Come outside. Quickly.
Moving fast, trying to breathe life into something that should have given up a long time ago.
Back and forth. dashing here, there. Spraying something cold. It fires. then stops. Again. this cycle is repeated.
I see the tension pulsing through his body. Tamping down an underlying anger. This is not what he wants, not now. Now he should be relaxing. Not this.
I expect him to yell, can see it rising up inside. Not yelling at me. Yelling at the car. At life. At the world.
He contains it. Pushes it down. I watch as he takes control of his body, stopping it from doing what it wants.
How does he do that? Has his breathing changed? Perhaps. I’m not sure. I go to ask but hesitate. Will that make things worse? I let the question go.
Success. The engine turns over and this time stays running.
It sounds terrible. My untrained ears know this. It doesn’t sound like it used to. When it was not so old. I cannot describe it but it is a sound I have unconsciously came to know.
Now it sounds unwell. Old. He knows this but doesn’t mention it. Instead, as the engine continues to run he guides me to see what he’s found under the hood. It’s not the problem he thought was there but something else. It’s a good thing this knowledge as now he knows exactly what to replace.
I think perhaps, he is happier. Relieved. But tired.
The part can be replaced. The car will continue to function. Not as it was; its much too old for that. But for long enough to see him through until a replacement can be found.