Hold It Down

The neighborhood roosters screech as if angry at the sun for rising too early. The dogs belonging to nearby homes follow the screeching with deep howls. The morning routine.

I push myself out of bed, throw on my stained clothes, step into the raggedy slippers, and make my way into the kitchen for some coffee. Through the window the golden morning light has the yard full of cars painted like treasures, instead of a wrecked junkyard.

In any other part of the city it would seem odd to have a body shop in your backyard, but here in the barrio it's actually considered strange not to own a business in your backyard. I use the word 'business' lightly when describing the body shop. It pays the bills and keeps my son and I fed, but we're been barely breaking even and this is how it's been for years.

The coffee machine finishes dripping coffee into the pot. I pour myself a mug and release a heavy sigh. This year has been tough, and the knot in my left shoulder is proof of the pressure that's been looming over me. My son is graduating from high school at the end of the month and I don't have a dime set aside to send him to college.

College isn’t something we talk about, but I know it’s what he wants to do after he graduates. Nothing adds to the bitterness of pitch black coffee like being unable to afford supporting your child’s dreams.

“Are you ready dad?” asks a groggy voice behind me. I turn to find him dressed to put in hard work this Saturday morning.

I chug the remaining coffee in my mug, “Robbie, did you get with the bank yesterday?” I ask.

Often when a bank repossesses a car from someone by the time they get it back it’s damaged or completely wrecked, and they commission me to do the body work.

“Yes sir, Lisa said they have some high end car that they’ll deliver today. She said the owner drove it into a gas station.”

“A gas station?”

“She said he was running from the cops and lost control before slamming into the building. By the time the cops caught up to him he was found dead at the scene.” Robbie says as he grabs a banana off the counter, peeling it slowly before eating it.

“Why was he running from the cops?”

“Lisa said he had a warrant and was a known drug dealer. He stopped making payments on the car months ago.”

“Until they get here with the car we will work on the small jobs, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” he says with a mouthful of banana.

I quickly put my work boots on and we step into the crisp morning air, making our way to the grey shop behind the house. Robbie has helped me in the shop since he was 7 years old and we have a steady rhythm. I always blast classic rock on the stereo, and while he works at sanding cars outside I do the taping and painting inside. By noon we finish three cars and decide to take an early lunch break. Robbie’s shirt is stained with soap, water, and sweat, and his face is painted with exhaustion. As we make our way towards the house a tow truck pulls up dragging a red Ferrari behind it.

“Go ahead and eat without me.” I say. Robbie looks relieved and dashes through the front door of the house to eat.

It slowly reverses into an empty space and then comes to an abrupt stop. The driver hops out of the tow truck excitedly.

“Got you a pretty one today, Robert!” he yells as he marches towards me.

“You look like you’ve been working hard, Ernest.” I say as we shake hands.

“When you get this one fixed up give me a call and we can take it for a joy ride.” he smirks.

“Probably not.”

“Oh come on.” he pleads.

“This actually doesn’t look too shabby for wrecking into a gas station. Robbie said the owner was dead at the scene.” I say as I walk around the car. Ernest begins unlatching the Ferrari from the truck.

“Yeah he died but not from impact. He swallowed all the drugs he had on him while he was fleeing from the cops. They determined his cause of death was an overdose.” He brushes his hands off on his jeans. “How long do you think it will take to repair?” he asks.

“I should have it ready by tomorrow afternoon.” I say.

“See you tomorrow then.” he says as he climbs back into the truck. As he drives off Robbie walks towards me.

“Aren’t you going to eat dad?” he asks through a mouthful of sandwich.

“Not today I need to get this into the shop. Are you done eating?” I ask.

“Yes sir.”

“Well then get inside and steer while I push.” I motion to the car and his jaw drops, noticing the Ferrari for the first time.

“A Ferrari!” he exclaims.

