Clem
“Seefor yourself if you don’t believe me.”
I shake my head and try not to grin at the kid’s attitude as I slide under the Toyota Corolla to check his handiwork.
God knows I was full of piss and vinegar at that age, angry at everything and everyone, including myself.
He surprised me when he showed up at eight o’clock on the money this morning.He’d scoffed when I handed him a broom, but went to work sweeping the shop anyway, as instructed.A few times I saw him checking out what Kyle was working on, asking a couple of questions.
He appeared to have a healthy interest, so I had him try an oil change on the Toyota.It’s a pretty simple job anyone with half a braincell could do, but I wanted to see how well he’d follow instructions.
It only took him twenty minutes, which is why I reacted a bit skeptically, but it looks like he actually did a good job.
“Okay, kid.This wasn’t your first oil change, was it?”I ask as I roll out from under the vehicle.
He shrugs and looks a little smug.
“Took shop at my old school.”
I nod and wipe my hands on the rag I keep tucked in my back pocket.
“Other than an oil change, what else did they teach you?”
“Change out filters, spark plugs, belts, battery, that kind of stuff.Before the summer we took apart the engine of a 1986 Chevy C/K truck and put it back together.It ran,” he adds with more than a hint of pride.
“Is that a fact?”
He shrugs again.That seems to be his go-to response.
“Well, for today, all I’ve got for you is oil and filter changes.Five more of them, if you think you can handle it.”
“Yeah, I can.”
I swear he straightens his narrow shoulders a little when he answers me.
“Good.”
I start heading back to the Ford truck I’m putting the catalytic converter back into when I hear him call after me.
“Umm, sir?”
I stop and look back at him.“Name’s Clem, kid.Use it.What’s up?”
“How long do you figure I’ll be here?”
“Why?You got something more important to do?”
The shrug again.
“Until the end of the workday.And then I expect you back here next Saturday, and the Saturday after.”
His mouth falls open.“Are you serious?”
I walk up to him, wag my index finger in his face, and respond in a low voice, “As a heart attack.Do you know what I charge for the work you caused me?Between fifteen hundred and two grand.Per vehicle,” I emphasize.“It’ll take more than a handful of oil changes to repay me, kid.”
I read the shock on his face before his typical teenage mask of disinterest slides back into place.Then comes the shoulder shrug, followed by, “Whatever.”
Not that having him come here on his Saturdays is really about any kind of repayment, it’s an attempt to keep him from getting into other shit, and maybe offer him a chance to learn something and build some confidence.
