keep it between us?”
They smiled at me. I pulled the bay door shut and flicked on the overhead fluorescents.
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