chapter fifteen

“…and I felt like the biggest fool,” James slapped the dust off his jeans and somberly stared off into a local distance. The look on his face let Chuck know that James was really taking on this girl. He looked at him. James meant so much to him. It would be easy to say he was like a son. Chuck had never had any children so he wouldn’t know what having a son would feel like. He looked after the boy. Chuck did more than that; James was someone who Chuck could pour his life into. He could pass down what he learned from his mistakes, from his regrets, from life. And he could encourage him to do the right thing. Chuck was seldom disappointed in James. He really loved the boy.

The air was breezy and the sun was playing hide and seek with earth, foolishly trying to hide behind clouds. It was a good day to be outside at the back of the shop. It was nice to have fresh air in a place that spits out carbon monoxide. Chuck looked at how James’s shoulders had broadened. He looked at his face; how it was friendly yet unexplained. His face appeared rather youthful at a glance. But if you looked into his eyes you could tell he had seen things. And he had been seen by things. He was older in the eyes.

He stood, legs apart, feet planted in the ground like a maple tree. He was no oak. Not yet wise or old or immovable. James was just sure and standing. He was just planted and he grew where he was, anchoring his roots underneath. James was on his way to becoming a real man. His hands went idle and wandered to the workbench at his side. His scarred hand walked itself along the table until it bumped into a washer. James hesitantly picked it up. He rolled it around in his hand. It was just something to do like chewing gum or twiddling your thumbs. His mind was in and out of recent uncertain and embarrassing memories along with his rethinking of the explanation to Chuck about his stitched hand and the story of Rebeka’s speedy getaway. He flicked his thumb and the washer went spinning upward.

Chuck’s eyes followed it up. He caught a glimpse of James’s steady eyes. They were dead on the washer and behind them were his thoughts. Chuck thought not a lot had changed since James first rode up on his bike looking for oil for his grandfather’s car. Chuck was so taken by the boy.

He remembered it like it was yesterday. James leaned his bike against a beam on the outside of the mechanic shop, and with apprehensive eyes he cautiously walked up to the main office.

“Excuse me,” a young James asked the man behind the counter as he entered the office. The man was Chuck.

“Yes sir,” Chuck said with smiling face and open eyes, “how can I help you?”

“Well, my grandfather needs some oil for his car. Can I get some?”

“What kind of oil does he need?”

James’s look was a surprised one. He hadn’t thought there was more than one kind of oil. To him, oil was oil and it was universal; like water, there were only two types, clean and dirty. Chuck caught the look and knew James’s thought before James had the time to say he didn’t know. He could see the look of embarrassment creeping across his face.

“Something tells me that you don’t’ know what type to buy,” Chuck passed James a reassuring smile.

“I see that your bicycle has a cart on the handle bars,” he said pointing to James’s bike.

“Yes, sir,” James said not understanding where this was going.

“Can you ride with a full cart?”

“Yes, I can.” James said, still confused.

“Since my phone is not functioning right now, I will make you a deal. I’ll give you every type of oil I have to take home to your grandfather. Tomorrow you will come back and return the oil you did not use. Does that sound alright with you?”

James smiled with relief. He wasn’t badgered with questions that he didn’t know the answer to. What kind of car is it? Is it old? Is it new? Who made it? Do you think it’s this oil? How about this one? All James had to do was take the oil home and listen to his grandfather apologize for not being clear about what oil to get. And best of all, he wasn’t embarrassed.

“That sounds great.”

They loaded the cart up with cans of oil.

“I’m Chuck, by the way,” Chuck said as he put in the last can of oil.

“I know that,” James said as a little grin ran across his face.

“How did you know that?”

“You have your name sewn into your shirt,” James said pointing.

Chuck reached up to feel the worn patch over the left of his chest. He smiled and shook his head in thoughtlessness.

“I guess I do.”

“I’m James,” he said laughing.

“Not Jamie, or Jimmy or Jim?” Chuck asked curiously.

“No. It’s James,” James gave a slight look of disgust.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Chuck gave a slight look of apology.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” James said smiling again.

“It’s nice to meet you, James,” Chuck extended his hand in introduction. James grabbed it. It was big and rough and weathered but surprisingly clean and not overbearing or overpowering. It dwarfed James’s tiny hand. Chuck was as nice as his handshake.

James got his bike and before he got on his way he looked up at Chuck and asked, “How do you know I’m gonna come back tomorrow?”

Chuck looked at the boy. He was surprised that a little boy would ask a question like this. It was thick and honest.

“What would a boy your age do with all this oil?” He paused, “And your eyes say that you will be here. The eyes are the windows to the soul, you know.”

James nodded. He didn’t understand the eyes being windows thing, but it was true that he wouldn’t steal the oil, and he would be back tomorrow with money and unused oil.

“Okay, well, I gotta get home. Thanks a lot, Chuck. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, James. I will see you.” Chuck waved. James was back the next day. And the day after. And the next day as well. James’s visits to the mechanic shop became a reoccurring event. The mechanic shop was interesting and Chuck was kind to everyone, but he especially looked after James and made sure he was okay.

Chuck’s eyes followed it down. The washer fell into James’s right hand. Chuck caught a glimpse of James’s steady eyes.

Perhaps more had changed than Chuck realized.