Thunder and Lightening: Chapter 5Home « Thunder and Lightening Index « Previous

- Chapter 5

Posted: November 16, 2004 - 10:18:23 pm

Sunday threatened to be a real scorcher, but Jerry was hard at work while the

temperatures were still reasonable. He had filled four trash bags with paper,

rotten food, and kitchenware. He was washing the counters when he heard a noise

behind him. Without turning around, he said, "Hello Abe."

"You sure workin' here," replied the black youth as he scratched his neck. He

had always considered his mother to be a terror about dirt, but she had to take

a backseat to this guy.

"I plan to eat in here," replied Jerry. He said, "There's enough germs in this

room to kill an army."

"Germs? You worry 'bout germs," asked Abe thinking that this guy sounded just as

bad as his mother.

"Yeah, imagine that. Big man scared of something he can't see," Jerry answered

in a joking voice.

"My momma always talks 'bout germs."

"Smart woman. You've ever had the shits for a week?"

"No."

"Your mother is the reason why," replied Jerry with a smirk. In a way, Abe was

like a lot of kids in the sense that if you didn't see the danger, then it

wasn't really there. Bending to his work, he scrubbed at a particularly tough

spot.

"Guess so. I always thought she was crazy."

"So what are you doing today?"

"Nothin'."

"Want to help me?" asked Jerry anticipating a negative answer.

"You crazy?" asked Abe as though Jerry had asked him to fly.

"I didn't think so," replied Jerry. He poured more of the cleaning powder on the

counter and wet the cleaning pad at the sink. As he went back to work scrubbing,

he said, "I'm looking for a stock boy at the store."

"You calling me a boy?" asked Abe in an offended manner.

"No. That's what the position is called. I need someone to unpack the stock and

put it on the shelves," answered Jerry surprised that Abe had taken offence.

That's how he had started in the auto parts business.

"You talkin' 'bout a job?"

"Yes, I am. Two hours a day, Monday through Friday."

"How much does it pay?"

"Five fifty an hour," replied Jerry without looking at Abe. He wondered if the

kid was going to take the job.

Abe stood where he was thinking about what he could do with fifty-five dollars a

week. It sounded like a lot of money for a kid that was fifteen. Shrugging his

shoulders, he said, "I guess so."

"Guess so, what?" asked Jerry.

"I'll take the job."

"I didn't say I was offering it to you," replied Jerry.

"Why not? 'Cause I'm black?" asked Abe getting angrier by the minute.

"The job is yours on one condition."

"Aw shit! Here it comes. My brother said you were a faggot."

Jerry turned to look at Abe in surprise. The people in this neighborhood really

didn't trust whites. Shaking his head, he replied, "Fuck you kid. All I was

going to say was that you had to go to school everyday."

"Why would you want that?" asked Abe puzzled. He was still trying to figure the

angle that this guy was taking.

"I'm not training you for a career if you can't get promoted. Without a high

school diploma, I can't make you a fulltime salesman when you turn eighteen."

"Shit. Why would I want to be a salesman?"

"It starts at about thirty-six a year," answered Jerry. At that pay, he could

move out of this neighborhood and start a family.

"Thirty-six a year? What's that?"

"That's thirty-six thousand a year," replied Jerry knowing that amount of money

would tempt Abe more than anything else he could offer.

"That's a lot of money."

"Well, you might decide to go to college. Probably make more money that way, but

I don't know much about that. I've never been to college." The truth was that he

never thought he was smart enough for college.

Jerry wiped down the counter trying to get all of the powder off the surface he

had just cleaned. That was the part of this job that he never seemed to be able

to do well. It was easy enough to get lots of cleaning powder down, but tough to

get it off. The countertop was clean enough now to see that it was a light blue

speckled pattern. Shaking his head, he said, "I thought it was yellow under all

that crap."

Abe was leaning against the door into the kitchen thinking about what Jerry had

said. There had to be a trick in all of this, but he didn't know what it was.

Finally, he said, "I'll talk to my brother."

"Might want to talk to your mother, too."

"What's my momma got to do wit' this?" asked Abe.

"She can say no and I won't hire you," replied Jerry.

Jerry turned his attention to the stove with built-in oven. Whoever had lived in

this house before him had loved to fry food. There was old baked-on grease that

covered the whole surface and the wall around it. Spraying the entire inside and

outside with the oven cleaner, the smell almost drove him out of the room. Eyes

watering, he headed out of the kitchen.

