What Happened to Forever?

 

I was very young at the time.  Most of my thoughts were of myself and of what I wanted. I was selfish and cared very little about what was going on in the world.  My car was my entire world.  I had found it, fell in love with it and paid for it myself.  It wasn’t much but to me it was everything. 

Henry, at the gas station, was wise in the ways of cars.  He is the one I bought all of my gas from and he would always make suggestions on how I should take care of it and what to watch for.  I remember he was always saying to keep an eye on the tires.  According to him, those were the most important parts. “You don’t want a blowout at high speed.”

I recall the first time it was put up on the rack.  Henry wasn’t saying much and I had very limited resources for repairs.  I was a nervous wreck.  That was, of course, only the first in a long line of visits to Henry’s garage.  It seemed there was a relationship between the mileage going up and the number of needed repairs going in the same direction. 

It was on a Saturday morning when I got the call from Henry, he said we needed to talk.  I thought he was going to tell me the gas prices were going up again.  He always felt bad whenever he had to raise his prices.  He knew how hard I was working and that I didn’t have much money to begin with.  The only other thing would be to tell me that my car was ready.  He had it in his garage for the last two days, fixing something in the transmission.

  As I walked up to Henry’s, I could hear the country music coming from the garage.  He loved his country music.  When he noticed me walking up the drive, he wiped his hands on a red shop towel, reached over and clicked the music off.  Yikes, I thought.  This must be serious.  I followed him into the office.  I sat on the plastic chair across from his desk.  So far, he hasn’t said anything.  That was making me feel a little queasy. 

“How bad is it?”  I asked.  This was the first time my baby had stayed by herself overnight.  I was already scared.  I looked over at my car.  She was still up on the rack, Henry’s rolling toolbox sat open and there were tools and parts everywhere.

As Henry went into his speech about his limited resources, and not having the latest technology, my thoughts were wandering to me sitting on the front seat, my Magic eightball gearshift knob, my fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror and how much I wanted him to stop jabbering and just tell me how much I owe. 

He must have noticed I was sitting there daydreaming, for then he just came out with it.  “I can’t fix it.”  That did it.  That snapped me back into the moment.  “You can’t fix it, or it can’t be fixed?”

I could tell this was bothering Henry as much as me.  I thought for a minute his eyes were tearing up.  “It is going to cost more to get that car running again than the thing is worth.” 

My heart sank.  “I think I’m going to be sick.”  I said.

Henry didn’t respond.  He just sat looking at me, like he was a doctor and had just told a family member that he couldn’t save the patient. 

Suddenly, I wanted to hear his country music again.  I wanted to hear someone else singing about loss and heartbreak.  About pickup trucks and loyal dogs. 

I glanced out into Henry’s work area.  The image that jumped into my head was Henry’s diagnostic machine showing a flatline.  I had lost my best friend.  I stood up and just sort of started walking back home.  It was like I was in shock.  I had not even thought about what to do with the body.  I had no idea how to make the necessary arrangements. 

About halfway down the driveway I heard the music come back on behind me.  I didn’t recognize the song, I was just glad it wasn’t Willie singing. On the Road Again.

 

 

 

ZC