Fate

It had already been six days since he had a shower, but the water bill was $300 the previous month and Mario had it turned off for half of it. He was trying to get the kids funneled through first. All three of them had autism, so he still had to help wash their hair and ensure they were properly cleaned. Sometimes the simplest things people take for granted would take so long for all the boys, like tying shoes. Having a water pipe bust underneath the house forced him to think outside the box, and today’s solution was skipping his own shower again.

It was almost like God was mocking him, at least that’s what anyone looking in would think: a man of sorrows, a war veteran, and a single father. He went from leading the most apt and disciplined men on the planet through impossibly demanding situations with ease to crumbling over the smallest tasks with his children: using the bathroom, brushing teeth, walking through a grocery store. His world was inverted, and most days he felt like he just wanted to die, but he would never perish to a coward’s death and let his kids know how weak he truly was. They never saw him cry before, but he did cry.

It was about Thanksgiving when he sold his Chevy Volt. Something about that car just didn’t sit right with him (nothing electronic did), so he bought an old pickup truck and sold it. He had a classic Camaro sitting in the garage for years waiting to be rebuilt, but it was more like a Frankenstein. He figured he’d sell the Volt, drive the truck, and fix the Camaro. The same day he sold it the truck broke down. Fate was never late to pour salt in his open wounds, but this time around he smiled. He was tired of being so angry all the time, and deep down he knew this was exactly what would happen.

His mother was in town for the holiday, and she was more upset about the situation than he. She was young in age (50), but her body and mind were old from the cancer after years of drinking. She was afraid to let anyone know about it, but too foolish to realize everyone figured it out long before she ever did. He loved her so much, and he wanted to lift her spirits any little bit he could, so he reassured her, “This is a good thing, Mom. We just don’t know it yet”, and he smiled. Little did he know his trials were just beginning.

Mario was optimistically looking forward to finding out what caused his truck to overheat. He called his brothers over to help push it into the driveway because the tow truck only got it to the curb on the side of the house. It was hot enough to shoot the radiator cap off the night before, so he didn’t touch it then, but a quick pop of the hood the next morning revealed seven wire boots separated from the spark plugs, two of which were totally dangling. He pushed them all back on and it fired right up. Instinct kicked in and he raced it into the driveway, then killed the power. Just that few seconds was enough to be certain he had coolant in the engine oil and he’d be pulling the motor to rebuild it. Since the initial diagnosis was prompt and easy, the rescue mission seamlessly turned into a social, “See Mom, I told you it was a good thing.”

It was great to have the whole family together, but Mario made sure a good portion of it was spent in front of the truck while he wrote parts and prices in his little black book. A Colonel he worked with turned him on to them in a supply request, “They are a little expensive, but man, they are really good notebooks” he said in his best government justification voice. Mario laughed at the memory as he started filling grid squares with this and that, trying to plan ahead the best he could.

His mother worried about him, as she often saw herself raising four boys alone in him, but the reality was the Mario felt better off than his brothers in some ways; and he always thought they were the ones who should get any help. That didn’t stop her from preaching to his brothers to be there for him. Casey was the youngest and a gearhead, full of pride and a know-it-all. He typically worked on Hondas and other imports, small engines you can pull out with nothing more than wrenches and a strong grip, the kind of stuff you could almost throw in a backpack if you wanted. He didn’t have much experience with the classic V8 motors, but his eagerness to prove his worth was enough for Mario to let him take the lead. Plus, he had been waiting for a good opportunity to do a project with his little brother.

It was a total disaster. The first thing Casey did was take the engine out of the truck without draining the oil. Then, he put it in the middle of the garage floor and started tearing it apart. What Mario had envisioned was taking the Frankenstein engine off the stand and putting it in the Camaro so it was out of the way, then mounting the truck engine to it so it could be completely disassembled and measured properly to find out what all was in it. After all, it was a piece of junk he knew nothing about. The reality was him slipping on spilt oil and antifreeze in his garage alone after his brothers went back to their regular worlds and Mom headed back to Tennessee. This was one of those moments when he cried a bit.

