Pick a Part (flash fiction)
A version of this story first appeared in Museum of Americana
Ernie came around the foster home and said he needed my help. It was a school day. Mrs. Williams said if I missed any more of seventh grade they’d send me to The Audy Home, but she said a lot of stuff when she was drinking. One time she even claimed she was my real mom.
“That's the voice of cheap vodka right there,” Ernie’d said.
I remembered my real mom. She definitely wasn’t Mrs. Williams.
I asked, “Where we going again?”
“Boneyard, Slim,” he said, as we stepped into a busted-up van.
It was funny being called Slim. I guess it sounded more grown up than “Kid” or “Triple B,” but less personal like I was any old sidekick.
We pulled into the parking lot, which already looked like a boneyard. He pointed at the sign.
“U Pull It. Named after your favorite pastime.”
He made that canned corn laugh that always hurt my ears.
“It says Pick a Part. U Pull It is the other place,” I told him.
He said, “Guess all that pullin’ improved your eyesight, Slim. Goes the other way for me.” Then he did the corny laugh again.
The office guy was wearing blue coveralls with a name patch sewn on. Ernie wanted to know which way to a ‘64 LeSabre.
“What do you need off it?”
“Not much,” Ernie said.
The office guy pointed a finger and went back to reading the paper.
We walked in that direction a long time. The snow was up to my knees. It looked like those rows of rusty cars went on forever.
Ernie said, “I could spot a ’64 LeSabre a mile away.”
I was getting cold.
He told me, “You carry the goods, I’ll buy you a burrito the size of your arm.”
I already figured that.
Ernie got to work pulling parts. I got behind the wheel pretend driving away from Chicago like always. I felt around the seats for change. Didn’t find any. Opened the glove box. Empty too. Got out and popped the trunk with a screwdriver and hammer the way Ernie showed me one time.
Just the usual stuff. Tire and jack. Rags. Half-full quarts of oil. But there was an envelope poking out from under the spare. That was funny to me. I tried pulling, but it was stuck pretty good and I didn’t want to tear it. I was thinking it might have something important inside like cash or a ransom note.
After I got the spare moved there was more grease on me than Ernie. I wiped my hands on my pants trying not to smudge the envelope. It had just one piece of paper inside. The kind with lines like you use in school. The lady’s handwriting was nice.
Dearest Tom,
You can say whatever you want, but I will always be yours. And no matter what you think, the baby is yours too. I don’t know what happened or why. And I don’t care what Jimmy or anybody else told you. Oh, but I wish you still had even a crumb of care for me. I love love love you. Is there any reason to live other than to be with you? I hope hope hope you get this before something bad happens. Please don’t forget us. Please don’t let something bad happen.
Yours forever and ever,
Stacy
Ernie called me over. He said, “Take this linkage and that rod.”
I had to put the long metal part down my pant leg. It made me walk stiff like I had a cast on. I was sure the office guy would notice. Ernie told me to keep moving while he paid for some cheap part. I walked to the van quick. Not so much afraid of being caught, but I thought if I looked, the office guy’s name patch was going to say Tom like in the letter.
We got big burritos at El Ranchero after and then went to fix the LeSabre. I handed Ernie tools and sipped his Old Style when he wasn’t looking. He joked about his beer evaporating, pretending he didn’t know. After a while, I got more bold and took a whole tall boy for myself. Then another one. Ernie was busy wrenching and didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was a good mechanic when he stayed off stuff. At least that’s what Mrs. Williams said.
When I felt the beer in me, I climbed inside the trunk and laid there watching the garage roof spin. Ernie woke me later and carried me to the van. It was really freezing out then. I rubbed my jacket on the window and saw a guy pay him for wrenching on the LeSabre.
On the way back to the foster home, Ernie said he needed to make a stop. I knew it was the West Side by the abandoned houses. Some were half burned down. It was like a boneyard for buildings instead of cars. He ran inside one and came out quick. I knew he was fixing in the back of the van so I didn’t look. When it got quiet, I climbed over the seats and started shaking him, saying it was time to go.
He opened his eyes a little and said, “Yeah? Well, you got drunk on beer.” He was too high to do the corny laugh.
Ernie didn’t come around much after that. I guess he stopped wrenching on cars.
For a long time, I kept the envelope in a tobacco can under my bed at Mrs. Williams’s place. I’d pull it out and read it once in a while. Usually just a sentence or two. Sometimes I wondered what she looked like, or what Jimmy said, or if something bad did happen. Sometimes I wondered if I should put the letter back where I found it.