I've seen that look a thousand times
Your innocence can make you blind
I can show you round a block or two

Let me introduce you to my friends

“Kyle… torque wrench….”

Nothing.

“Torque wrench, please.”

Zilch.

“Kyle, you worthless bastard… if you do not get me a mother fucking torque wrench, I’m going to rip your head off and shove it up your ass.”

I slide out from under the Ford F150 and blink rapidly, attempting to adjust my vision to the sudden burst of light. I look around and immediately find my so called co-worker, planted on his ass in the office, stuffing his face and watching TV.

One day, I will have a job where I can eat shitty food, and laugh at the fool who’s dumb enough to do all my work for me. Sadly, today is not that day, and I’m the fool pulling mine and everyone else’s weight.

People have always had this pre-conceived notion that the offspring of the business owner/manager/ what have you, is the one who gets to do jack shit. I am living proof that that theory is pure bullshit.

I stroll over to the office and lean against the door frame. Kyle doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. He’s leaned back casually, his chair teetering precariously on its back legs and my first instinct is to kick it out from under him.

“Oh, hi Kyle… so nice of you to come in today and convert oxygen to carbon dioxide. Your father would be so proud.”

“Can you not see that I am watching television? I don’t have time to deal with-”

Before he can finish his sentence, a freakishly large SUV pulls into the garage, Eminem blaring so loudly from the speakers that the entire building shakes.

A short man hops out of the passenger side, and if I wasn’t already on the verge of a major rampage, this would most definitely set me off. Leave it to Kyle’s jackass friends to ruin a perfectly normal day.

I’m sure it sounds like I hate Kyle, but I honestly don’t. I’ve known him since 8th grade and we’ve been friends ever since. He’s just a lazy ass who annoys the living shit out of me.

Trace, however… well… I really do hate Trace. I could list you the countless reasons why, but by the time I finished, I guarantee you, we’d all be in our graves.

A taller man climbs out of the drivers side of the SUV and I breathe a sigh of relief. Trace has this tendency to bring a bunch of shady ass weirdos around the garage when he’s in town, and believe me, I’ve seen them all. Drug dealers, skanky girls, skeezy musicians… I’m sure you get the picture.

But today, he’s brought Justin who, believe it or not, is probably the most responsible of the three.

I don’t know why, but people always assume the four of us have been best friends since we were in diapers or some shit, but that’s really not the case.

As I said before,, my dad and I moved to Memphis when I was 12. Kyle’s family lived next door. Our streets always been full of old people, so I was kind of forced into my friendship out of sheer boredom. It was him, or Mrs. Gentry and her 8 cats. So yeah… Kyle won that battle.

Trace and Justin are Kyle’s friends, and I guess by default, they’re sort of mine too, even though I didn’t get to know Justin until much later. (Mostly because he was off dicking around with a cartoon mouse, then making thousands upon thousands of hormonal teenage girls go apeshit.)

“Jesus Burke… when’s the last time you showered? I could smell your ass from down the block.” Trace cackles at his own joke and I roll my eyes.

This is a prime example of why I fucking loathe this moron. He thinks he’s funny, and he thinks he’s intelligent. Clearly, he thinks wrong.

“Trace… your wit astounds me.”

“Yeah? Well… your… your stench astounds me!” He smirks, believing that he’s just one-upped me, and heads for the office to see Kyle.

“Hey Burke.” Justin smiles as he approaches me, his hands shoved in his pockets casually.

“Well… would you look at that… a real live celebrity… in my garage!”

“Oh hardy fuckin har har. How ya been man?” He slugs me in the shoulder, the stupid grin never leaving his face.

“Annoyed.”

“Ah… the usual then.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t know why I expected anything else.”

“You’ll learn one day grasshopper. Anyway… you been in town long?”

“Got in this morning.” He shrugs, then follows me back to the F150. “Just figured, I haven’t been here in awhile, so what the hell.”

“Right. Because if I had 10 billion dollars and four thousand houses in various locales, this is exactly where I’d want to spend my free time.”

“C’mon B… you love it here. You know you do.”

“If by ‘love’ you mean ‘hate with the fire of a thousand suns’ then, yes.”

“Hey asshole! We’re going to the bar.” Kyle and Trace amble out of the office, and under normal circumstances, I would protest. But, their leaving means I can get some actual work done, rather than spend my day bitching at Kyle.

Plus… no more Trace. And there’s just no way that can be bad.

“You coming Burke?” Justin looks at me expectantly, while Trace mutters something about how I would surely kill his ‘game’ if I tagged along. Fucker wishes he had game. I’m pretty sure the only reason he’s ever gotten laid is because some desperate girl thought it would get her closer to Justin.

“Fraid not. Front differentials do not flush themselves.”

“Alright… but we’re getting a beer before I leave town. Got it?” I salute him as he climbs in his truck and slowly backs out of the garage.

As much as I like Justin, nothing good ever happens when he’s in town.

***********************

I’m not usually the type to brag.

But, today… I’m fucking awesome.

In the seven hours since the three amigos left me to my own devices, I finished the differential flush on the F150, changed a set of break pads and rotors, did two oil changes and repaired a radiator hose.

All by my damn self. Don’t ever let anyone tell you a chick can’t fix a car.

I glance at the clock and smile proudly. For the first time in the two years since my dad hired Kyle… I get to leave early. It’s kind of amazing what you can accomplish when you don’t have an idiot distracting you all day. And believe me when I say Kyle has done it all, from humping cars to shoving funnels up his shirt and doing a wicked Madonna impression.

I’d be a damn liar if I said it wasn’t entertaining, but it is distracting as all hell.

I’m just about to close the garage door when a hysterical woman rounds the corner and nearly runs right into me.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah… I…I need a mechanic.” She sniffles, her eyes brimming with tears. “Can you get him?”

