Golden Autumn - Part Five
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
Dusk is falling, but afternoon is still dappling the length of the street in spots of golden sunshine and tree-cast shadows. A soft amber-golden layer of fallen leaves lays over everything. Only a thin layer, but a sign of deepening autumn.
Today isn’t windy like yesterday, not at all. It’s actually very still out. There’s a soft, sprinkling rain falling, tapping gently against pavement and parked cars. A steady sprinkle of leaves is falling, too.
It all looks very beautiful, the bright crispness of the leaves against the foggy softness of the weather. Very calm. But there’s something weird going on at the far end of the street.
Noah and I stand on the sidewalk, squinting down the road. Our conversation just broke off mid-sentence so our eyes could follow the pale blue car that’s about to go through the four-way stop.
“What’s happening over there?” I ask, genuinely baffled. And then, with sudden alarm - “Is that Ripley? What the hell is he doing?”
Ripley makes it clear what he’s doing by choosing this moment to release his grasp on the car. It drives off to reveal that he’s on his skateboard, which is flying fast as he curves it onto the street where we’re waiting for him. Suddenly I understand how he was gliding along with the car despite not being inside of it. Noah figures it out at the same time.
“Holy shit, he was skitching,” Noah laughs, his grey eyes wide with disbelief. “Crazy bastard - hey, that’s risky as fuck, McKay! You’re a danger and a bad example!”
“Am I?” Ripley yells back, grinning like Noah just paid him a handsome compliment.
“Should be glad Aiden didn’t see you pull a stunt like that!” Noah shouts. “He’d kill you!”
“Do you want to turn Eddie into an orphan?” I add indignantly, cupping my hands around my mouth. “A kitten orphan?”
“Tristan knew I was holding onto his car,” Ripley shouts back, lowering his volume accordingly as he sails closer and closer to us on his skateboard, self-generated wind blowing through his green curls. “Or at least he knew that was gonna happen if he honestly refused to give me a ride from the workshop, so-”
“Yeah, yeah - c’mere, you degenerate dipshit!”
Noah catches Ripley’s wrist and wrenches him right off of his skateboard before he can even attempt to stop. Ripley lets out a sputter of startled laughter, then groans as he and Noah inevitably crash down onto the lawn we were standing in front of. I catch his skateboard before it can sail off down the street without him, and he sits up on his elbows, panting.
“I’m a danger and a bad example?” he laughs breathlessly, shoving Noah’s shoulder. His hand stops halfway through reaching for the snapback he lost, his green eyes caught on the car parked in the driveway. “Oh my god, dude. This is the car you bought?”
Noah - who just sprang back to his feet - looks down at the car, then back at Ripley, apparently puzzled. “Yeah?”
“Wait, you honestly weren’t joking?” I turn to face Noah, startled and alarmed, pointing at the car. “This is seriously the one?”
“Yeah, of course,” Noah says cheerfully, brushing some grass off of his rippy black jeans. “So?”
“So-”
I bite my lip, reminding myself sternly that my own little blue car is both deeply beloved and deeply bedraggled. Still, this car is on another level. It looks ancient, and it’s practically falling apart. I can’t even really tell what kind of car it is under all this - whatever this stuff is. Mud? General grime? What color is the paint, beneath all that? It’s impossible to say.
The more I look, the more I have the sneaking suspicion that someone already tried to fix up this car, and didn’t do a very good job. It seems to be Frankensteined together in places.
“Okay, I don’t want to be a downer,” I begin gently, circling around the other side of it. “But I feel like I have to ask - does it even run? And do the brakes work? Or are we about to go uncontrollably ramming our way down the busy road all the way back to your house? How are we going to explain our reasoning to Aiden later, if we do that?”
“First of all, whenever I uncontrollably ram my way anywhere I’ve got a good reason,” Noah tells me firmly. “Believe that. But it’s not an issue this time. We’re gonna surf that road with this baby. Second of all yes, it does run, it’s not like it’s totaled out or somethin’! If you sorta tickle the engine the right way, it works fine - oh, that’s - just ignore the stuff leaking out of there, that’s probably fine.”