After a few hundred bucks wasted in a desultory attempt to rebuild half the engine, a few proper measurements let Mario know that this engine was on its last life at best. There were enormous shards of rust piled up in the cooling passages, and it had already been built and machined a few times before, so he hastily decided to use the Camaro engine in its place. It was a rookie move.

The Frankenstein fired up and sounded flawless, but it was built for an Armageddon car using a carburetor, not the truck, which had a computer and electronically controlled transmission that didn’t know how to act with the engine. Of course, Mario didn’t see the simplicity of his problem until he replaced or rebuilt everything around it trying to figure it out. $4500 later he realized the most economical solution was to buy a stock replacement motor that would match the computer, which ran about two-grand. And that was it. Every last penny he got from selling the Volt went into the truck. He sold the most economical vehicle on any American road for a gas-guzzling piece of junk, and just before fuel prices doubled in the wake of political change.

A bit earlier that year, Mario had already spent the last of his credit buying a screen-printing company, but two things that don’t mix with screen-printing are dirt and oil, which was pretty much the only thing holding that truck together. His oldest son, 15, was the artist of the family, so the idea was to build a company that could be taught and handed over in a few years. At this rate it seemed it might be a few years before the first shirt was made.

All of this travesty happened after his two younger children had their days at school dwindled to two times per week for disruptive behavior, but the teachers still wanted the oldest to attend on a regular schedule. This meant walking back and forth six times for dad, four times for the little guys, and twice for the oldest. It just didn’t work out. Walking over a mile to school with three autistic kids was enough to give Mario a brain aneurism with how much screaming he had to do to keep them in line and safe along the busy road. Every second felt but a step or two away from tragedy or a heart attack.

It was amazing that in all these moments of chaos Mario was able to still smile at so many little things in between, but he was consciously trying to maintain optimism. All three kids were moved to remote learning at home, the truck still wasn’t together, and he was almost completely out of money and credit. There was virtually no way for him to do any work. It seemed like a perfect time for the devil to show up, and like clockwork, the very moment he got the truck pulled apart in the garage, when there was no closing the door until everything was bolted back together, Melania showed up: his ex-wife.

She was an exotic dancer by trade, and with that came outwardly beauty and inwardly craze. In October, she had been released from a two-year prison sentence for aggravated stalking and multiple assaults against Mario. The first day she got out she showed up to his house, caused more trouble, and got sent to a mental health facility for a few months. This was her first day of release from that place. “You are NOT supposed to be here”, Mario clearly announced in a lamenting tone. He knew she wasn’t going to listen, as she never did, but he also understood what it was like to go without seeing the kids. Years earlier, no one could have imagined such a passive and forgiving response to the dilemma from him.

Military reflex kicked in and he created an Entry Control Point by securing all the doors and windows to the house. He thought it might bring some peace to mind as he tried to finish the truck, but her trespass made it far from him. In order to avoid insanity, or triggering his PTSD, he decided to not call the police. His wife sleeping in his backyard and knocking on windows didn’t ease his anxiety either, but it was something different than cops at least. “I have to get this truck running and get out of here”, he thought, but her presence distracted him just enough to goof it up one more time.

It was like his own personal end of days, and then the flood came. While he was covered in grease, hopping back and forth between the truck and spaghetti, the water pipe busted and flooded three bedrooms and a hallway. This time the kids might have seen him cry, frantically pacing back and forth, guarding the doors, stirring the pot, and mopping the floors with no bucket because he had destroyed it in a fit of rage a few days earlier. “What else can go wrong?”

He destroyed the bathtub so he could get to the leak underneath the foundation, but as soon as he fixed it another popped open. The kids didn’t know what to think, but Mario thought one thing for sure, “It’s going to take a fortune to get out of this mess!” Faced with a mountain of obstacles, Mario strangely started to embrace the suck, as if his affliction was the fulfillment of some ancient prophecy or something. Still, he prayed in the evening that God might deliver him.

The next morning, he miraculously finished the truck, but right after he received a phone call. His mother had passed. It must have been but a moment after he prayed. “I know it probably doesn’t mean much right now” his father sobbed, “but your Mom left you $20,000 from her life insurance policy”. Mario packed the kids up and started driving North. Money was the last thing on his mind. Again, the kids didn’t know what to think. He cried the entire ride up.