Eyes tearing, Abe swore as he backed out of the room, "Shit, man. I can't

believe you did that."

Jerry grabbed the six-pack of cokes and headed towards the front door as he

answered, "Let's sit on the porch and drink a coke."

"I'll be there before you," cried Abe as he rushed out of the house. Once

outside, he wiped his eyes clearing the tears out of them.

Jerry left the house and sat down next to Abe. Ripping a coke off the plastic

holder, he tossed it over to Abe and then took one for himself. For a long time

he examined what passed for a lawn. Crabgrass, dandelions, and thistle broke up

the bare spots. There was one oak tree that provided some shade. After a minute,

he asked, "Think there would be any problem with keeping my car on the lawn?"

"Shit, ain't no one gonna complain about that around here," replied Abe looking

at the houses across the street. Several of them had cars in the yard. He looked

over at Jerry and asked, "You worried about someone puttin' another dent in the

heap of yours?"

"No. I want to work on it under that tree over there."

Abe closed one eye and looked at Jerry. "I thought white dudes had nice cars."

Jerry laughed at that and pointed over to his truck as he said, "That's the best

car I'm ever going to own. It's a real beauty."

"Are you crazy? That's a wreck. Someone ought to shoot it and put it out of its

misery."

Opening the coke, Jerry took a long sip from it before he replied, "I'll bet you

money that you'll be begging to borrow that truck a year from now."

Abe shook his head in the negative. There was no way that he would want to

borrow that wreck. They'd laugh him out of the neighborhood if he were to show

up driving something that looked that bad. He didn't even think it would be

running in a year. "You're one crazy white man."

They sat together on the porch watching the activity around the neighborhood.

Old folks sat on the porches, rocking in their chairs. The few young kids were

riding bikes in the middle of the street unconcerned about cars. Martin and his

friends were sitting on a curb talking about what they were going to do. Young

women were busy with housework. There weren't many men around that acted like

fathers.

Finished with his soda, Jerry stood up and returned to the house to finish

cleaning the kitchen. The odor had died down a little and he went to work wiping

the grease off the stove and the residue out of the oven. Stepping back to look

at the result, he said, "I had no idea that they sold stoves painted gray."

Examining it closer, he saw that someone had painted it a gray color in the

past. It looked like hell, but was basically clean. He wondered how many of the

burners worked. There was only one way to find out so he turned on all of the

burners, but nothing happened. The oven worked, but he would have to check that

it came up to a hot enough temperature to cook anything. That would be a problem

to solve another day.

Shrugging his shoulders, he went to work on the other surfaces in the kitchen.

For the next three hours, he did nothing except scrub the kitchen clean. By the

time he was done, most of the surfaces actually shined. Standing at the doorway,

he was pleased with the progress made on the room.

Returning from a late lunch, the temperature had reached the high nineties and

looked like it might break triple digits before the afternoon ended. Entering

the house, he found that it was broiling inside. Of course, there wasn't even a

window unit to cool the house down. Stepping out to the porch, he noticed that

all of the elderly neighbors were sitting on their porches using folded

newspapers as fans to cool themselves.

Seated on the porch, he leaned over and pulled his work list out of his back

pocket. The yellow paper was folded into eighths. Unfolding it, he looked over

the list trying to decide what he could do in this heat. Cleaning the bedroom or

bathroom wasn't possible in this heat. Looking over at his truck, he decided

that the only thing he could do was work on it.

The doors of the house were open in the hope that what little breeze might exist

would help push some of the heat out. Rather than lock it up, he decided to

leave them open while he ran to the auto parts shop. Going out to the truck, he

noticed the old folks watched him while shaking their heads. He didn't know why

they reacted in such a negative fashion to his presence. Perhaps, it was because

he was a white living in the neighborhood. Alternatively, it could be because he

left the doors wide open.

Rather than heading directly to the parts store, he swung by a hardware store to

buy a sheet of plywood. Until he rebuilt the wood bed of the truck, the plywood

would have to serve. At least that way, he could haul lightweight things around

in the back of the truck.

When he reached the auto parts store, he got out his power saw and cut the board

to size. He wasn't too careful with the fit, but it was good enough to function

for a while. He threw the scraps in the back of the truck to use elsewhere,

including fixing the step to the porch. Making several trips into the store, he

loaded the truck with his tools. Once the truck was filled, he went into the

store and looked up the parts for a 1956 F-100 Ford Pickup Truck. He loaded the

truck with all of the easily replaceable parts, including a new battery.

