The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(24)

My mother pulled the car into the second bay as instructed, and we walked to the office to wait. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said.

My mom wrinkled her brow.

I looked at Fast Eddy, which was what everyone, except my mom, called him. She said it was impolite. “May I use your lavatory, Eddy?”

Eddy handed me the foot-long stick to which he’d tied the key to the bathroom. “You let me know if it needs any servicing while you’re in there, okay, sport?”

I butted the stick against my shoulder, shooting at invisible Nazis as I made my way around the corner of the building to the door marked MEN. Inside I surveyed the mosaic-tiled floor and walls as if doing so for an inspection. I’d seen them cleaner but declared them sufficient to pass. After using the urinal, I washed my hands—my mother would ask if I had—and made my way back to the office. Fast Eddy was not behind the counter, and my mother was not seated on the red bench seat. I walked to the loading bays and found Eddy talking with another mechanic, Gary. They had their backs to me and were looking at the Falcon raised on the lift.

“Best pair of headlights in Burlingame,” Fast Eddy said.

“And the bumper ain’t bad, either.” Gary laughed.

I felt myself swell with pride.

“I’d like the chance to bend her over the bumper and check her oil with my dipstick,” Eddy said. “I’d give her the lube job of a lifetime.”

I didn’t know exactly what they meant, but I did sense they were not talking about the Falcon. When they separated, I saw what they were talking about. My mother stood in her white sweater next to Ron, one of the technicians. He was pointing to something on the underside of the Falcon, and my mother was leaning forward to get a better look.

The stick in my hand hit the asphalt with a clatter.

Eddy turned. “Hey there, sport; everything shipshape in there?”

I picked up the stick and handed it to him without comment.

“Looks like the Falcon’s in need of a new radiator hose,” he said. “Take a few more minutes. Can you put the stick back on the wall for me?”

Gary rubbed my hair as I walked past him and entered the office. “Hey, there, Sammy boy.”

I hooked the leather strap on the nail. Moments later my mother joined me in the waiting area. She sat, flipping through the pages of a magazine. When she crossed her legs, her skirt inched above her knee. I looked up at Gary, who was now behind the counter. He wasn’t looking, but I slid forward to block his view, just in case.

Thirty minutes later, Eddy backed the Falcon out of the garage, wiped the door handle with his red rag, and held the door open for my mom. “You bring her in any time, Mrs. H. The boys and me look forward to working on the Falcon.” Eddy grinned down at me. “Hey, Sam, you forgot to get your Tootsie Pop.” He shouted over his shoulder. “Hey, Gary, get Sam a Tootsie Pop.”

“Forget it,” I said. “I don’t want one.”

“Samuel!” my mother snapped. “That’s not polite. How about, ‘No, thank you.’”

Eddy was no longer smiling. His eyes narrowed, considering me. Gary jogged over, carrying a purple Tootsie Pop, and held it over the top of the window. “Favorite color, right, kid?”

I just wanted to leave. “Samuel?” my mother said. “Do you have something to say?”

“Thanks,” I said and took the candy.





6

When I got home, I professed to not feeling well. Again, it was not a complete lie. I went upstairs to my room, but not before throwing the Tootsie Pop in the garbage pail in the kitchen. Minutes later my mother was in my room, shaking the thermometer. As she sat on my bed watching the second hand of her watch and holding the end of the thermometer under my tongue, I began to realize my mother was something special to look at. I believe kids have an innate sense about this but choose not to think about it.

My mother pulled the thermometer from under my tongue. “You don’t have a fever,” she said. She pressed the back of her hand to my forehead and my cheeks to confirm this. “Everything okay at school today?”

“Fine.” I rolled onto my side and shut my eyes.

After she’d left the room, I lay atop the covers, staring at the model airplane my father and I had built the past weekend and hung from the ceiling with fishing wire. I thought of the newsman smiling and kissing my mom and the times my mother and I would drive with the top down and cars would pull alongside us and the men would rev their engines. I’d thought they were admiring the Falcon.

“Ignore them, Samuel,” my mother would say, but I would sneak a peek anyway, and the men would smile and wink and otherwise try to get my mother’s attention.

“I think he knows you,” I said the first couple of times this happened.

“I’m most certain he does not,” my mother would say.

“Then why is he waving to you?”

“He wants to race,” she’d say.

“Can we?” I’d blurt out.

“Absolutely not. Racing is against the law and dangerous. A car is not a toy, Samuel.”

But I also couldn’t help noticing that when the light changed, the Falcon would usually surge through the intersection.

I thought about Fast Eddy and Gary and about what they’d said. I’m sure I didn’t understand the dipstick part, but I understood enough to know what they’d said was wrong. With all the problems I already had with David Bateman and Sister Beatrice, I didn’t need people complicating things by making nasty comments about my mother. And I never wanted her to go back to Fast Eddy’s again.