“We don’t have all day.” I say through a smirk as I walk towards the back of the car. He gets inside the driver seat and we get it into the shop. I step outside gasping for fresh air from the workout of pushing the car. The day has turned more beautiful by the hour and a pang of regret pierces me for making Robbie spend his Saturday working instead of with his friends. I grab my wallet from my pocket and take out a twenty dollar bill.

“You ready?” Robbie asks.

I pin the bill against his chest, “How about you go out with your friends this afternoon.” I say.

“What about the car?” he asks, stunned.

“I can handle it. Hurry before I change my mind.” I tease.

He bursts into a trot towards the house and within 15 minutes he’s back outside, showered, and waving goodbye to me as he drives off in his pickup truck. I walk back inside the shop and begin the process of repairs and by the time the new bumper is on I’m winded again.

I give myself a fifteen minute break before I begin taping around the new bumper and covering the areas that won’t be painted. A steady stream of sweat drips off my forehead and onto the concrete floor as I work. As soon as I finish taping I throw on the mask I wear when painting and grab the paint gun. If I keep this momentum I can continue working despite my body being beyond exhausted. Within two hours I have the paint work finished and can bring the work day to an end.

I pull off the mask and hang up the paint gun in its spot before locking up the shop. It’s dark outside and the half crescent moon is shining as if it has a secret it’s dying to tell. I walk towards the house and as soon as I reach the front door Robbie pulls into the driveway.

“You look like you had a good time.” I say as he walks towards me.

“You look like you need a shower.” he says as he pretends to pinch his nose. I flick the back of his neck as he enters through the front door, and he lets out a playful laugh.

“Did you finish the Ferrari?” he asks.

“Almost. I’ll wash it tomorrow and it will be ready to go.”

The next day the roosters and dogs serve as my alarm as they lose their minds making a world of commotion. I drag the raggedy slippers across the house and make my pitch black coffee. When I finish drinking the mug I step into my work boots and head into the shop. The fresh paint is dry now and I work quickly to remove all the tape and coverings. I drive it into the alley and hose it down before grabbing a bucket of soap and water to scrub it down. By the time I finish washing the outside of the car the sun is beaming down on me.

I drag the large vacuum beside the Ferrari and run it all over the seats and floor. Finally I take a rag and begin wiping down the steering wheel and dashboard. I shift my body into the passenger seat and begin wiping down the other half of the car, but my foot slips and my knee goes straight into the passenger dashboard, causing the glovebox to fall open.

Inside the glovebox is a small black notebook. I reach for it and slowly flip through the pages. It appears to be filled with a list of cashflow coming and going out. This must be how the drug dealer kept track of his money. Behind the last page in the notebook is a thick white envelope. I take out the envelope and place the black notebook on top of the dashboard. When I look inside the envelope I find cold hard cash stuffed inside. I pull out all the money and place the flimsy envelope beside the notebook on the dashboard. I begin counting the cash. It’s all hundred dollar bills totaling twenty thousand dollars.

I lay back in the passenger seat racking my brain over what I should do. I go back and forth over turning it into the police station and sending my son to college. I spend nearly an hour going through the internal struggle of deciphering what is right from wrong, and the relativity of it all. Finally, I bolt upright in the seat and stuff the money back into the envelope, tucking it away into my back pocket. I get back into the driver seat of the Ferrari and drive it to an empty space in the front yard.

The metal trashcan outside the shop is filled to the brim with old newspapers and magazines. I toss the black notebook on top of the pile and drown it with a liquid charcoal lighter. I light a match and toss it into the metal trashcan causing it to burst into flames.

The sound of a tow truck is approaching and when Ernest pulls into the driveway his face is painted with confusion as he notices the fire in the metal tin. I walk towards him waving.

“It’s a little warm to have a fire going don’t you think?” he asks as he gets out of the truck.

“I had a pile of old bills I’ve been needing to get rid of but my shredder broke.” I explain.

“Is she ready to go?” he asks, motioning to the Ferrari.

“Absolutely.”

Ernest begins latching the car to the tow truck and as when finishes he walks back towards me, “How are things going for you lately? Business treating you good?”

“We hold it down.” I say, as I shake his hand.