Fire Is Your Water. Jim Minick
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“Do what?”
Will turned slightly to show the long rip. The whole seam that separated one cheek from the other was wide open.
“I like your drawers,” Dino smiled and shook his head. “How the hell you do that?”
Will told them he got here early so he could climb the mountain. “There’s a raven’s nest right up on that cliff.” He turned and pointed, forgetting for a moment, then turning quickly back. “When I came scrambling down, I slipped a couple of times. These shoes are worth shit for climbing.”
“I see what you mean,” Dino said. “They’re worth shit for pumping gas now, too.”
“Come on, you guys, help me out.”
“What do you say?” Dino turned to Scoop. “We could send him in to Dickson.”
“Or we could just leave him to fend for himself,” Scoop added. “All them young college girls coming through sure would enjoy the show.”
Will’s face reddened. He couldn’t believe Scoop had once taught him in Sunday school.
“What do you think Dickson will do?” Dino asked.
“I’d guess he might fire him,” Scoop replied, and this sobered them.
“OK, Will, ol’ buddy,” Scoop said. “It’s 9:05, so you’re already late for the punch clock. Dickson will be out here looking any minute. You slip into the restaurant, go to the men’s room, and get washed up. Try to stop that cheek from bleeding. I’ll go back to the lockers and find you another pair of pants. They might not fit right, but at least they won’t be drafty. Dino, you got the islands?”
“Got it, boss.” Dino headed to the four cars lined up for gas.
“But I can’t go into HoJo’s. There’s people in there.”
“People out here too, son. And Dickson on the way.” Scoop turned to walk away.
Will held onto the back of his pants and hurried toward the restaurant.
When he entered Howard Johnson’s, the first person he saw was a tall woman, about his age, standing behind the ice cream counter. “Hello,” she said, “and welcome to Howard Johnson’s.” Her voice had a funny squeak, and she looked at him oddly, her long neck bending like a bird’s.
Will waved his hand with the hankie in it, revealing the cut on his cheek. He said hi and stammered a moment, before asking, “Restroom?”
The woman pointed and Will scurried past, thanking her. He took giant steps sideways, his back to the wall all the way to the restroom. At the door, he never turned, just stumbled backward. Inside, he locked himself in a stall, sat, and put his head in his hands.
A few minutes later, Scoop yelled, “You in here?”
Will came out.
“These are the best I could find.” Scoop laid the pants on the counter. “I think they belong to Dickson, so you’ll have to tighten your belt and pull up your socks. You won’t have to worry about wading any streams on your way home.”
Will thanked him and held up the pants. They wouldn’t cover his ankles, but they didn’t have any rips, either.
“Dickson came out looking for you. I told him you had a little emergency on the way here. A flat tire, right?”
Will shook his head. “He saw me early this morning already, right before I headed up the mountain. He’ll know it’s a lie.”
“Well, you’ll just have to tell him the truth, if he asks.”
Will nodded and pulled his belt. “Thanks, Scoop.”
The pants were about four inches too big at the waist and four inches too short at the ankle, and for a moment, Will debated about going back out. He looked in the mirror, brushed his hair, blotted blood from the cut, and tried to scratch away a new pimple. He cinched his belt one more time before walking out, muttering, “Damn ravens.”
The young woman was serving ice cream, so Will slipped by, hoping she didn’t see. At the door, he looked back. She smiled, her lips closed, and he couldn’t tell if she saw his pants or not.
Outside, Dickson seemed to be in a good mood. “Well, Mr. Will, looks like you grew a few inches.” They all looked at his ankles, the white socks barely hiding his white shins. “And I thought those were new shoes. I expect them to look better tomorrow. Say, how’d you get that cut?”
“Got too close to some briars,” Will replied.
“Did you have a good trip up that mountain?”
Will shrugged. “I found a raven’s nest, for what that’s worth.”
“Do any reading up there?”
Will shook his head. “Ran out of time.” He was glad when a Dodge pulled in.
After lunch, Dickson went home, replaced by Johnny Hilton as the shift boss. He was a tall man with a crew cut, a barrel chest, and a high-pitched voice that surprised Will. Hilton also liked to smoke, which meant he leaned against the restaurant’s wall, in the one spot of shade, and watched the other men work. He came to help pump gas only after he finished his cigarette, not any sooner.
“Dickson might be a dickhead,” Woody said under his breath. He’d come on the same shift as Hilton. “But at least he works.”
“Yeah, but Hilton leaves you alone,” Dino added.
“I’ll say. Alone to do all the work.”
Will just listened and moved from car to car. He liked this work, so far, at least. He liked the ebb and flow of traffic, the orderliness of tasks, the quickness of seeing a rush of traffic disappear. He liked the other guys, too. Most of them anyway. They were like brothers and uncles he’d never had.
After finishing a windshield, Will started balancing the squeegee in his hand. The traffic had slowed, and the other men leaned against the pump, trading jokes. Will placed the tip of the handle in his palm so that the squeegee formed a “T” in the air. He moved his hand left and right, keeping the tool upright, watching the top. Then he switched his hands, the squeegee staying upright.
“Look at you,” Woody said. The other men watched.
Will had an audience now. A family in a nearby car watched, including the teenage girl. He popped the squeegee into the air and caught it on the tip of his index finger. The tool wobbled, so Will steadied it with his other hand. He kept at it. Soon, he had the tip of the handle moving from one finger to the next. He shuffled to keep the top balanced.
“I think she likes it,” one of the men said. Will glanced at the car. Sure enough, the whole family watched, and this made him drop the squeegee. Dino clapped too loudly.
“You might get some tips if you balance it on your nose like they do in the circus,” Woody said.