“I don’t-” I hesitate, struggling for a positive, uplifting way to say this. “Noah, it’s not that I’m not excited for you, because I totally am! I’m just worried that maybe - maybe the car is going to explode? With us inside?”
“It’ll be a very cinematic way for us to die,” Ripley tells Noah, grinning widely. “Should we ask Ralph to take pictures? They’ll be all that’s left of us besides a smudge in the road. People will point to it and say: that’s where those three fools exploded.”
“Both of you, relax. We’ll be fine getting home, okay?” Noah holds up his backpack and slaps one hand against it. “If we hit turbulence I’ve got every auto mechanic tool we could ever need right here. Or - every mechanic tool that I could find in the garage this morning before I ran out of there real fast. It’s kind of scary in the dark, and I was headed out around dawn, so. Didn’t want to flip on all the lights and wake everyone up.”
“Okay,” I answer haltingly, pressing my fingertips to my temples. “And how many tools did that turn out to be?”
“Three.”
Without knowing anything about cars beyond how to drive them, I would still guess that this car requires more than three tools in order to make it more than three feet down the road.
Noah clearly doesn’t see anything improbable about the idea that we’re making it home in this thing, however. He backs up so that he’s facing the hood, then spreads his inky hands just above the car, breaking into a pleased grin.
“This is a moment of great celebration, boys!” he announces grandly. “Today we bring home our new battlewagon! The grandest of all chariots, the mightiest of stallions, built to savagely dominate the competition one after another - Jamie, don’t lean on the wing mirror, it might fall off.”
I gasp in horror as it immediately does fall off, but before I can start apologizing Ripley rejoins the conversation.
“There’s a part down here held together with string, Noah,” he calls, from where he’s down on his knees peering beneath the car. “String.”
“Yeah, the guy who sold me the car gave me some to keep that piece in place. Which reminds me, I gotta go settle up with him.” Noah turns and trots up the driveway towards the house, knotting his hair up into a loose bun. “Rip, make sure nobody steals my car in the meantime.”
“You got it,” Ripley says immediately, moving with alarming swiftness to take off his backpack.
My eyes widen with growing concern as he quickly pulls his scarf up over his nose and mouth, striding around to the back of the car. “Ripley - what are you doing, dude?”
“Hey, Mr. Valencia!” Noah calls out, drawing my attention back to him before Ripley can answer. “Oh - hang on, I’ll come to you!”
An old man is slowly working his way down the front steps of the house, one trembling hand grasping a cane, the other gripping tight to the railing alongside the steps. Noah speeds up to meet him there, offering his tattooed hand to help him the rest of the way down.
“Thank you, much - appreciated!” the white-haired man manages, in a voice wavering with age. He has to stop and gather in a breath every two or three words. “Well, now, how do you - like the - car?”
He says it a little nervously, like maybe Noah was headed up to the house to say he changed his mind about buying it.
“I’ll admit it’s not - in its - full glory - anymore,” he wheezes, leaning on his cane with arthritic stiffness as Noah releases his hand. “And was n-never anything like those fancy self-piloting cars they have now - that don’t even work-”
“Oh, those,” Noah scoffs, with an obvious air of disgust that wins an approving smile from Mr. Valencia.
“Well, that’s not her,” he says proudly. “She’s a classic old-school heavy hitter, a tough, noble old girl - she’s run f-for years, and I know the shape she’s in, but the bones - are all-”
Mr. Valencia stops to catch his breath. I stare at him, caught by surprise, then look at the grimy car with new eyes. I can hear the love in his voice, even if the car looks like it could’ve been pulled from the crusher line-up.
“Car looks great, sir!” Noah grins enthusiastically down at the tiny old man, tucking a stray strand from his bun behind his ear. “I appreciate you selling it to me for a number that low. Feels like you’re just giving me a present.”