“I would love to, but our male mechanic is probably passed out in a puddle of his own vomit by now, so you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh…oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you were…”

“It’s fine.” I cut her off and do my best not to roll my eyes. “Anyway… your car?”

“It’s down the street. It’s smoking and making this weird clunking noise. I have no clue where I am… I just moved here last week, and I don’t know anything about cars and…”

“Ok.. Just..uhh… calm down, and I’ll take a look, ok?” She nods quickly and swipes at the tears rolling down her cheeks.

I know this is going to sound really shitty and judgmental of me, but I absolutely hate when girls like this come in. You know the type… the ones who can barely out gas in their damn car, much less figure out what’s wrong with it. I’ll give this one credit though… at least she admitted she knows nothing about cars. Most of them are always convinced their engine’s shot, when the real problem is something as simple as a dead battery.

“Have you been a mechanic very long?”

“Umm… pretty much since birth.”

Sort of.

I’m sure this complete stranger doesn’t want to hear how I lost my mother, then obsessively spent every waking second with my father, out of the fear that he’d disappear too. Or how my dad was completely obsessed with cars, and that was the only way five year old me knew how to bond with him.

I could change a tire by the age of 10, so I’d like to think it was time well spent.

“Oh… good.” She nods as we continue our trek.

I almost feel bad for her.

Then again, a lot of girls cry when their car breaks down. I never really understood why. I mean, nine times out of ten, it can be fixed in a pretty short amount of time. So, what’s the big damn deal?

“I’m sorry… I’m just… having a really shit day and this isn’t helping. At all.”

I really don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I mean… asking about her shitty day is out of the question, because I really don’t care. Not to mention the fact that there is nothing on gods green earth that we could possibly have in common. I’ve honestly never known how to deal with girls like her.

She’s tall, she’s pretty. She has the supposed perfect hair. Despite all the crying, her make up is still pristine. Actually, she reminds me of the girls who gave me so much shit in high school and that makes me want to slap her around a little bit.

We finally reach her car and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

A fucking Volkswagen Beetle convertible.

Why am I not the least bit surprised?

Girls like her love these cars, and it’s beyond me, really. They’re pieces of shit and not worth even half the money they sell for. It’s disgusting.

“What were you doing when this started?”

“Just driving.” She shrugs. “The clunking started before the smoke.”

I pop the hood and get a cloud of smoke right in the face. The distinct smell of antifreeze is a sure sign that smoke is coming from the radiator. The clunking however, could be any damn thing.

“Ok, well… I’m probably gonna have to have it towed, or push it up to the garage tomorrow. If you wanna give me your number, I can call you tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s great.” She nods quickly, scribbling her name and number down on a small piece of paper.

Crying girl calls a cab while I head back for the garage and set about shutting the place down for the evening. I’m still getting out fifteen minutes early, so I’m calling the day a success.

**********************

“Pop… I’m home.” I call out as I enter the house and toss my stuff down on the floor. Our Golden Retriever, Strut, comes barreling toward me from the kitchen, my dad following behind him.

And yes.. I know Strut is a terrible name for a dog. Blame dad for letting me name him while I was drunk out of my mind.

“Hey… wanna tell me why I saw Kyle with the other two idiots down at Brewster’s?”

Shit.

See… this is where the fact that I do actually like Kyle comes into play. I can’t even begin to tell you just how many times Kyle has ditched work early or all together to go do lord only knows what. And most of the time, I end up covering for his stupid ass. Unfortunately, this time he’s totally busted and I’m not really sure how to lie my way out of this.

Then again… the fact that I’m 24 and still feel the need to lie to my father about random shit is pretty sad.

“Oh… Justin’s in town for awhile… everything was pretty much done so I told Kyle to take off.”

There we go. It’s only a half-lie, and everybody knows those don’t even count.

“And does he know he’s not getting paid?”

“Umm…. Yes?”

“Jesus Mags.” He sighs and shakes his head. “He’s supposed to be helping you.”

“He did help! It was an enormous help when he left… you have no idea how productive I am when he isn’t there being a pain in my ass.”

“I want him there for his whole shift tomorrow, got it? And don’t think I won’t be stopping by. I need to drop a new alternator in the Bronco anyway.”

“You’re still dicking around with the Bronco?”

To this day, I have no idea why he insists on screwing around with that thing. It’s been totaled for the last 16 years. We’d be way better off to part it out at the junkyard. But oh no… Pops won’t have any of it. He’s determined to get the piece of shit running again, and the only reason I can find is that its because it was my moms.

“Yes. And I will continue to dick around with the Bronco until I can drive the damn thing. Anyway… dinners on the stove. I’m heading to bed. Night kid.” He ruffles my hair, then climbs the stairs to his room.

See? Way touchy about the Bronco.

Before I can make my way out the kitchen to grab dinner, my phone vibrates loudly on the glass coffee table and I roll my eyes. Trace’s name flashes across the screen, and I answer, against my better judgment.

“Yes troll?”

“Burke… you… you gotta come to Brewster’s and pick us up man. Kyle got in a fight cause… fuck I don’t even know, but they threw us out and we can’t drive!”

“Ehh… dunno. I’m pretty busy.”

“Burke… you could save a life! This dude is seriously like, nine foot nine, and he’s gonna murder Kyle! You can’t-” I can hear rustling on the other end, and suddenly it’s Justin’s voice in my ear.

“B… can you please pick us up? There wasn’t a fight… we’re just waaaay too fucked up to drive.” He giggles and I roll my eyes again.

“I’ll be there in ten.” I mutter and snap the phone shut.

If it wasn’t for Justin… I’d so be leaving their asses there.

"My Friends"- Stereophonics