My daddy fixed cars; that’s what he did for a living in a tiny workshop in the dustbowl of California, in a time where we were taught that we worked to live. But my daddy always said you needed to love what you did. My daddy worked hard, and he always put food on our table, but he lived to work too and sometimes he took me along for the ride.
‘Little Joey,’ he said to me, ‘if I can give you one piece of advice, it is this: always trust your gut.’
I asked him what he meant. He put down his wrench and wiped his brow with his greasy hand, leaving a black smudge. The smell of grease and tyres make me think of him even now. He spoke carefully and deliberately.
‘I mean, son, that there will be times in your life that you will know exactly what’s what. You’ll know you are right. Don’t ask me why, yer just know. But you will doubt yourself, y’see? Or somebody will put doubt in your mind, and then you’ll get to thinkin’ you was wrong. Well, I say, always go with your instinct. You’ll feel it in your gut – here.’ He gently poked me in the stomach, and I jumped back, but I didn’t giggle even though it tickled me – I took his words as gospel.
Of course, he never just gave me one piece of advice. There was always more of daddy’s wisdom.
‘Do unto others as they would do unto you, he said one day. ‘Now tha’s from the Good Lord’s bible, see.’
I sucked it all in, looking up at him framed in a shaft of sunlight that filtered through the tiny high windows in his garage, all the time the familiar signature scent of grease, oil and rubber mingling on the air.
Another one was, ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth,’ which had me imagining a huge horse like Mr Ed, grinnin’ at me with massive white teeth, wrapped in a bow, while I stuck my little head in its mouth.
I think daddy’s advice was intended to teach me about bein’ fair; or never judgin’; about bein’ confident in your own mind too. Sometimes I understood it; sometimes I didn’t. But I believed every word.
I first saw the big black monster of a car parked a little way up the street. Daddy had started his work, and I was there, as usual, as it was Summer an’all.
‘Goddamit,’ he said, (and he rarely cursed), I forgot my torque wrench. Must’ve fell out of its little wrap. Now you’re a big man now, little Joey. Do you think you can fetch it back here for me?’
I was thrilled to be asked. ‘Course I can, daddy. Which is it?’
‘It’ll be left loose on the garage floor. Tha’s where I last seen it. It’s the only one with a piece of red tape on the handle. I can see it now. Why I didn’t go back and check before we left, I don’t know.’
‘I’ll go for yer, daddy,’ I said. ‘I can run like the wind back home.’
‘You know the way?’
‘Yes, I do, daddy.’
‘Good boy, son. Now don’t you go a-creepin’ round and scare your mama and git you gone.’
I ran like the wind. As I turned into our street, I saw a huge car I had never seen before. It was parked a little way up the street. It was huge and black, and I knew, because I knew my cars from working with my daddy, that it was a Ford.
Now somethin’ about that Ford gave me a funny feelin’ in my gut, just like my daddy said. It was a stranger’s car; it didn’t fit around our neighbourhood. That was why, I told myself. I went into the house, making sure I didn’t creep around to scare my mama, like daddy told me.
‘Joey!’ she cried out, ‘You scared me!’ My mama was sitting at the kitchen table with a strange man and they was drinking coffee.
‘I tried not to, mama,’ I said. ‘I didn’t creep about.’
‘What are you doing back here?’ she said. ‘Did you come all on your own?’
‘Yes I did, M’am,’ I took a furtive look at the man sitting at my kitchen table. ‘Daddy sent me to fetch a wrench he left behind. Must’ve fell out the goddamn wrap,’ I added, parroting daddy.
‘Joey! Mind your language or your daddy’ll box your ears!’ she said. ‘We have a guest. His name is Mr Turnupseed, and he is a student at the Uni-ver-sit-ie.’ She drew out the word, like she was impressed.
I held out my hand. ‘How d’y do, mister.’
‘Well, how do you do, young man,’ said Mr Turnupseed.
‘Y’r name is funny,’ I said.
My mama gasped. ‘Joey! Mind your manners!’ she said.
‘It sure it is,’ said Mr Turnupseed, and smiled. ‘You can call me Donald, if you like?’
‘Is that your car up the street?’ I asked.
‘Sure is,’ said Donald.
‘Stop asking so many questions Joey,’ said Mama, ‘and go get the thing you came for. Mr – Donald – is talking to me about rentin’ a room off of us ready to start the Uni-ver-sit-ie again in Autumn.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Ok.’ And with that, I left the kitchen and headed to the garage to grab the tool I needed. Without saying goodbye, I left and ran all the way back to daddy’s workshop.
‘Here you are, daddy!’
‘Well done, little Joey!’ said Daddy.
‘Daddy,’ I blurted, ‘there was a strange man at home with Mama in the kitchen, from the Uni-ver-sit-ie.’