Mr. Valencia lets out a laugh, pushing his bifocals back up the bridge of his nose. “Well, you’re the first one to make an offer who didn’t sound - like you wanted - to strip her for parts and then - drop her off at a - junkyard. She deserves b-better.”
“We’re in agreement there,” Noah says, working his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.
“If you treat her right, she’ll take you wherever - you need to go,” Mr. Valencia tells him earnestly. “She’s a real capable machine. She and I have gone all over together. I’ve rebuilt her a f-few times myself, every time she finally breaks down, but I - think my - wife is right. I just can’t do it - this time. Probably should’ve admitted that - to myself - years ago. If I can’t even keep up with keeping her clean…”
I stare at Mr. Valencia in startled sympathy, then look at the car in the driveway again. Man… if it was my little blue car sitting in the driveway, and I couldn’t take care of it anymore…
“We’ll take good care of her!” I promise Mr. Valencia in all sincerity, without thinking. “Noah can fix her up, I’m sure he can!”
Noah looks at me over his shoulder, raising a pierced eyebrow. “Well, well. Look who came around.”
“Stop it!” I whisper, pouting as I give his shoulder a shove. “When was I not on board? Just because I wanted to know if the brakes work? Like that’s not a valid question?”
“I’ll be honest with you, sir, I intend to get up to some trouble with this car,” Noah tells Mr. Valencia solemnly, extracting the cash he brought.
Mr. Valencia beams at him.
“Oh, good, carry on the traditions!” He lets out a rasping laugh, pointing at the car with his cane. “Both of my daughters were conceived in that car. I think probably my youngest son, too.”
Noah and I both freeze, staring at him with startled eyes, then look at each other.
“Okay, it’s - it’s fine,” Noah whispers to me. “I was planning on changing out the seats, anyways.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper back, struggling not to laugh. “We still have to ride home on them, dude!”
“Huh.” Noah turns back to Mr. Valencia as some thought strikes him. “I just realized I don’t know where my daughter was conceived. Should I ask my wife?”
“She knows, but you - don’t?” Mr. Valencia wheezes in surprise.
“Well, I wasn’t there, only my husband was,” Noah explains, then hands the bewildered old man the cash. “Anyways, money’s all there! You can count it if you want.”
Mr. Valencia slowly accepts the money, looking very much surprised. I guess he didn’t really believe that Noah was actually going to take the car, given the state it’s in.
“Well, I - I had my wife say goodbye to the car last night,” he murmurs hoarsely, then begins to slowly make his way down the driveway. “But I’ll just go - make sure it all looks alright - before you take it.”
Noah and I quickly dart forward to walk on either side of him, a little worried about his unsteady steps. I offer him my arm, which he accepts without taking his eyes off of the car.
His fingers tighten around my arm when we stop in front of it. After a moment he draws in a deep breath, releases my arm, feels around in his pocket, and draws out a set of car keys. He hands them to Noah, then spreads a hand on the dirty hood of the car. Having a silent conversation with it, like I’ve had with my car many times before.
He painstakingly bends down to give it a sort of hug, then backs up, taking another deep breath.
“Just - please - don’t give up, if… she’ll be worth it, you’ll-” he begins imploringly, looking at Noah. He stops there, and quickly clears his throat. “Okay, I - I think we’re all set. It’s good to see her out of the garage again. She’s probably dying for a drive!”
“Well, I can definitely take care of that,” Noah answers, grinning appreciatively. “Thanks again, sir.”
Mr. Valencia smiles, accepting the handshake from Noah. He takes my arm again, so I walk him back to the door of his house and help him up the steps. By the time I’m coming back down the driveway, he’s at the window, gazing out at his car. Or Noah’s car, now.
I reach the end of the driveway to find that Noah has unlocked it, but not gotten in. He’s looking around in confusion.
