Finding Scarlet

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Toby

"First things first, we got to take off the front bumper."

My dad and I are in the garage, staring down at the red truck in front of us. I am a mix of emotions right now; excited to be working on my new car, but also dreading the time I have to spend with my dad. The bumper is severely dented on one side, caving into the metal structure of the vehicle.

"Well," My dad says a couple seconds after realizing neither of us were making any moves to jump right into the project. "why don't you get the toolbox while I quickly consult the Manuel?"

I reach over to grab the toolbox as I say, "Wait. You've never done this before?"

"Of course, when I was around your age." My dad says defensively. "A lot of boys in my time fixed their own cars. It was a right of passage."

"It must've been an ugly looking car then."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Watch it."

"Okay, okay." I smirk when he isn't looking.

"Alright. No more dilly daddling—"

"—dilly what?"

"Its an expression. C'mon and get your butt in gear. We don't have all day."

"Alright I'm coming."

We gingerly loosen the piece of metal with several different tools, but it being so dented that it had refused to come out. My dad gave me a whack-a-mole like tool and told me to bang the other side of the bumper the pop the dent out. Within no time it came out with ease and we could finally get to some real work.

My dad decided to order some custom parts for several pieces of the car, because it is too wrecked to be salvageable. The whole front of the car we replace, and as we do so my dad teaches me how to tune up the engine and its different parts. Even though it is freezing outside, I am sweating buckets. My dad applies a new part while I clean out the interior, sweeping all the glass away and putting the empty CD cases in the trash. Whoever owned this car though had some good taste in music: David Bowie, Tears For Fears, Coldplay, and Fleetwood Mac are some of the artists that I recognize. The rest I have no idea who they were, but I could tell they were all well loved by the way certain songs were circled or highlighted on the track lists on the inside sleeve. Johnny must have taken out the disks when he got the car, and probably a lot more other stuff that used to belong to the owner of the truck.

I grab a vacuum and start cleaning up the remaining shards of glass that I can't sweep out, as well as under the seats and in the glove box. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand before I reach for the worktable and take a swig of soda.

"Tires and other missing parts will be coming at the end of the week." My dad says, wiping his hands on a dirty washcloth. "She'll need a fresh coat of paint and some wax, but other than that she's looking pretty good."

"Is the steering console okay?" I ask, setting down my drink.

"I need a jack in order to get a better look at it, but her pipes are actually in really good condition; no rust or anything." My dad slaps the hood of the truck, smiling proudly. He then turns to me. "You did a really good job today, son."

I don't want to admit it, but working with my dad isn't as bad as I thought. But I can't quite forgive him yet; he's got a long way to go if he wants to get all buddy-buddy with me.