Circa Tulsa 1964

Ch. Four

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The gas station most days was real quiet. Every few minutes some middle-aged man would stop by to have the boys pump his gas. Or a fellow greaser would drop off their muscle car for Steve to work on in preparation for the weekends drag race.

In my little time knowing Steve there was one thing I learned very quickly. Steve Randle knew everything about cars.

He knew an engine backwards, forwards, and upside down. Anything was wrong with your car, he could fix it without a doubt. His talents also brought a few negative repercussions, he could lift a hubcap quicker and quieter than anyone. At least that's what the story is, I hadn't seen him in action yet, though I imagine he gets into a bit of trouble with the police.

Other than directing customers when to find Steve when they needed, my job was fairly straightforward. Ring up the items, stock the shelves and as Sodapop had said just be your pretty little self.

Sometimes he flirted too much for his own good. Legend has it that Sodapop draws girls like honey draws flies but in working here for just under a week. I had yet to witness it, now if that was good or bad I wasn't right sure.

"You remember what to do?" Sodapop teased as he stepped into the storefront. Snagging three bottles of Pepsi with a clang and a clatter, before an icy draft escaped the refrigerators.

"Yes, Soda I do." I smiled, perched on the barstool behind the counter I couldn't complain much. My responsibilities were better than what Steve and Bucky were doing. Hunched over a heat-emitting motor in the already sweltering June sun? I was quite content with my standings.

"Here, don't wear yourself out too much in here." The blonde continued to poke fun at my easy job. He slid another glass bottle across the counter, it stopped once it bounced into the magazine I had been flipping through.

"Don't you worry about me, estoy contenta aquí." I grinned, using the ring I wore to pop the cap of the bottle of Pepsi. It was a reasonably sturdy ring, fashioned out of real silver from a silversmith back home. I never drank beer or anything like that, but being able to open them with what looked like my bare hands was a neat party trick.

"You a Spanish speaker too?" Sodapop paused as his hand met the door to the garage. I can only imagine how confusing it must be to hear a fair-skinned girl claiming to be from Colorado mouth of a foreign language.

"I am, more of a joke really. Bucky and I took Spanish throughout middle school and began to banter under the guise that our parents couldn't have understood. Turns out Dad speaks Spanish too, funny enough." I explained, leaning back on the stool as I chuckled a bit.

"I heard Bucky mumbling something under his breath, I thought I was just stupid until he told me he was speaking in tongues. I wasn't dumb it was reasonable for me to not know what the hell he was saying." Sodapop laughed, leaning against the door.

"It used to be one big joke but as we've gotten more used to the second language, it's crept into our vocabulary." I giggled in time with the boy across the store.

"Well, I'm gonna get these to the boys. Holler if you need anything."

"Si señor, gracias por su ayuda."

"Whatever that means, doll."

I just smiled in return as he pushed open the heavy black door, slipping into the hot garage. The waft of thick air that emerged once he pulled the door shut made me all the more grateful for my place behind the counter. A barstool, a magazine, and an air-conditioned building were all I really needed for the eight hours I spent at the south side DX station.