“Where’s Ripley?” he calls, as I reach him.
Ripley pops up from behind the back of the car, pulling his scarf down from over his nose. “Over here!”
He waves at us with a can of spray paint. Noah gasps in alarm, racing around the side of the car to see what he’s doing.
“Dude, do not tell me you just spraypainted my fucking car - oh my fucking god, you did!”
I follow after Noah, and discover some neatly-written, spray-painted red words on the back windshield. It says:
DO NOT TOUCH - NOAH’S SHITBOX
I smother a shocked laugh behind my hands, and Noah seizes two fistfuls of his own hair, his grey eyes wide with betrayed disbelief.
“Bro, I asked you to watch it for five seconds!”
“No, you told me to make sure it didn’t get stolen,” Ripley tells him innocently.
“Are you f-?” Noah begins, then breaks off, realizing what I already realized.
The spray paint is on the layer of grime, not the actual windshield. It’ll come off when the mud does, as proven by the light raindrops feathering down. They’re already starting to smudge some of it away. Noah lets out a huge breath of relief, then turns and shoves Ripley, who just burst out laughing.
“You fuckface, Ripples! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“That’s what you get for pulling me off of my skateboard. And for divetackling me when I beat you to the chicken nuggets last night.”
“And for making you ride home on car seats where unknown numbers of children have been conceived,” I add helpfully.
Ripley’s green eyes widen and snap to me. “What was that?”
“You know what? This all sounds like jealousy to me.” Noah strides around the side of the car and reaches for the driver’s side door. “I bet right now you’re both wishing you’d seen this baby and made an offer before me, huh? Well, you didn’t. Too late. I win.”
He opens the driver’s side door, then gags on the waft of air that spills out.
“Might just want to give it a second before we get in,” he chokes, opening up the rest of the doors, dragging his sleeve over his smarting eyes. “Air it out a little. Smells like it hasn’t seen fresh air in a while.” He takes off his backpack and starts feeling around inside. “Jamie, come help me? We probably have to jump the battery to get it going. Mr. Valencia said we could use his wife’s car.”
The sight when Noah pops the hood of his new car is - discouraging. Everything under the hood is worn thin, clogged with rust, half-buried in dust, sticky with stray fluid. But through it all Noah’s fingers seem to know the right places to clear away the grime and carefully link the cables up. He’s wearing the reinforced lineman work gloves he normally wears for doing electrical work, which tells me he thinks there might be a spark when we do this.
That makes me feel anxious, but - once I get into the car and start it, it turns on.
“Let’s go!” Noah shouts triumphantly, retrieving the cables. “What do you think, boys? Should we hit the road, take her right up to eighty?”
“Smudge in the road,” Ripley comments briefly, struggling not to laugh. “All that’s left of us.”
“No, c’mon, let’s give it a try!” I insist, aware of the old man watching us anxiously from the window. “Not at eighty, though, Noah, you lunatic!”
“Mel was on board with you buying this, Noah?” Ripley asks, scooping the fallen side mirror up from the driveway. “She didn’t try to stop you?”
“No way! I told her I was between this and an old Harley, and she said then get the car. Especially after I told her that Ralph found out the Harley was hot… which I swear I didn’t know! Guy who was selling it didn’t say anything about how he stole it!”
“Well, good thing you consulted the group’s ganglord before you made an offer,” Ripley laughs, then gestures down at the car. “Did you run any background checks on this? Besides apparently finding out that a bunch of children were conceived in there?”
“Oh, come on, man,” Noah groans, as I fight back a laugh. “Like you guys haven’t had sex in a car at some point.”
“All I’m saying is that I’m riding in the passenger’s seat, not the back. I have to think that’s where it all went down.”
“I’ve had sex in the passenger’s seat before,” I admit, getting back out of the car for a breath of clean air.
“And I’ve had it in the driver’s seat,” Noah adds, putting all the windows down. “Nowhere is safe, so just get in the car.”
