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Different Hands

The engine rocked with every stroke. A lanky teenager made one last instinctively calibrated turn of the needle-valve but could not catch it in time and the engine stalled. He braced the lawnmower with his foot and yanked the starter cord. The small engine roared out as though relieved after years of neglect. The industrial arts teacher stepped out the back door to the yard fenced in where the students worked on their cars, boat and small engines.

The teacher patted Ronnie on the back and yelled over the engine roar, "Sounds like new again, Ronnie...." Ronnie cut the engine and removed his earplugs. "Mr. Federico will be pleased─ probably won't wait for the spring; he'll probably start right in and mulch his lawn today. You did a fine job."

"All it took was to rip off the head to rid the piston head of carbon, Mr. Walker," Ronnie said modestly.

"All?...Not many know that or what to do about it. Looks like you more than earned your 'A'."

"That's cool, Mr. Walker, thanks."

"Like I said, Ronnie, you earned it, I didn't give it to you."

Ronnie rolled the mower under the overhang; then put the tools back in the tool room. The bell rang and he dashed out to meet his girl at the commons area. Although Both of them had study hall the same period, they were seldom together; but on occasion his girl would join him in the student lounge when her homework was not piling up on her. Ronnie never had homework─that is, he never did it─since he left private school. Debbie had not arrived yet. "Probably at the locker again deciding on what books to take home," he thought. Ronnie never took books home. He went over to the soda machine and dropped in seventy cents for two cans then laid claim to their table in a corner of the huge lounge.

"I'm sorry, Ronnie," Debbie greeted him with sad brown orbs, dumping a pile of books on the table; "I know I promised I'd stay here today but I have a social studies test today and really have to study. Can you imagine the first week into the new quarter and he's giving us a test already? Did you get your grades yet?"

"I guess not; my mother hasn't yelled at me yet."

Oh, I wish they hadn't started that new system...mailing them home like that. The suspense psyches me out." Her dark silky hair shimmered in the light when she shook her head.

"No way you have anything to worry about," he said confidently, then added, "It'll be my mother who gets psyched." He ripped open a soda can for her and slid it over to her. "Anyway, what's another test to you─no, big deal, you can study here."

"Oh, it's so noisy;... especially when that crazy Alvin starts ....spinning those hard metal records of his," she said between sips of soda.

"Here, use these," he offered taking his plugs out of his pocket.

"You can read in peace while I hold your hand."

She laughed. "Yeah, I know you─that's not all you'll do. No, I'm just going to relax awhile, have my soda and then get a pass to the library. Why don't you come with me? It wouldn't hurt to take out a book, you know─or at least browse."

"Yeah, right, I can just see myself taking out War and Peace─did you ever finish it, by the way?"

"Yes, but I must confess, it was an ordeal and I skipped his boring essaying. Anyway, I'm not suggesting that kind of reading, as long as you would just read something else once in a while besides those mechanics books of yours," she pleaded, then took a few hurried gulps.

"No way, Debbie,...just doesn't turn me on."

"Oh, Ronnie, I'll be in college next year and here you'll probably be pumping gas for minimum," she said with dejection, looking over with her customary sad brown eyes while absently fondling her long dark hair whenever they broached this subject.

"On that again, eh? Bracing me for when you meet some smart nerd on campus and then dump me, eh?"

"You know that's not it; but it does happen. Kids change when they go on to college─and it frightens me. Besides, I always hoped that in the end we'd be up at college together."

"Don't let it worry you─if we split, well, that's life," he announced glibly as his hand nervously brought the can to his mouth. "Come on, I'll go to the library with you and flip through some old issues of Popular Mechanics."

When Debbie was free after school, which was not very often, he would drive her home or they would do a little hand holding and necking as they strolled along the beach. Today he was looking forward to driving around with her, knowing there was no game and she would not be cheerleading; however, the last period announcements blared over "Student Council Meeting Today, Room220 at 3:10." As he climbed into his van parked behind the faculty lane, a short man waving an attaché case and pushing the lawnmower came rolling toward him. Ronnie looked down as the teacher reached for his wallet and pulled out a ten dollar bill. "Here, Ronnie, I want you have this for fixing the mower─Mr. Walker told me what a fine job you did," Mr. Federico said gratefully. "You have no idea the frustration this old machine put me through last summer."

"Oh, believe me, Mr. Federico, I can imagine...It's nice of you to offer, but really I couldn't accept─it's all in the learning and I'm just happy you had the confidence in me to have me look it over."

"Well, you did more than look it over, so I must insist you take it." He stuffed it in his windbreaker pocket and wheeled the mower to his car.

Ronnie climbed out and followed. "Shoot, Mr. Federico, this is embarrassing. I don't need the money," Ronnie pleaded as Federico opened his trunk lid. Ronnie stopped him from lifting the mower and he put it into the trunk for him, deftly removing the handle and laying it flat before closing the lid.

"Thank you, Ronnie; consider the ten as token for courteous delivery service, then." he smiled and patted Ronnie's shoulder.

"I tell you what─how about a 'C' instead?" Ronnie bargained playfully.

"Now you're embarrassing me, Ronnie, you know I gave you a 'D' in English. At least permit me to make amends. I hate giving a nice kid like you such a low grade─why can't you at least try to write some of the

assigned compositions." He got in his car and started it up.

Ronnie instinctively tuned in to the engine. and tapped on his window. Federico rolled it down partially.

"You're car needs a tune up. Leave it in the yard Monday and I'll check it out for you─and no charge, please."

"I know you're right; I treat my car like I do my lawnmower," Federico quipped.

"Ugh!" Ronnie laughed.