‘A strange man huh?’ he rubbed his chin with his oil-covered hand. ‘Well, I guess we can see about that later.’
All day daddy was in a strange frame of mind, and when we got home, I was sent to bed after supper, and I could hear him arguin’ with mama as I lay wrapped up in my covers. Mama was tellin’ him not to be such a fool, and somethin else I couldn’t hear, which calmed him down for a moment, and then he started shoutin’ about not needin’ a lodger and wasn’t his wage good enough? What would the neighbours think, if he couldn’t support his own family? I couldn’t make head nor tail of it, but I thought of the big black car, and my gut said I didn’t like it.
But Donald Turnupseed moved in as a lodger in August 1955, and I had to get myself to school, which meant I didn’t get to spend so much time in the workshop. My daddy was in a black mood since Donald had moved in, and even when I went with him at weekends, he often sulked, or stared moodily at the car he was fixin’, grumblin’ about how he looked a fool and a poor provider. And my daddy hardly spoke to my mama without bein’ in a mood, and she often slapped his dinner down in front of him, whilst Donald Turnupseed attempted to make polite conversation returned by only a grunt. I knew that my gut had told me right. That this big black car had spelled trouble. I knew the minute I saw it parked in our street, and soon I began to think about my daddy’s advice, and how I could put it right.
In late September, when the bright Autumn colours were just beginning to mute, I went by daddy’s workshop after school, and I saw a familiar black vehicle parked up there. My daddy was in the tiny office area, and I could hear him talkin’ to our lodger about the repairs he had done, and right then and there, I got that tinglin’ in my gut. Grabbin’ a knife which was lyin’ beside the tyre, I seized my chance, and I looked under the hood. I thought if this Donald ran into difficulties, then he might not be able to get back to our home easily, and my mama and daddy and me could have a meal in peace, and perhaps mama would see we were better off without the cuckoo in our nest. I cut part-way through the first piece of cable I could find, and I returned the knife to its place. I saw my daddy and Donald shake hands; Donald handed over some dollars. Daddy slapped Donald on the back, and then they saw me.
‘Little Joey! I just fixed up our lodger’s car, and it’s as good as new. Turns out he is as interested in cars as I am. And Baseball! Not a bad guy really. You want to work on another car with me, little Joey?’
I thought about tellin’ my daddy what I had done, but my gut told me I shouldn’t. And in any case, if the wire broke, it would still delay Donald enough to give my mama and daddy a chance to eat in peace, and maybe they’d stop fighting? I kept my mouth shut and we waved Donald off, finished the other car, and then went home.
My mama was not worried when Donald didn’t return at his usual time. She thought he must have got held up at school. But when he had not come in by bedtime, I could see that she was agitated.
‘He’s a young man,’ said daddy, ‘he’ll be out on the town. Maybe with a girl?’
‘Maybe,’ said mama.
The next morning the papers were full of news about the crash. Apparently, some up-and-coming film star called Jimmy Dean had died when his speeding silver Porsche was involved in a collision with a black Ford Tudor sedan. This James Dean and his mechanic had died instantly, and the driver of the other car had walked away uninjured, spending the night being checked over and answering a few questions about the crash. His name was Donald Turnupseed.
‘Tha’s not far from here! I’d better get me to the workshop and see if they need a truck to deal with them cars,’ said daddy. ‘I expect Donald will have a tale about that actor and his crazy drivin’ though.’
I went with my daddy that day, and I watched as the mangled Porsche was loaded onto a tow truck. And I watched too as it rolled off again and crushed both my daddy’s legs.
Bio
Virginia Betts is a tutor, writer, and actor from Ipswich. She has had three books published, The Camera Obscure (supernatural and gothic stories) Tourist to the Sun (poetry) and That Little Voice (poetry), which was published recently by Anxiety Press. She has also had numerous poems and stories published (Acumen, Minerva Rising, Bristol Noir, Urban Pigs, The Weird and Whatnot, Pure Slush, A Thin Slice of Anxiety) and performed on stage and on BBC Radio, and she has won awards for her writing. Her fourth, Burnt Lungs and Bitter Sweets, a punk misadventure, is due to be released by Urban Pigs Press in December 2024. Virginia is a member of Black and White Productions Theatre Company and recent stage roles have included Kate Bush, Mary Boleyn, Elizabeth Barton, Maud Gonne, and Patricia Highsmith. Virginia is a member of The Writer’s Guild, Equity, Suffolk Writers, The Wolsey Writers, The Dracula Society, and The Poetry Society. She also runs Results Tutoring in Ipswich. She writes a monthly blog article for the Felixstowe Magazine and Author’s Electric. She loves to relax with her violin or in the swimming pool at David Lloyd gym, where she runs the book club.
Photo by Maria Soledad on Unsplash
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