Breaking into Cars

by Emery C. Walters

  I toured the kitchen next. Everything was still clean. I grabbed a soda, then a second one, and went into the garage to see what my loved one was up to. I figured he was probably sitting in the driver’s seat with his cap on going, “Brm, brm, brm!”

  Nope. At first I didn’t even see him, then I saw his feet sticking out from beneath the jeep. I was just going to say hello when there was a grinding, splooshing noise, then a sound halfway between a grunt and a scream, and a loud thunk, followed by curses and ows. A liquid, oil maybe, was spreading out over the floor and down Brandon’s legs and his shoes. He was scuttling out from under the car so I set down the sodas and gave his feet a yank. One shoe came off but he came sliding out like he was on a greased slide. He was completely covered in greasy, dark, and dirty oil. The only thing you could see clearly was the knot rising up on his forehead where he had, apparently, bumped it on the car. So what did I do? I leapt on him! Gently I mean, but then I started wiping his face on my shirt. Then ripping his shirt off over his head. Which was very messy. What happened next was, well his other shoe and socks and pants came off. I mean, he was a greasy mess. And by this time so was I. So my clothes came off, too. And I won’t even tell you what happened after that. We were wrestling, sort of. That’s all I’ll say. I sure didn’t see that coming. And I learned a few things about girl bodies.

  Anyhow! Now we both needed showers but I’d just cleaned our bathroom! “What were you doing?” I asked.

  “Changing the oil.” He was breathing heavily, and after all that, I wasn’t even swayed by his girly body parts. He was he.

  “I never heard it called that before,” said an amused voice from the doorway, and we turned to see Ducky standing there looking fairly normal, until she lost it and started laughing her fat ass off.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Brandon got out.

  “Hahahahaha!” was the reply. Then, “The outside shower is through that side door. But first, slide under there and put the plug back in, the oil plug I mean. Hahahahaha!”

  Elvis then appeared in the doorway with the cat in his arms and Busted trying to get past him. When he saw the sight, that is, two naked greasy people, oil everywhere, and the oil pan plug in my hand, he turned red, then purple, then held onto the door frame while his laughter joined Ducky’s. He had to put his other hand on his back. Ducky had to help him back to the couch. They shut the door behind them, taking Busted and the kitten with them. Their laughter echoed down the hall.

  “Shit,” said Brandon.

  “Let’s put this back in, shall we?” I said brightly.

  And then our laughter joined the echoes of theirs.

  After we made sure the oil plug was in tight, and got over our fit of hysterical giggles about it, we found new oil and refilled the engine. Then we proceeded to figure out how to clean the garage floor, well, Brandon did. I just did what he told me. Then we went out to shower and took our clothes with us. Oddly enough as we washed, we talked. What we were doing, where we were going, what we wanted to study in college, how we might be able to do it together, or at least, living together or near each other. I had to admit that while I loved him, it was more of a deep fondness at this time. It wasn’t as hard to tell him as I thought, and he said he felt the same way. What had just happened, or not happened, had given us insight, and I know in my case, clarified things.

  Ducky had left towels for us inside the garage, and we wrapped up to go inside. It’s hard to hug with towels wrapped around you separately, at least. I told him, “Enjoy your drive. You’ll learn a lot. I’m really happy for you, I am. When you get back, let’s work on college, and getting GEDs or whatever. Ducky says she can teach us and prepare us for the test, or some colleges like the community college here, you can test into and start where you are able. I could put off real college for a while if it meant staying here. I can’t believe how lucky we are to have found them.”

  “I know. I always thought that since I wasn’t safe at home, where I should have been, I wouldn’t be safe—or wanted—anywhere else, either. But you know what? It’s a big world. My parents’ opinions were just that—the opinions of two people. There are billions of other people. I just never thought it out for myself.

  “Jack?” Brandon continued, spearing me with his eyes. “I thought when I found you that this was it, my true love one and only forever and forever kind of thing. But, honestly? I think it’s too soon to tell. I mean I care about you so much, and I feel so much belonging when we’re together, but…”

  My eyes went over his head, it was so hard to meet his gaze. I saw the old cars and just said, “Those cars are so old, and Ducky loves hers, and Elvis loves his. I mean, we met by breaking into a car! How odd is that? It has to mean something, and what I think it means to me is, as cars go, we’re kinda this year’s models. We can sit in the same garage forever.” My face was burning. I felt so stupid.