At the house, he parked the truck under the oak tree, driving it over what was

laughingly called a curb. Sitting on the porch waiting for his return were Abe

and Martin. Jerry didn't greet them, but went to the back of the truck to remove

his toolbox. Martin came over to see what he was doing. When he reached the

shade of the tree, he stopped and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Fixing my truck."

"Nice toolbox."

"Thanks," replied Jerry as he glanced down at it. The tools were the only things

that were his throughout his marriage. Everything else belonged to the others in

the family. It was the family television, the family house, and the family pet.

The dog had died two years ago and he was the only one in the family that missed

it.

The conversation died as Jerry lifted the hood of the truck and looked at the

engine. The engine was built in the days before all of the electronics,

pollution control, and air conditioners had been added to cars. There was room

to get at every part of the engine, even with his huge hands.

He started by replacing the battery. The old one was long past its prime and he

didn't want to be stuck somewhere unable to start the truck. After that, he

rebuilt the distributor and then replaced the ignition wires and spark plugs.

Getting out the strobe, he started the car and then adjusted the timing. The

truck began to purr like a tiger although the tappets were rattling a little.

Removing the cover, he adjusted the gap on the tappets setting them back to book

value. The lifter rods were all in good shape, a fact that surprised him. He was

replacing the cover when Martin said, "You really know cars and shit, don't

you?"

"Yeah. I like these old cars the most. A man can really work on them. It doesn't

require a computer or any of the fancy equipment."

"My mom's car doesn't work."

"What's the matter with it?" asked Jerry as he examined the belts. He had

brought belts just in case they needed to be replaced. The ones on the truck

were old, but not too worn. Picking up the wrench, he loosened the bolt on the

generator.

"Shit, I don't know."

"If you knew, you could fix it."

"I don't have the tools," replied Martin as he looked down at the toolbox.

"Well, if you were to find out what was wrong with it and wanted to fix it

yourself, I see no reason you couldn't bring the car over here and work on it

while I'm working on this one."

"No shit?"

"No shit. Of course, you'd have to buy parts."

"How much did all this stuff you're putting into this car cost?"

"About a hundred. I get an employee discount that lets me buy them at

wholesale."

"Must be nice."

Jerry slipped the old belt off the pulleys and threw it down on the ground.

After slipping the new belt on, he pulled the generator so that the belt

tightened. As he tightened the bolt on the generator mount, he said, "I'm

looking for a fulltime salesman."

Martin had been about to walk off when Jerry hadn't replied to him immediately,

but stopped in mid-step and turned around to look at Jerry. He asked, "You're

looking for a full-time salesman?"

"Yes, I am. Of course, they have to be qualified for the position."

Martin frowned and said, "Yeah right. Got to have experience and all of that

kind of shit."

"High school degree or equivalent."

"I graduated High School this year."

Jerry didn't say a word, but checked the tightness of the bolt. Satisfied that

it was tight enough, he put the wrench back in his toolbox. Looking up at

Martin, he asked, "Well?"

"You'd hire me?"

"Possibly, but you'd have to convince me that you want the job. Believe me, it

is a real job that requires you to show up when you are scheduled, dress in

business casual clothes, and work hard." Jerry grinned in a manner that looked

almost feral as he added, "I'm not an easy boss. I don't tolerate drunks or

druggies working for me."

Jerry checked the oil and found that it was a little low. It definitely required

an oil change. He had the oil, the filter, and everything else required for

changing the oil except an oil pan. The quick change in town was cheap and would

use his parts since they'd have to order them from him anyway.

He noticed Martin wasn't talking and wondered which of his conditions had put

doubts in his head. He removed the hoses and replaced them with new ones. After

checking the radiator, he topped it off with a little antifreeze. He noticed

that it had little metal flakes floating on the water. Someone had used 'stop

leak' to hide a radiator problem. He'd have to replace it before long.

Martin broke the silence when he said, "I'd do a good job for you, but I don't

have the clothes."

Jerry smiled and replied, "I suppose you would probably pull parts for the

salesman until you learned the inventory and lingo. Then you could probably work

on the phone until your first paycheck. By then, you'd have enough money to

afford an outfit."

Martin listened and asked, "So you'd hire me?"

"Yes, I probably would. You'd have to fill out an application and I'd check your

references. We'd have a formal interview where I could see you function in a

business environment." Jerry was enjoying this discussion as he was getting to

see Martin's mind at work.