“Really?” Ripley arches his eyebrows, twisting the stud in his ear. “Wow, you guys are ahead of me. I’ve only got the backseat and the trunk crossed off that list.”
“The trunk?” I ask Ripley, startled.
“Okay, I’m stopping this line of conversation right here,” Noah cuts in firmly. “Let’s get her going, come on! In, Ripley, don’t make me fight you into submission!”
I let out a gasp of laughter, then quickly press my fingers over my mouth when Ripley and Noah look at me in confusion.
“Sorry, it’s nothing, just - use of the word fight, because - Aiden and I were talking about, um - the other night, we - nevermind.”
“I’ll fight Ripley into unconsciousness if I have to,” Noah answers in confusion, nearly making me wail with laughter.
“Please stop, dude! I can’t!”
“Okay, whatever. Into the car or I’m driving off without you, Keane. Goes for you, too, McKay.”
We all take a deep breath of fresh air, then slip into the car. Noah settles into the driver’s seat and begins carefully backing us up.
The car coughs and groans like it wants to die, like it’s begging to be killed, but - the more I listen the more I’m realizing that fucked-up engine under the hood must have been powerful once. There’s something about the way it grumbles, like a huge old predator that was deep in hibernation and just got poked awake.
Mr. Valencia, watching us from the window, lifts his hand in a wave. I’m not sure if it’s for us or for his car. But we all wave back just in case, then collectively wince as the brakes let out a grating shriek when we pull out onto the road.
“So where are we headed, the car wash?” Ripley asks, setting his board aside on the backseat. “Which I assume we’ll also be going through at eighty?”
“Nah, I’m a little worried the car wash might shake the car apart,” Noah says, driving carefully for the end of the block. “Think it’s a clean by hand thing, the first time. Eventually the paint’s gotta be completely redone. I think the dirt is etched in there, somehow… still, though - what a beauty, right? She’s gonna be glorious, boys. Glorious.”
I smother a burst of laughter beneath my hands. “Oh, god. I just remembered it says ‘do not touch - Noah’s shitbox’ on the back in bright red paint. We’re just driving like this the whole way home, then?”
“Looks like it, since no one thought to wipe it off,” Ripley laughs, then holds the broken side mirror out into the front seat. “You want this, Noah?”
“Oh - yep, thanks. Should probably keep that for later.”
“Is anyone else trying to hold really still?” I ask, nervously twisting the heist ring around my finger. “I feel like we might shake the car apart.”
“We’ve just gotta make it home without the car falling apart, and we can do that,” Noah insists, although he’s also holding uncharacteristically still. He winces as a sharp snapping sound - like a metal cord breaking - dings through the car. “I’ve got some subframe connectors, okay? I’m gonna fix her up, and then we’ll be able to practically bounce this thing if we wanna without breaking a sweat, but we just-” Ding! “-have to-” Ding! “-get her there.”
Ding!
“I just heard four things break somewhere.” Ripley is holding back his laughter with his colorfully-stained fingers, with limited success. “I know you didn’t end up getting the Harley, so why do I feel like we all need crash helmets?”
“Nah, bro, we’ll be fine, she’s singing,” Noah assures him. “Trust me.”
He experimentally switches on the radio, then blinks in surprise when the CD player informs us that DISC 2 is about to play. The old speakers crackle to life, and begin to roll out some Led Zeppelin. Tea for One.
“Alright, this is a fat beat of sorts,” Noah concedes. “Different kind of fat beat.”
“A sexy one,” Ripley laughs. “Is this what was playing when-?”
“Not another word about the babies conceived in this car!” Noah groan-laughs, reaching into the back to punch Ripley’s shoulder.
“Is that smoke, Noah?” I ask, sitting forward to stare at the hood.
“No, just steam,” Noah says cheerfully, determinedly. “Probably just the engine heating up. It’s cold out.”
We drive in silence for a little, all of us trying not to acknowledge what’s happening, but eventually I can’t help myself.
