Promenade, baby.
The pressure for me to write the beginning of a true tale came from my bro chico. (His non-caps, not mine. He's like e e cummings.)
Here we go.
The newly bored out straight four began to steam at over a hundred miles and hour, but I'm pretty sure that I'd blown the head gasket moments before while red-lining in third gear. She lost major compression and began to cough. Luckily, the girl in the other car signaled the oncoming exit up ahead, and I followed her off the freeway. In her driveway, I asked her for a jug of hot water for the radiator. There was butter on the dipstick. I might be able to get her home if I had a bunch of gallons of hot water.
I just needed to let her cool down for a bit after I'd been riding her hot and hard. This chick was a co-worker at the new restaurant I was working in, my first real, legit job, after working in that pukey shit hole known as the Silver Dollar Saloon. She was a cute Latina, with seriously huge boobs, and she liked cars too. I was sixteen and paying taxes out of my paycheck.
She came back out with a jug of hot water and a rack of beers. What a sight she was. We ended up listening to music and making out in the back of my car, windows up when the sun goes down in the desert, and when we started to get down to the real business, there was a tap at the window, driver side.
Now I must first tell you; I'd filled the radiator with hot water after the radiator cap got cooled off enough to not sputter under the rag, but didn't have any more coolant than what she'd brought out in the one jug. You see, the sky was dark, the interior of the car was dark, and this was why he didn't just bust out the window, reach in and grab my 16 year old spindly body off his 18 year old girl.
Big, older biker dude with a tire iron tapped on the window, "Shelly, you in there?" To me he simply said, "get out." Shelley pushed the passenger seat forward and climbed out of the passenger door, other side away. "Sorry, I should have told you," she said to me.
"Is he your dad?" I asked, to which he turned back to me and reiterated his command though the glass. "Get the fuck out, you bastard."
I locked the door and cranked the engine, which thankfully, hadn't seized up. Butter in the oil pan, but she wasn't dry. The head gasket was blown on the inside, and coolant had steamed into one of the pistons.
"It's my boyfriend."
Nice of her to let me know that I could be taking a risk, in her driveway, my back to the world, with the likelihood that her angry biker father-figure would be coming by after work. Big tittied muthafuckin Bitch.
I grunted out in reverse, sputtering along on only three piston, and didn't even wait to see if he would follow me.
I got up to about forty, my rebuilt engine shuddering and beginning to steam quite badly, and soon I saw him coming up behind me on his ride. I took the next exit, and ran down some side and cross streets in Old Clovis. I was still ten miles from home, but this car was good for another two.
Dude wasn't giving up.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
No comments:
Post a Comment