Broken Promises

11 | noah

I didn't think working for my dad would be fun. However, I'd been hoping to be proven wrong.

Of course, I'd been right.

I'm not looking forward to Wednesday once it rolls around. It comes along anyway, as does everything else inevitable. School passes in a blur, probably because I'm high most of the day. The high eventually wears off, leaving me feeling numb.

I ride in the car with Dad after school to his repair shop. Needless to say, it's a long and quiet ride. Reaching our destination, Dad gives me a brief tour of the place before showing me what I'll be expected to do. Small repairs on motors and other minor jobs. I don't tell him that back home I had to fix my motorcycle at least a hundred times in the year I owned it. Then I ran low on drug money and sold the thing, because it's easier to not feel pain when you're high.

Once Dad finishes lecturing me, he sets a wrench in my hand and tells me to get to work. So, I do. I complete the repair on the motor placed before me in about ten minutes, assessing the damage and finding that not much needs to be done. Then I get bored.

I spot an old pickup truck parked in the corner and make my way over to it. The model is pretty cool—the kind of truck I've always dreamed of owning. Instead, I ended up with a motorcycle.

I pop open the top and take a look under the hood, immediately taking notice of a few obvious problems with the truck. On impulse, I slide beneath the truck, observing the damage that I find myself wondering if I could fix.

Then I get to work.

Dad doesn't seem to notice me until at least an hour later. When he does approach me, I can tell he's mad. He stops in front of the truck, and I only see his feet because I'm still underneath the thing, covered in oil and grease. Though I want to, I decide not to ignore my father, and slowly slide out from under the truck.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dad questions, peering down at me with his dark gaze.

I shrug. "Working."

Dad opens his mouth to respond, though no words come out. I guess I've got him. He wanted me to work for him here—so that's what I'm doing.

Dad crosses his arms over his chest. "What about what I told you to work on?"

I merely shrug again. "I finished. You were busy, and I got bored." I pat the hood of the light blue Ford I've been working on. "This thing obviously needs a lot of work, so I just started messing around with it. I'll stop if it bothers you."

Dad holds my stare for a moment before sighing, his tough expression turning weary. He shakes his head as he glances at the Ford, as if he has bad memories associated with the thing.

"This old thing was your Granddad's," Dad tells me. "Hasn't run in years. I've been working on it since my old man died, but I can't seem to do it any good. I don't see how you're going to get it to start, but you know what? Have at it. You can't make it any worse."

I'm surprised to find that Dad is smiling when he turns to face me. "But when I need you working on a customer's car, you best believe I'll tear you away from this old thing, you hear me?"

I nod gruffly in response, unsure of what to say.

Surprising me once more, Dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of old keys. With an almost somber expression, Dad studies the keys on the key ring he holds before removing a singular one. Glancing back up at me, the sadness in his eyes is replaced with a gleam of hope.

"I'll make you a deal," Dad murmurs. "If you can get this thing running, I'll give it to you. Free. I'll even pay for your first round of gas. How does that sound?"

Wide-eyed, I turn to face the truck next to me. It's a seventies model, so it's go to be worth good money by now, even if it doesn't run. And my dad is willing to give it to me? For free?

"Are you serious?" I question in disbelief.

"Dead," Dad reveals with a nod, biting back a grin. He then tosses me the key, which I catch in a daze, unable to believe this is happening. I know the chances of me getting this truck to run are low, but if I could . . .

The car of my dreams, mine, and for free?

"She's all yours," Dad says softly, patting me on the shoulder.

For the first time in a long time, I'm grinning like an idiot.

____

a/n: ugh i miss my girlfriend.