“Dude, I’m pretty sure that’s smoke. See how there’s a lot more of it, now? Pouring up out of the hood?”
“Alright, fine, so it’s smoke! Whatever, we’re almost there!”
“We’re just gonna keep going?” I ask in alarm.
“It’s white smoke, so it’s probably fine, right? What do they say? White or blue, you’ll pull through?”
“Is that factual and based on something, or is it just something you’ve heard?”
“We’re gonna find out,” Noah says breezily, resolutely driving on. “We can’t pull over and turn the car off. We’ll have to jump the battery to start her again.”
“Okay, but I’m concerned-” I bite my lip as we hear the clatter of some outside piece of the car falling off to hit the pavement. “I’m concerned that maybe the car is gonna die in the middle of the road?”
“We’re getting some looks,” Ripley observes, as a carful of bewildered people pass us, staring at the white smoke pouring out from the hood while we drive along. He gives them a friendly, hey-neighbor sort of wave. “Your car is making an entrance back out into Ketterbridge, Noah.”
“As it was always destined to, little brother! Jamie, lean out of the window and look around the smoke. Are there any cars coming?”
“Oh, my god, dude! Pull over. Right now, before-”
I break off in dismay as the engine suddenly lets out a ragged cough, choking and sputtering.
“No no no, allez bébé, please don’t, I’m being so gentle-” Noah begins imploringly.
The car comes to a complete stop. Everything switches off at once, including the engine. It all just goes dead, with the baffling exception of the rock ‘n roll coming from the CD player.
“No!” Noah wails, reaching through the window to gesture for someone behind us to go around. “No, c’mon, we were so close… ugh, fucking fine. I think we all know what this means.”
Ripley’s eyebrows draw up and together in skepticism. “Do we?”
Noah cranks up Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir to the max volume on the ancient CD player, then unstraps himself and steps out of the car into the rain. “Gotta push it the rest of the way.”
Ripley and I scramble out of the car after him, hastily backing away from the white smoke spilling out of the hood.
“You can steer,” Noah says, pushing Ripley at the driver’s seat. “Just don’t breathe in that smoke.”
“Are you serious, dude?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, or maybe - we should just leave it here?” Ripley suggests, genuinely bewildered. “No offense, but is it really worth-?”
“No, we’re not leaving it!” Noah shakes his head, his grey eyes full of fiery determination as he plants his hands on the back of the car. “Can’t give up now, promised a very old man that I wouldn’t do that, so just c’mon, boys, push!”
“Holy fuck,” Ripley laughs, taking the driver’s seat and the wheel. “I guess we’re doing this?”
“Guess we are.” I let out a helpless laugh, too, joining Noah at the back of the car. “Jesus Christ, Noah. Never say we don’t love you.”
Noah blushes uneasily but also smiles, the way all the brothers do when confronted with this kind of difficult statement. “For fuck’s sake, Keane, just shut up and help me.”
Cars slow down so that their drivers can stare at us as we slowly make our way up the street. I’m sure we’re making quite the spectacle. The post-apocalyptic looking car with Kashmir blaring out of the windows, Ripley half-hanging out of the window to see around the enormous cloud of white smoke as he steers, me and Noah at the back pushing it along, occasionally shouting to Ripley or shouting with effort. Pushing a car is extremely hard, as it turns out.
I look up as another car slows down to drive alongside us. It’s a sun-bleached, dark purple van, splattered with bumper stickers and sand, a string of shells knotted around the rearview. Someone in the van rolls down the passenger’s side window, releasing a thick cloud of smoke that wafts out onto the street to join the one coming up from the hood of Noah’s car.
Someone with long, scraggly blonde hair leans out through the smoke-wall.
“Yo, Jamie Keane!” comes a slow, stoned voice, in a tone that suggests that our meeting is an unexpected delight. “I thought that was you! Where you been, bitch? Haven’t seen you at my booth in forever!”