"So what does it pay?"

"About thirty-six a year." He slammed the hood closed with a resounding clang.

The amount agreed with what his little brother had told him earlier. That was a

lot of money for a guy fresh out of high school with no experience. After a few

minutes, he asked, "So if I want this job, what am I supposed to do?"

"Show up Monday morning and apply for it."

"What about my brother?"

"He stops by after school and applies for the stock boy job." It didn't take him

long to change the windshield wipers.

"School hasn't started yet."

"Oh," replied Jerry as he thought about it. He had been assuming that school had

started already. Stepping back, he patted the hood of the truck and said,

"Thunder, you've got to be feeling pretty good about now."

"You talkin' to your car?"

"Better than talking to myself," replied Jerry with a smile as he climbed into

the driver's seat. He started the truck and listened to the engine, pleased with

the sound of it. There was still the low rumble of a bad muffler, but no clatter

from the tappets. Revving the engine, he grinned as the engine responded to his

command. Letting the engine return to idle, he turned it off. The engine stopped

without dieseling, another good sign.

Looking over at Martin, he said, "Not bad. This truck is five years older than

me."

"What good is that?"

"Good? Well, it makes it a collector's item. When it is fixed up, it will be

worth a lot of money. Of course, I won't sell it." Jerry felt that selling the

truck would be like selling a part of himself, particularly after he put all of

the required time to fix it.

"Shit, there are a lot of old cars around here."

Jerry looked down the street at the cars parked outside the houses. A few of

them could be worth fixing up for sale, but the money wouldn't cover the time

spent on doing the work. Of course, the increase in self-worth that could result

might be invaluable. Nodding, he said, "Some of them would be worth fixing.

You'd be surprised at how much work it would be."

Jerry bent down and packed up his tools. He picked up his toolbox and headed

towards the house with it. When he reached the step, the wood almost gave out

from under him. Shaking his head, he went back to the truck and pulled out the

scrap plywood that remained from his hasty patch of the truck bed. It didn't

take him long to trim one of the pieces of scrap to fit the step and nail it in

place.

Abe and Martin watched him work, rather surprised that he fixed anything in a

house that he didn't own. Abe asked, "Why are you fixing that?"

"So I don't hurt myself."

"Shit, you just walk around it."

"It took me five minutes to fix it up. I won't get hurt, you won't get hurt, and

the effort was nothing. Why leave it broken?"

Abe looked at Jerry in confusion as he picked up his toolbox and climbed the

step. It continued to groan, but it didn't give. He carried his toolbox into the

house and dropped it in the smaller of two bedrooms. The room was a mess, but

most of it was just old clothes scattered around on the floor. He noticed a

stack of Polaroid pictures on the floor and bent down to look at them. The top

one showed a close up of a black cunt. He tipped the stack with his right toe

and saw that it was just one of a series. Raising an eyebrow, he decided that

he'd come back to look at them when he had a little more privacy.

It took several more trips to carry the rest of his tools into the house. Once

that was completed, he joined the two teenagers on the porch. Abe said, "You're

gonna have to lock up the house from now on or those tools will disappear."

"Really?" asked Jerry as if he didn't know that would be the case.

"You can bet money on it," replied Martin.

"They'd take it knowing that I'd hunt them down?" asked Jerry curious how the

two would answer.

"Your big size only makes you a bigger target for a bullet," replied Martin

dryly.

Jerry burst out laughing at the direct answer. It was interesting how some

people saw ways to make everything equal when others saw only inequality. The

thought struck him that the converse was true as well. There were lots of people

that saw only inequality when equality was the rule.

His reaction puzzled Abe and Martin, as they didn't find the comment all that

funny. Both had seen too many people die as a result of bullets. Abe asked,

"What's so funny? He was serious."

"I like you two. You and I see the world in very different ways," replied Jerry.

"Hey, we see the world as it really is," replied Martin.

"You see one reality. I see another."

"Yeah, you see the white world and it is just a rosy place. You're living in the

black world, now." There was a certain amount of anger in his voice when he said

that. Having looked for a job all summer, the best job he could get was manual

labor or working a cash register in a store somewhere.

The anger in the voice of the teenager was not lost on Jerry. He understood a

person being driven by rage. The question was how the guy would handle it over

time. Jerry answered, "Right."

The two black kids looked at each other, sharing a look that suggested Jerry was

going to learn a lot over the next few weeks. He stretched and then said, "It's

starting to cool down. I expect the house will be cool enough to work in pretty

soon."

