A burnt jack-o-lantern orange sky faded behind creamy vanilla clouds as the day fell to rest. Clipping from Gramp's AM radio the announcer's play-by-play of the ballgame competed for prominence in the thick, humid Summer air against a rising choir of crickets and frogs, as they welcomed the late August dusk. Jeffry hunched under the hood of a nineteen eighty four Chevy Silverado pickup, and shone a small flashlight down for his tinkering grandfather below. They had been working away in Gramp's grassy junkyard, out in his office, as he liked to call it, since the early afternoon. Restoring what they could amongst the rusty relics. In the five years of his lifetime, little Jeffry had seen, and worked on more cars with his grandfather than he could count.
The stoic old man was sparing with his words as he tutored his only grandson. In his presence the captivated boy fell to silence, attentive to each syllable. A drastic difference from his normal excessive rambunctious nature, the quiet occurrences around his elder never ceased to awe Able and Magema. Jeffrey loved spending the weekends alone with his grandparents out in the country. His Gramps and Nan loved having him. Hours away, his parents and sisters relished the peace the little terror's absence gave the house.
Jeffry closed his eyes while his grandfather twisted the bolts below. Letting the comforting smell of the engine, and motor-oil wash over him. While they were only a few hundred kilometres from the city, it felt like another world.
Long since retired, the work was more of a hobby than a job for Roland. He only accepted a small pittance in exchange for parts and labour. Enough money for beers and pizzas, while he doing what he loved seemed a fair trade for saving friends and family bucks and headaches from dealing with other local mechanics.
"Wrench please," he called to the boy. A grunt of gratitude, and quiet thank you followed, after the silver spanner was pressed to his palm. While his Gramps let the occasional, delightful, curse escape on accident in front of the boy, his manners never faltered. As each job progressed Roland would take time to teach Jeffery about what they were working on, the hows and whys of each part, and the differences in later builds. He was an encyclopaedia. Most of the time however, was spent in quiet. When there was something the lad could handle, loosening nuts and such, they'd work alongside one another . Otherwise Jeffry observed. While he was happy to listen and watch, he was always eager to attempt. The boy learned with his hands, learned by action. The junkyard was a playground. Jeffry had free range to dismantle and reassemble the majority of junked vehicles- as long as he double checked with his grandfather. The more he played, the more he learned. The more he learned, the more he wanted to know.
Framed behind a light in the kitchen, Jeffry's Nan Tuesday, watched for the dark, waiting to round them in for dinner. Letting the boys bond. Painfully patient for her turn with the young one. After the day turned she'd have her fill between cards and a bedtime story. Tuesday and her Roland were a well matched pair. They both appreciated honour and loyalty, loved automobiles and speed.
A large barn sitting on the corner of the property had been converted to an enormous garage brimming with classic cars he'd restored himself. To Tuesday's dismay, her husband's obsession had spilled from the barn across their acreage long ago. The woman was a pillar of patience. A few times a year, they'd putter one of his new trophies across the country to an auto-show. Taking forgotten highways, staying at adorable bed and breakfasts, hunting for the best diners. When the offers were right, they'd sell their car for a pretty penny, funding their tradition, flights home and Rolands inevitable new project.
The crack of a bat reverberated from the field through the radio to their ears hundreds of kilometres away. "Could you turn that up a pinch?" Roland sang out, trying to make out the excited announcers words, from beneath the car. Unable to remember whose inning it was to bat and whether or not he should be celebrating or sulking.
"That should do it," the old man announced a few minutes later and he shuffled off his makeshift cardboard mat from underneath the engine. Jeffry switched off his torch, and his gramps shone a smile from his filthy face up to his grandson. "Quick gather up the tools, and let's fire her up before your grandmother calls us in."
After the boy raced about collecting wrenches Roland let him lower the jack. The hydraulics hissed as the truck returned to its haunches. Roland eased himself into the passenger seat. From behind the windshield he watched a bevy of Swallows perform their acrobatics as they searched for their dinners.
"All done!" Jeffry called as he starred in the cab at his grandfather.
"Well, jump on in!" Roland invited, and tossed the boy the keys.
The little one didn't hesitate an iota before piling in behind the wheel. His grandfather pointed out the correct key, and stretched his foot over to the gas pedal, sitting below Jeffry's dangling feet. With a count of three they checked their work. After a few screeching turns, the engine came to life. Roland patted his grandson on the back and gave the truck a few pumps, the dramatic volume of the motor delighting the young one.
"Okay, now let's run to the barn and see what else we can toy with before your grandmother yells at us." And off they went.
"Boys, i hope you don't think i can't see you walking over there. You put your tools away and come on inside before you start another job. Dinners up in five minutes."