“Wh-? Joni!” I beam up at him, caught by surprise, panting. I keep pushing away at the car, but briefly lift one hand to slap his, tossing my rain-wet hair out of my face. “Hey, man! What a nice surprise to see you, what are you doing in Ketterbridge?”
“Just passing through! I’m headed out of town for a minute. They don’t need me at the tourist booth in the fall, which means it’s Six Flags season! I always make the yearly migration…” He trails off, suddenly seeing beyond me to the rest of what’s going on here. He rubs his red eyes and looks again, then seems to decide it’s real. “What are you guys doing?”
“Saving something glorious!” Noah shouts back, before I can attempt an explanation.
“Right on, man,” Joni approves, immediately and wholeheartedly.
I look up at him in disbelief. “Really? No follow-up questions at all?”
“Nah, I’m used to it,” Joni explains brightly. “You’re always doing something weird when I see you.”
This is quite a thing to hear from Joni, of all people. All I can do in answer is let out a weak laugh.
“Shit, though, looks like some hard work,” Joni observes, scratching his temple through his beanie. “I’d offer you guys a tow, but I don’t think Lindy here could take it.” He pats the side of the van affectionately. “She’s an old girl. Seen many a Van Fest, and that’s a lot of rocks on the shocks, if you know what I’m saying.”
He hasn’t been introduced to Noah yet, but he does lean perilously far out of the van to accept the fist-bump that Noah immediately offers him.
“It’s okay,” I laugh, pushing away at the car as the van slowly crawls alongside us. “We’re almost there. Thank you for offering, though!”
Joni looks at us thoughtfully, then holds out something tucked between his bony fingers. “Would hitting this help? Do it fast, though. We’re about to turn at the end of this street.”
“Don’t see how smoking a cigar is gonna help,” Noah pants, tossing his long hair out of his face.
“It’s a joint,” Joni clarifies. “Be careful, there’s a lot of kief in there.”
Noah straightens up sharply, his grey eyes opening very wide at the sight of the massive joint that Joni is offering him.
“Jamie,” he breathes reverently, touching his fingertips to my arm, “Who is this perfect human, and why have you never introduced me to him?”
“Aw, wow!” Joni says, delighted. He turns to speak to whoever’s driving the van. “D’you hear that? He said I’m perfect! Although - if I really was perfect I’d probably be better at snowboarding, so I’m not sure that’s true…”
“Jamie?” calls a bewildered voice.
I turn my head to find Aiden standing at the end of the sidewalk, staring at me as I hit the joint I just accepted from Joni. I guess the sight as a whole must be - something. I think we caught Aiden walking from the bus stop to Raj, Mel, and Noah’s house. He’s standing there with his hands slightly spread, his blue eyes wide with confusion.
I quickly take the joint out of my mouth and wave at him, breathing out a stream of smoke through my nose. “Hey, babe! How was work?”
“Oh, yes, Aiden’s here!” Noah shouts triumphantly. “We can do it for sure, now! Aiden, c’mon! Help us push my car!”
“This is your car?” Aiden sputters in disbelief, striding over to us. He comes in beside me to help push, then lets out a burst of startled laughter. “Why’s it say TOUCH NOAH’S BOX on the back windshield?”
“Oh - does it?” Ripley, who’s still hanging out of the driver’s side window, twists around to flash a grin at Aiden. “Oops. My bad! Half of it must’ve washed off.”
“Oh, for fuckin’ fuck’s sake,” Noah groans, panting with effort. “Be glad I don’t tell Aiden what method you used to get to the meet-up spot, Ripples!”
Aiden’s blue eyes widen in alarm. “The hell does that mean?”
“Hey, Joni!” Ripley shouts, blowing right past that. “Was anyone ever conceived in your van?”
Aiden lets out a startled laugh, turning to Ripley. “What?”
“I don’t doubt it,” Joni shouts back, without hesitation. “You heard me say the old girl has seen many a Van Fest, right?”
