Rafe smiles at me. “You’d want to come back?”
I nod.
“Why?” he asks, and though his tone is matter-of-fact, I can tell my answer is important. He’s obviously really protective of the kids.
“It was cool,” I say automatically, “getting to shoot the shit about cars.”
When he says nothing, just keeps looking at me like he’s waiting for my real answer, I try to pinpoint it for myself so I can have some hope of explaining it to him. It’s not the cars. Not really. Hell, I talk about cars all day long most days. And it’s not the kids, exactly. I mean, I liked them a lot, but… it’s me.
“I don’t know how to explain it, but… it feels different from the other stuff I do. Like, I go to work and I run and I… I just. It’s nice to do something that’s not about… me, I guess.” Shit, that’s it. I don’t do anything for anyone else. I mean, I fix cars because I get paid to do it. I listen to music and watch movies for entertainment. I run and lift weights because if I don’t, I’ll go crazy. But none of that feels good; it’s… necessary. Even building my models is just a distraction. Something to do with my hands, a problem to solve, like fixing cars, so I don’t have to think.
Rafe is looking at me intently, nodding.
“Javier was the first one who got me to understand that. That doing something for someone else, for a cause, was the best way to get outside of myself, of my own shit. That being a part of something—at least trying to make things better—was a way to feel like I had something to offer.” His voice is fierce.
Something to offer. Yeah, that’s how I feel. In the shop I have something to offer, sure, but it’s always been more about getting to a place where I could offer the same thing as Pop or Luther or the other guys who I learned from. But this—I get what he’s saying. It’s not just information about cars that I’m offering these kids; it’s, like, the possibility that they can be good at something.
“I thought, um, Javier might be there today. Since you’ve talked so much about him,” I say, and I cringe a little because I sound… jealous.
Rafe’s eyes widen and he swallows hard. He shakes his head and looks at his hands, fisted on his knees. Not so relaxed now.
“Javi’s dead,” he says, his voice breaking. “He died three months ago.”
“What? Fuck, man, I’m—shit! I just thought… shit, sorry.”
Rafe’s arms are crossed over his chest, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut. His posture reminds me of Ricky’s as she walked away, her skinny arms holding herself tight against the world. He shakes his head like he wants very much for me not to make him talk about it.
“I run it now. The YA. I’ve run it since Javi died.” Rafe clears his throat, and I can tell he’s making a conscious effort to keep his voice steady. He fists his hands but uncrosses his arms. “So, if you want to make these workshops a regular thing, I think that’d be great. Maybe we could figure out a way to get a car you could actually work on.”
“Yeah,” I agree. Rafe obviously wants to change the subject and it seems like the least I can do after stumbling into it. “Um, we get piece-of-shit cars at the shop all the time, like I was saying. I could bring one over and leave it in the parking lot? I guess I could tow it over; that way I could get one that didn’t run and it’d be more stuff for me to show the kids how to fix? Oh yeah, well, I have one that came in the other day—the engine basically seized completely and it would’ve cost about five grand to fix so the guy just left it there. That’d be awesome to show them because the whole engine kind of melted….”
Rafe’s staring at me. He seems to realize he’s doing it and clears his throat.
“Let me check with Marcus. He’s in charge of the actual church and the parking lot. He’ll know if it’s okay to leave the car there. I think it sounds great, though, if he’s all right with it.”
Then he gets a wicked gleam in his eye.
“I know someone who will be very excited to see you again,” he says. “Mikal took quite a shine to you.”
“Yeah, what was the deal with that, man? I’m surprised some of the other kids don’t want to kick his ass, being so obvious like that. Like, uh, Carlos? He seems like the type… well, at least when I was in school, he would’ve been the type to kick someone’s ass for acting, um—”