Daily writing
This afternoon I took Ben to the mechanic to pick up his car. Earlier he’d joked that it would sit there as long as it took him to raise the $300 the gas station guy estimated it would cost to replace the oil pan (bumpy road to Target parking lot; bottomed out; beeps from the dashboard; a trail of inky splotches on the asphalt behind us). Instead we went and they spoke as if there was already an arrangement. My hearing was caught up in the boxy exhaust fan. They talked about the numbers 2-6-2-7 and Ben’s dad’s credit card.
“It worked okay, then it went out. Then daylight savings came around last year and it wouldn’t work any more,” the mechanic explained. Ben nodded and sipped tea from a brown paper cup. “They told me I hadta replace it.”
“They probably just wanted to sell a $50 machine…” Ben guessed.
“300!” He shook his head and picked up a thread from earlier in the conversation. “So he said he was calling from somewhere…”
“Oh, yeah,” Ben remembered. “I think he was calling from Cambodia.”
“He on vacation?”
“Well, yeah, fishing. But he lives in Singapore.”
“He in the service?”
“No, he’s a doctor.”
“What’s he specialize?”
“Internal medicine. And stroke policy. …He does research.”
“Shoulda had him around tonight! I’m so sore,” he said, his hand running over his left shoulder like the back of a large dog. More for show than anything. “I fell outta bed last night, sure, and the drop is about this far down!” He held his hand parallel to the desk, maybe three feet.
“Oh, man,” Ben said.
“What happened was, I was having a dream. And in my dream, I was walking between two skinny buildings, see. And as I walked I saw a whole herd of little deer come running toward me. And I turned around to run away, and that’s when I fell out. About this far.” He hovered his hand again, as if to levitate the rags and pens.
“See you in the mornin’,” said the other mechanic, swinging the metal door shut.
“Whenever I sleep on one side of the bed, I always fall out,” he said. “When I sleep on the other side, I don’t. What would a doctor say?”
“I think try Icy Hot,” Ben suggested.
“Maybe sleep on the not-falling-out side,” I said.
“It worked okay, then it went out. Then daylight savings came around last year and it wouldn’t work any more,” the mechanic explained. Ben nodded and sipped tea from a brown paper cup. “They told me I hadta replace it.”
“They probably just wanted to sell a $50 machine…” Ben guessed.
“300!” He shook his head and picked up a thread from earlier in the conversation. “So he said he was calling from somewhere…”
“Oh, yeah,” Ben remembered. “I think he was calling from Cambodia.”
“He on vacation?”
“Well, yeah, fishing. But he lives in Singapore.”
“He in the service?”
“No, he’s a doctor.”
“What’s he specialize?”
“Internal medicine. And stroke policy. …He does research.”
“Shoulda had him around tonight! I’m so sore,” he said, his hand running over his left shoulder like the back of a large dog. More for show than anything. “I fell outta bed last night, sure, and the drop is about this far down!” He held his hand parallel to the desk, maybe three feet.
“Oh, man,” Ben said.
“What happened was, I was having a dream. And in my dream, I was walking between two skinny buildings, see. And as I walked I saw a whole herd of little deer come running toward me. And I turned around to run away, and that’s when I fell out. About this far.” He hovered his hand again, as if to levitate the rags and pens.
“See you in the mornin’,” said the other mechanic, swinging the metal door shut.
“Whenever I sleep on one side of the bed, I always fall out,” he said. “When I sleep on the other side, I don’t. What would a doctor say?”
“I think try Icy Hot,” Ben suggested.
“Maybe sleep on the not-falling-out side,” I said.