“Ripples, stop reminding me!” Noah wails, to a bewildered, alarmed look from Aiden.
“You said stop talking about it in relation to your car,” Ripley calls back, smiling innocently.
Aiden turns helplessly to me. “Is this what you meant when you told me you were going to help Noah pick up his new car?”
I open my mouth to answer, then stop as Raj and Ralph suddenly come rushing around the corner at the end of the street. They both freeze in bewilderment when they see us.
“Joni, I’m glad to see you,” I begin, smiling up at him gratefully.
“There’s the angel smile! Angel face.” He spreads his long fingers and makes a gesture like he’s painting, letting out a stoned chuckle. “Ren - Renaissance.”
“Stop it, dude!” I sputter, half-laughing as Aiden bows his head and shakes with silent laughter beside me. “I was going to say that I really wanted to thank you for sending Nolan our way-”
“I don’t remember who that is, but no problem,” Joni urgently cuts in, noticing the approaching end of the block. “Just hit it fast, Jamie, we’re turning! Six Flags awaits, bro, so hit it, dude!”
I hit the joint, then pass it to Noah, who hits it just as quickly, then darts around the side of his car to give it back to Joni right before the van turns away.
“Goodbye, Jamie!” Joni calls, waving with the joint as Raj and Ralph rush down the street to join us. “Goodbye, beautiful grey-eyed man who called me perfect!”
“What?” Noah sputters, around a crack of startled laughter. But Joni’s van is already vanishing off into the distance, leaving a long trail of smoke behind, so he turns to Raj instead. “How’d you know we were here?”
“Well, one of the neighbors texted me and said she was pretty sure someone set a car on fire just around the corner from our street, so.” Raj leans in to kiss Noah’s forehead. “Had a feeling it was you.”
“He actually sold it to me!” Noah pants eagerly, breathlessly. “For the price we talked about! I got this, for that price!”
“Really?” Raj stares at the car in amazement, then beams at Noah, his dark brown eyes glowing with admiration. “You’re a genius, Nohea!”
“Um?” Ripley laughs, looking at the broken disaster of a car that he’s steering.
Noah lets out a huge sigh of happiness, then pinches Raj’s cheek. “I knew you would get it. This is why we’re married, dude.”
“Can I ask a question, now?” Ralph catches Noah’s eye, then gestures to - everything. “What the fuck?”
“It’s the new car!” Noah pants, already pushing again. “I told you I was picking it up today, remember?”
“Yeah, but - this thing is derelict, man,” Ralph points out.
“No, it’s not - that!” Noah protests immediately. “It’s just broken down and in bad shape, that’s all!”
“Yeah, that’s-” Ralph bites his lip, then lets out a helpless laugh and leans down to help push. “Okay, nevermind. Let’s just get it to your house.”
“Yes!” Noah yells triumphantly, as the car really begins to roll. “We’ve got this! She just has to make it there without falling apart!”
With the addition of Raj, Ralph, and especially Aiden to the team, we start pushing it along much faster. So significantly faster that Ripley, Noah, and I let out a cheer of relief, which has the unfortunate effect of bringing some of Raj, Noah, and Mel’s neighbors out onto their porches to stare at us in confusion as we forge along, leaving puffs of white smoke in our wake.
The toughest part comes when we have to push it up the driveway. It’s angled up towards their house on a slight uphill rise, which makes gravity work against us. But with one more hard push from Aiden we make it. The car rolls to a stop in the driveway, and Ripley puts on the parking brake.
Noah snaps upright, then flings his arms up into the air, breaking into a beaming grin of victory.
“Yes!” he shouts, racing around to the front of the car as Ripley gets out. “We fucking did it! She made it!”
Still panting, he flings his arms out over the filthy hood, oblivious to the grime all over it. A relieved smile glows on his face, dimpling the corners of his mouth.
“Bienvenue chez toi!” he says happily, hugging the car.
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