With a sly smile, Roland looked down to his grandson, his lips pursed, and eyebrows lifted as he shrugged. "Busted. Come on, let's hustle on inside, can't keep your grandmother waiting."
Inside Gramp's immaculate garage was every tool imaginable. Unlike the surrounding field, the workplace was kept in meticulous order, and they took care to place everything back to its rightful spot. Jeffry's little tool box lived on a lower shelf where he could reach it with ease. After washing up using gritty, citrusy soap, they marched to the patio and into the kitchen.
The smell of fried onions and bacon sent their nostrils flaring as they entered the house. "Sit, sit, before everything get cold!" Tuey insisted as she fussed about the kitchen.
Jeffry’s eyes lit up as he sat and looked over the elaborate spread before him. Succulent sausages, a plate of fluffy cheesy scrambled eggs decorated with emerald chives, crispy bacon, golden garlic hash browns, a plate of toast along side of an assortment of Tuesday's homemade jams, whipped cream, fresh strawberries, maple syrup, and ice cold orange juice. He looked up to his Nana Tuey watching her beside her waffle iron, "Are we having dinner for breakfast?!" he exclaimed.
The old woman's satisfaction was worn within a knowing grin. Her fingers tousled through Jeffry's Earthy hair as she plated everyone a fresh waffle, and sat down. "Well, don't wait! Dig in everyone!"
Thanks and compliments showered over Tuesday as the famished feasted. Between bites she made small talk about the afternoon's accomplishments. "Seeing as Pete's pickup is all fixed, do you think it's time we told Jeffry about his little surprise?"
Syrup dribbled down the boy's chin as his eyes raced between his grandparents. "Well, we do need to take the truck out for a test drive, so i was thinking we could let him have a little rip. Why don’t you tell him?”
"Well i spoke to your mother today, and she thinks that you're old enough for your turn on the go-kart."
Before anyone could get another word in, Jeffry began wolfing down his plate, stuffing as much food as he could fit in his mouth without choking. "Ok now, eating faster isn't going to get us there any quicker. You're going to have to wait for your Nan and i to finish so you might as well enjoy yourself," Roland shook his head as he helped himself to another waffle.
Regardless of how delicious his dinner was Jeffry was so overwhelmed with excitement he couldn't taste a single bite. He hadn't had a chance to drive the go-kart yet, forced to watch green-eyed in envy as his sisters raced around the local track. When Roland's fork finally rested on his plate, Jeffry got up like a bolt, cleared the table, and began loading the dishwasher. Tuesday laughed, and raised her eyebrows at her husband. "Why don't you guys ready the truck, i'll take it from here and meet you outside."
Sitting under a white sheet in the corner of his garage, behind his current collection of classic cars was the Go-Kart Roland had crafted from a lawn-mower engine with Able decades ago. With his grandson's help they wheeled the kart into the middle of the shop floor. Roland told Jeffry to give it a once over, testing what the boy remembered. He punted the tires checking for flats, inspected the gas in the tank, primed the engine and looked up to his grandfather. "Fire it up?"
After a go-a-head nod he let the lad have a few cracks at the cord before stepping in. Once the engine was purring he signalled for his grandson to follow him to the pickup. They backed the truck up to the garage, dropped the flatbed, leaned a ramp up, switched off the Go-Kart and pushed it upwards together. Nana Tuesy followed Jeffry into the cab and they set off.
Down dirt roads they drove to the local derby in the last of the light. At the gates Roland hopped from the truck and fished the keys to the track from his pocket. All the help he'd put into the place and his long standing friendship with the owner Fred allowed him certain privileges to the course. Inside, he popped on the lights, and rolled the go-kart from the truck while Nana Tuesday tightened up her grandson's helmet and ran him over the rules. "Now don't forget we'll be following behind in the pick up, so stay within eyesight, and don't go racing off. You've got to learn to control it before you get to go full speed. And if you don't, we'll have to tell Magema you weren't old enough after all, and we don't want that now do we?" Jeffry nodded his head no. "Very good, ok get ready, whoa, whoa hold on their cowboy," she turned to her husband, "i'm driving tonight not you."
Roland obliged with an eye-roll and a smile as everyone buckled up. Tuesday turned on the radio, reached into her purse, and handed her husband a tall can. "A beer? God, i love you."
"There's another in there for after," she promised as she switched on the headlights, gave Jeffry a quick flicker and they set off.
With the windows down, and the Allman Brothers on the radio they watched their grandson weave along the track in their headlights. One by one the stars came out as they drove lap after lap. Roland cracked the second beer. "Well, it's been quite a day, thank you Tuey," and reached over to hold her hand.
"It's been quite a life," she replied as their fingers wove together, and they watched their grandchild. "Thank you."
thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write