* 1975
paul and joe and little face lived on the same block
we lived around the corner
my brother and i would tell our parents we were going to hang out in paul’s garage
“what do you do over there?” my mom would ask
“spit and swear” we would answer
paul was always working on a 1950s truck, trying to get it running. there were so
many things wrong with it no one ever expected him to succeed
the rest of us just messed around. shot things with a bb gun. melted things with a
propane torch.
paul’s wasn’t like a normal house where there was always the possibility of a
parent walking out and disapproving of something you were doing.
his parents never came out of the house, and we never went in
they were in there, but we rarely saw them. they were like shadowy mythic figures
paul’s garage was where i would later keep the motorcycle my parents told me i
couldn’t buy. where i burnt my hand dropping a lit match into a half empty gas can.
where joe fixed my triumph spitfire after he crashed it into a tree.