"Screwdriver" - March 9, 2021

The dull bell-like clangs ring out from the small garage. I sit, my legs pumping up and down like the pistons in the engine, watching wrenches disappear along with the greasy hands smeared in black gunk underneath the chassis. I smack my gum loudly, grinding my teeth against the fading bubblegum flavor, now growing bitter and dull by the minute. The ratcheting wrench loosening the body panel, exposing the heart of the beast beneath its ribs. She’s been whining and sagging a little around her wheelbase, finally about to give up on me, but my heart races like someone in the waiting room while their loved one is in surgery.

There are cracker crumbs tucked away in every nook of the backseat - they escaped being eaten by me when I was still in elementary school. A slight crinkle in the front bumper from the first time I cut the corner of a parking garage too close. This car feels like home - it smelled of my mom’s cinnamon and apple pies on the way to the bake sales. Every once in a while, I sit on the passenger seat and wait - because a little puff of my grandma’s perfume pops up - a little cloud of tears and joy