  Brandon turned away from me. “You’re saying we’re too young to know what we feel.”

  “No! That’s not it. Damn it! I don’t know what I mean. Maybe when you get back, maybe after we go to college, maybe after you have surgery if you’re going to…maybe then it will be that forever thing. Maybe in the meantime, it’s just now; not Mr. Right Now vs. Mr. Right, but more of a woo woo stay in the present kind of thing. We’ve really only known each other a short while; we know we love each other, but we don’t have to start naming our children yet.”

  That made Brandon laugh. “I get it. And I’m okay with that. We have what we have right now, and that’s good enough.”

  Well, at least we talked. I’m not sure we made any sense actually, but the connection felt good, stronger, closer, clearer.

  The next morning Elvis was flat on his back on the king-sized bed in Ducky’s room. He wasn’t happy about it and he gave Ducky and Brandon about half an hour’s worth of instructions on how to drive the car, who to see when they reached Denver, and how much he wished he was going to do it. Then he cried. Not for long, but I saw it.

  I went downstairs, and saw them off. Brandon put on his cap, they loaded the car, Ducky got in the back, and Brandon got behind the wheel, waving good bye at me as he started the engine. I yelled, “Wait! You forgot to open the garage door!” and he laughed and pushed the remote. The door came up, the car backed out and they were gone.

  Oh shit. Guess who was going to have to be in charge of the house and the new family and the dog and the cat and Elvis and the jeep and…oh my God. I hoped I was up to it.

  But then I remembered the music and the picture and the quilt, and thought that just maybe I wouldn’t be exactly as alone as I thought. Maybe our ghost hadn’t left after all. And hey, maybe I could teach Busted to fetch things I wanted, carefully, that is! Very carefully! Busted—fetch! Uh, a maid, that’s it! Fetch me a maid, or a nurse!

  The doorbell rang. I went to it, and there stood the new family. Mother, grandmother, and two teenage daughters. One of the daughters smiled at me and said she was a cook at a restaurant that had been destroyed. The other was wearing scrubs and a nurse’s cap. Hey, hey, hey! This might be all right after all.

  As I showed them in, I looked at Busted, sitting politely behind me in the hall. I don’t see how he could have done this, but I swear he winked at me. Some things you just never know, but that’s all right with me.

  THE END

  ABOUT EMERY C. WALTERS

  Emery C. Walters was born Carol Forde, a name he soon knew didn’t fit the boy he was inside. Transition was unknown back then, so he married and then bore and raised four children. When his youngest child, his gay son, left home, Emery told Carol that she had to step aside, and he fully transitioned from female to male in 2001.

  Emery worked in county government and as a college writing tutor before retiring. He and his wife Robyn, herself raised mistakenly as a boy, live in Hawaii where they combine snorkeling, scuba diving, and volunteer work with activities to boost LGBT rights and awareness.

  Interested in Ninjutsu, both land
and underwater photography, and writing, Emery can usually be found writing, reading, or sailing on his imaginary pirate ship.

  Emery’s 2010 first published novel, Last Year's Leaves, is an intense story of recovery from abuse and loss, finding love, and coming out whole. The book is laced with his trademark humor. His recent publications include four other coming of age novels involving coming out and overcoming obstacles as well as two books of short stories. All are humorous and filled with hope. Drystan the Dire, Emery’s Welsh pirate ancestor, shows up at times to help the heroes and annoy the villains. Emery currently has two more novels in the publishing pipeline.

  Between them, the Walters have eight adult children, umpteen grandchildren, and one great grandchild, none of whom can do a thing about the genetic material handed down to them—their gift to the future. So there. More information can be found online at ftemery-theemeryboard.blogspot.com.

  ABOUT QUEERTEEN PRESS

  Queerteen Press is the young adult imprint of JMS Books LLC, a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance. Visit queerteen-press.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!