The Late Spring
((1985)(based on actual events))
He lay on a rug, under his car, it was wet from a long winter, and late spring, ice was still on parts of the ground, and a chill in the air, the car was in the driveway, and alongside of the house, a bit hard to see under the car, but you could see his large arms and the side of his body’s frame, his legs somewhat, and the back ends of his shoes—the soles, if you were standing back by the car’s bumper—that is; he had some tools on his lap, and the car was being held by two jacks, one on the bumper in back of the car, the other under the axle, and he had two bricks under the front of the tires, so the car would not shift forward.
“Betty,” he yelled, and she came out of the house, “hand me the wrench, the one on the side of the toolbox,” he asked.
“The biggest one Jerry?” she questioned.
“It’s the only one there,” he told her, she had been drinking a bit, and he had now stopped for two years of his drinking, now near fifty-years old, thus, she perhaps was not seeing clear—he pondered, or she simply wanted to be sure.
A week ago all the trees had started to form a little green on them. The streets slush had turned into water, and was appearing to drain downward, perhaps all the way to the Mississippi, a few miles west of their home. In a short while, the full blossom of spring would branch out, the winter breezes were pert near nil. There was even a few flowers that started to sprout, from over across the street in Oakland Cemetery.
“The sky looks like it might rain this afternoon,” she told Jerry, perhaps thinking he should quite for the day, he had been working on replacing that transmission all morning long, it was close to noon.
“Were is dad?” asked Cindy, the oldest daughter, now seventeen, in the house, had just come back from the library, didn’t even notice her father was under the car, it was the weekend.
“He’s working on the car again dear, putting that damn transmission in alone, I told him to wait for his brother, Jim, but you know how he is, now or never.”
The front door was opened. Cindy dropped her library books, and raced out to say good morning to her father, yet it was close to noon. When she got to him, she could hear him clamber a bit with the transmission, trying to push it in place.
“Now what!” Jerry said, unknowing his daughter was by the car.
“You talking to me dad?” she asked.
“No, of course not, I can’t even see you,” he then tried to look out and up, as she smiled looking down at him, “It’s just this damn transmission, can’t keep it in place to do anything with it, and the car shakes every time I try to push it upward.”
“Are you going to have lunch, mom made a stew, it’s just about ready?”
“Not until I get the end of this transmission placed in right.” Jerry said.
“I just thought I come and let you know.”
“Oh, I’ll be out in a little while dear, go ahead and eat without me.”
“All right, then,” said Cindy and she went to have lunch with her mother.
“Aha…!” Jerry sighed with heat and effort, pushing this and that in place, as the car shifting and started rocking and Jerry getting more frustrated.
“Damn you, I’m missing my lunch,” he said as if he was talking to the car, or the transmission—directly, personifying it as if it was a human, then there was a growling sound, a deep growling sound, and Cindy heard it, and came out thinking her father was angry; Betty behind her.
“Shhh!” Betty said to Cindy as they snuck up to the car, putting her hand into her daughter’s hand, “Don’t make a sound we’ll see how he’s doing first before we pester him to come and have lunch, you know how he can get.”
“The foods going to get cold, we should just tell him to come, and work on the car when Jim gets home,” said Cindy, seemingly wanting to spend a few minutes with her father.
Betty stood next to the car, saw Jerry’s hand laying to the side, “What’s the matter mom,” said Cindy, not hearing any sound.
“I think you dad’s sleeping,” she replied, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time he fell to sleep under a car.
“Boo!” said Cindy, as if to wake her father up, but there was no sound.
“Boo!!” Betty said, even louder.
They both squatted down, to knee level to look under the car, waiting for him to wake up, say something, then they noticed the car was a half foot lower, and the transmission had fallen out of place and onto his chest, ants were crawling on his face near his mouth, and he wasn’t moving—or breathing, his face was pale to white, and then almost simultaneously, they both started to scream, clutching one another, and out of the house, one of their other fourteen children came running, “What’s the matter?” she asked.
Betty picked herself up, “Go into the house, your father had an accident, go and sit down in the house, I’ll be there in a while,” she told her this without looking back at the car, she told Cindy “Go in the house and wait with her,” holding her hands to her breast, “stay indoors, until I came in to talk to you all,” trying to get her composure.
“Is he really dead, mom?” Cindy cried.
“Yes,” said her mother, “I’ll be in there in a minute, a long minute.”
No: 698/10-28-2010
No comments:
Post a Comment