"Wait until winter. You'll be wanting some of that heat," Abe joked.

"Are you saying that I made a mistake moving into this dump?"

"Shit, you know it."

"Hot in the summer and cold in the winter with bugs all year round." Martin

watched Jerry to see his reaction and was disappointed when all he did was shrug

his shoulders. No matter what they said to him, he just shrugged it off as

though it wasn't a problem.

Jerry stood and looked in the house. The air was still hot in the house and it

would be hours before it cooled down enough to be comfortable. It was getting

close to dinnertime and he still had to buy a mattress. Entering the house, he

locked it up and returned to the porch closing the front door behind him.

Looking down at the two boys, he said, "I guess you two might be by the store

tomorrow."

Both of the boys just shrugged their shoulders as though indifferent to the

offer. In reality, both were speculating on the chances of them getting the jobs

he had described. As Jerry walked towards his truck, which was still parked

under the oak tree, he called over his shoulder. "Opportunity only knocks once.

Look before you leap. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Beware of Greeks

bearing gifts."

Abe turned to his older brother and asked, "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Hell if I know."

Jerry drove the truck across his lawn and onto the street. He waved to the two

kids as he drove off while laughing at the looks on their faces. As he drove, he

said, "Thunder, who do you think is going to have the biggest change in their

world view?"

Stopping at a mattress store, Jerry was about to order a mattress, but saw a

futon in the store. The idea of a chair that folded out into a bed and wasn't a

sleeper sofa intrigued him. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the

futon and bought it on the spot. The salesman helped him carry the box

containing the parts out to his truck and the futon mattress that went with it.

From the mattress store, it was a quick stop at the hardware store. He bought a

new doorknob with a lock for the bedroom where he kept his tools. Abe and Martin

were not kidding about the chances of someone walking off with his tools. He

didn't want to make it easy for whoever might want to do that.

Dinner was a simple affair at the local diner. While eating, he thought about

Jenny and how she had taken special care of him at the restaurant. He liked her,

but he just wasn't good enough for a woman like that. She was attractive, smart,

and motivated. There was no way that she could possibly be interested in him.

As he ate, he thought about his circumstances. He was living in a $200 a month

rat-trap, driving an old car, fantasizing about a girl almost half his age, and

walking away from a wife, kids, and middle class house. He was stuck in a job

from which he should have been promoted years ago and with no real prospects in

the future. Who was he kidding? His wife was right, he was a loser.

He looked at his hands taking in the newly formed calluses. If he were to touch

a woman now, she'd scream in pain and all he'd done is spend a little time

working on the car. By the time he was finished with the bodywork on the car,

his hands would have the texture of lava rock.

Thinking about the two kids in the neighborhood, he realized that he had been

very flippant with them. The temporary high of leaving his wife was ending and

now he was thinking about the consequences. His rage rose at the thought of how

he had screwed up his life.

He returned home after eating, still angry with himself. The drive home didn't

take long and he parked the truck in the street in front of his house. The

elderly neighbors were still sitting on the porches of their houses, waiting for

it to get cooler. He picked up the box in which the futon was packed and carried

it to the house. Setting it down on the porch, he unlocked the front door. A

blast of hot air hit him in the face and he swore aloud, "I should have bought a

damned fan."

He picked up the box and carried it into the living room. Opening the box, he

spread the parts on the floor and retrieved his toolbox. It took him a half an

hour to assemble the futon frame. The mattress was still in the back of the

truck. He walked out and retrieved the mattress. Setting it on the frame, he sat

down using the futon as a sofa. It was comfortable and could actually fit two

considering his width. He lowered the back and then lay down on the futon. It

was a perfect size for him.

Retrieving the new doorknob from the truck, he installed it on the door of the

bedroom. Setting the toolbox in the bedroom, he closed the door and locked it.

His tools were now a little safer, but not entirely safe.

Returning to the living room, he looked around. Putting the futon into the sofa

position and taking a seat, he considered his surroundings. He didn't have

curtains on the windows, the bathroom was still toxic, there were no sheets for

the bed, and the house was hotter than he could possibly have predicted. Looking

up at the ceiling light, which was just a bulb screwed into a socket, he watched

the bugs circling around the bare bulb. There were no screens on the windows and

he would have to live with the bugs.

With a frown, he realized that he was going to be sleeping on the couch in the

store again. Angry at himself, he thought, 'I can't even get a home set up

properly.'

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