ELIJAH
I'm not sure if it's football or wrenching on cars that has my back aching by the time the sun goes down again. The shop is lit under the pulsing old lights as I tightening the last bolt to spec. The tools thud as I toss them back into the toolbox. That mess is a problem for another day. Today has been a non-stop practice in not losing my shit. Everything that could be corroded or rusted on this car has been and I gave up keeping my tools organized by noon.
"You can head home," my dad says. He stands behind me with a dirty shop towel in his hand, scrubbing at the oil and crud between the creases of his knuckles. At this point it's like a tattoo on his skin. But the motion of him trying will be burned in my brain forever because I've watched him do it so often growing up.
"I can help clean up," I tell him.
"No, go be a kid for a bit. You've been a big help today and I need you back in here tomorrow.
I nod and head for the sink. My image in the mirror above it is a bit of a jump scare. Three long, black streaks start at my chin and jut up from there to the top of my cheek bone. I remember now trying to catch the oil as I dripped on me while I lay under the car. I hadn't realized how dirty my hands already were by then. I also have blackish red transmission fluid on my chin and shirt. The owner of the car we are working on now doesn't know the last time anyone flushed it. Road grime of fifty-plus years is caked onto my shirt sleeves.
I don't want to wear the dirty clothes in my car so I pull off the shirt and roll it inside out to take home. My undershirt is sweaty, but not drenched in fluids so it will work for the ride home. I squeeze the abrasive soap on my hands and start scrubbing. Yes, my goal is to clean my hands so I can drive, but also I can't wait to hands clean enough to get on my phone and finally spend some time exploring Jaina's Instagram feed. I've been thinking about it all day.
My keys and phone are in the staff room and I swipe them and head out to my car. It's almost seven as I fire it up and head for home. I can't resist the whole ride home. At the first red light I unlock my screen and my heart picks up the pace as I tap the Instagram icon. I find her profile and sure enough, she's accepted my request. The light switches to green and put my phone away until I'm in the driveway.
I don't wait to go inside. Instead, I sit with the engine off and let myself explore. She's liked two of my pictures. One with my mustang, and the other is me at the track with my dad as a kid. I smile. She didn't even care that she had to dive a bit for that one.
Her feed is much different than mine. It's all friends and food. She also has a few quotes and funny memes. Those hint at a girl who was once carefree. Her latest picture, however, changes the entire vibe. Her hand is gently holding the hand of someone in a hospital bed. I can clearly see the tubes and medical tape left over from previous procedures. The hand is swollen and makes her hand look even smaller than it is in real life. The caption beneath the picture is short, not like the others. It reads, "Nathan, wake up." It steals my breath. My chest tightens. I don't know who Nathan is to her, but the picture was taken just two days ago.
I scroll down to the next picture and it's a stark contrast to that one. She looks absolutely stunning. Her silver gown hugs every curve as she stands behind a boy dressed in a tux. As I swipe left on the stack of photos in that one post, it tells the story of the two of them dissolving into laughter. If anyone has ever captured pure joy in a series of photos, this is it. In the second-to-last picture she is looking up at his laughing face, her cheeks flushed and her eyes watering with the biggest smile. I swipe one last time and the picture is of a very young Jaina playing dress-up with a little boy. She's wearing some fairy princess dress and he has on a prince charming costume. The caption on the entire post reads, "Thank you for the many years of fairytale friendship. You make my little girl dreams come true. Senior Prom 2022." She has him tagged in the picture, but when I try to go to his page, it is private.
I heart the post, and another of her staring lovingly down on a burrito as big as her head. I wonder who snapped the shot. I'm about to shut down the app when I get a DM.
JAINA: Really making a girl work for my info here. I can't even figure out your favorite kind of food.
ME: Mexican. Isn't it everyone's?
JAINA: It should be.
ME: Where'd you get that burrito?
JAINA: Pick me up and I'll show you?
This girl baffles me. She's bold, and I love that about her already.
ME: Give me 30. I have to shower.
JAINA: See you then.
I take the stairs up to my room two at a time.
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