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ONE
Eugene
I was born for bad luck. The day the hospital allowed my mom to name me Eugene, my fate was sealed. Who would name their daughter Eugene? My name sounded like I might be some old creepy dude who followed you around in the grocery store. After giving me a boy’s name, the woman didn’t keep me either. She tossed me to my gran the second she got out of the hospital with me, just like she had my brother.
My misfortune started before I had any control over it.
So, silly me for thinking it was going to be a good day when I didn’t misplace my keys that morning or trip over my own feet. I found myself on the side of the road instead. I had a flat tire. It wasn’t the end of the world, but my thought process made the situation worse. The pothole I hit a few miles back was likely the culprit. My bad luck would say otherwise. It was me. I was the problem.
“I’m going to freeze a tit off.” I rubbed my arms as I squatted in front of the tire.
A Kentucky winter could be below freezing one day and seventy degrees the next. Unfortunately, it was below freezing outside that early December day.
“That kind of language is off-putting for a woman. No man is going to find you attractive if you talk like your brother,” my gran’s voice drifted through my thoughts.
Gran was wrong. That wasmyvoice and my personality. It might have come from hanging out with my brother and his friends all my life, but it was still me.
The woman died a couple of years ago from cancer. Besides my brother, Edwin, no one gave a damn what happened to me. She tried her best to raise me to be proper, but proper never wanted shit to do with me.
“What’s wrong with titty, anyway? Sounds so much more colorful than booby,” I said to myself. I mostly talked to myselfinsidemy head, but sometimes, when irritated, it felt good to let the words leave my lips. It felt good to let my thoughts out. And those no-good words women shouldn’t say.
I snickered.
“Do you need help, miss?”
Startled, my lug wrench went flying from my hand. A hoarse laugh erupted as the tool clattered somewhere in the distance. I turned to find an elderly man sitting in a very nice truck with his head hanging out of the window, looking down at me. A red baseball cap covered most of his gray hair. How long had he been there?
Grabbing my chest, I stood. “I didn’t hear you pull up,” I said as I tried to calm myself.
“I noticed.”
“You scared me.”
He smiled. “I know.”
I looked left and right, bending every which way, until he laughed again. Where did that stupid wrench go?
He pointed toward the truck’s tailgate. “Your wrench is in the back of my truck.”
“Really?” I scratched my head. “How did it get there?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t remember throwing it?”
“I mean, I do, but I’m a little impressed at my ability to throw it so far,” I said as I moved toward his truck. “May I?” When he nodded, I climbed up on the back wheel and hopped into his truck bed. Sure enough, the dang wrench was there.
I jumped out quickly and said, “Whew, you could have totally kidnapped me there.”
He quirked a brow. “You would have jumped out.”
“You’re right,” I agreed.
“Besides, my old lady has kept me on my toes the last thirty-five years. I don’t have time to kidnap a child. Wife is at home cooking me up a mean meal, and I’ve got a few hours before I make it home.”
“Damn,” I muttered. “I can’t cook. She’s got me beat.”
“At all?”
“Who knows?”