"Listen, Ronnie, since you want to make a deal,...instead of the compositions this quarter, how about turning in How-to-do pieces. You know, as if your were writing a manual for the layman. You can start with the lawnmower."

"Say, that's cool, Mr. Federico,...thanks!" Federico waved and the car sputtered away.

Ronnie turned a street lined with huge budding maples and opulent homes. He pulled his van into a cobblestone driveway and circled behind the huge rambling Tudor home to the four-car garage. Ronnie was always grateful for the old high style garage that could accommodate his van. Not many of his friend with vans could garage theirs─especially the way they jacked them up. He clicked the remote and nudged his van into the spacious garage between his mother's Cadillac and an original corvette from the early fifties─his dad's nostalgic toy. He headed for the refrigerator and grabbed an apple from the roll-out bin. He hoisted himself up on a counter top and stared out the window thinking of what Debbie had said earlier. If even if he had wanted to he was certain he could not cut it at college. Oh, he knew he could fake it the way most of his friends from last year's graduating class were doing just so they would not, as Debbie had observed concerning him, saddle themselves with barely above minimum wage throughout their lives. Then he felt guilty that perhaps the only reason he asserted a kind of independence was that his parents were wealthy and he did not have to worry about making a living. Still, he reasoned, did he not have enough skill in his hands to carve out a good living wage even when he took on the responsibility of raising a family someday? It was not his fault that he was born rich. He shuddered when he thought of his days in Stratton Academy when he felt like a displaced person in the midst of all those brainy kids─that is, because of their background they had to perceive themselves as smart. If Debbie was going to wind up feeling ashamed of him, then it would have to be. Though he admired her and definitely felt that he was in love with her, he concluded she was not for him if he had to lose his integrity.

Mrs. Terry, Ronnie's mother entered the kitchen, looking like something out of a slick ad from Sak.'s or one of those TV mothers from earlier days of television. She was clutching a short piece of computer print-out. "I thought I heard your truck roaring in."

"Gees, Mom, it's not a truck and it doesn't make a lot of noise," he enlightened her as he jumped down from the counter.

"Well, you could've fooled me─how is it I can't hear your father's Mercedes when he is in and out of the driveway?"

"That's hardly fair, Mom─but I can hear your Caddie. Would you like me to tune it up for you?"

"Don't start with me─I've told you I don't want you working on cars."

He shook his head resentfully and whined, "Aw, Mom, why are you always putting me down?...and mechanics are important people; everybody has to rely on a car."

"This is why," she snapped, holding up the piece of paper. "Three 'D's', one 'C' and an 'F'─would you like to count them yourself?─and how could you possibly manage an 'F' in social studies and get a 'C' in such a difficult subject as physics?" "That's easy, Mom─the world's chemistry results in mechanical force."

"Oh, you and your mechanics─you're obsessed." He looked embarrassed and then asked, "Where's my 'A'? I take six subjects, you know─and what about Phys ed.?"

"I'm not concerned about your ability to toss basketballs and climb ropes. And as far as the other thing goes─small motors─or whatever, I strictly forbade your taking that dirty course."

He shook his head again. "It's my best, Mom; it gives me a good feeling. Why, I know I could open up a small engines shop right now and make a good living on it, except I'd prefer auto mechanics."

"Oh, Ronnie, when are you ever going to mature? How could you do this to your father, a surgeon, who had such high hopes for you."

"Is it really dad or you, Mom?"

"Yes, of course, it's both of us. How do you think I feel when I go to the club or entertain and all my friends are bragging about their children's careers or when they toss around the Ivy League as though there were no other universities in the nation. Now, you listen to me, young man, tomorrow is Saturday and I absolutely forbid you to fiddle around with the cars. Stay in your room and study. O, God, why did I ever let you talk me into allowing you to attend a public school!"

"If I remember right, it was dad who convinced you after I had convinced him. Besides, I hope you're not blaming the school for my poor grades."

"Of course, I am! Why, they don't even have sufficient soap for you to clean your hands properly after that disgusting class you have. I've told you not to come home with dirt under your fingernails and just look at them."

She took his hands to inspect and shook her head over them. "My God, Ronald, the grease is imbedded in your pores. Go to the basement and scrub them."

"Hands aren't made just for surgery, Mom."

Ronnie did not technically disobey his mother this Saturday─he simply did not have any books to study with. However, he did write a piece on the maintenance of a mower for Mr. Federico. When he finished he headed for Debbie's.

Ronnie and Debbie jumped out of the van in front of a used car lot.

Ronnie, though having little confidence in used cars unless bought cheaply with the premise that more money was to be put into them, agreed to look at some cars with Debbie to give her an option list for her father who wanted to give her an early graduation gift. Actually her dad was tired of picking her up─most of the time Ronnie did─at her part-time job in the evenings and getting up early Saturday mornings to cart her to work.

Debbie immediately started looking at shiny late model cars while Ronnie fumbled for the hood latch of older cars to look under the hoods. Debbie sighed each time she looked at the prices smeared on the windshields and knew her father would not be willing to go that high. When she observed what Ronnie was doing she came down to earth and decided to join him when she spotted a Firebird at the other end of the lot.

"Oh, Ronnie, she cried out, "come look at this one."

Ronnie followed after her. She was circling the Firebird, admiring its sleek lines and then noticed "Special" scrawled across the windshield.

"Ronnie, isn't it beautiful?─and it's on sale!"

"I wouldn't count on it," he said skeptically. "There's no price on it. How much is your father willing to pay?"

"He said about a thousand," she said proudly as though that were a good deal of money, not knowing anything about the current market. But she did know that most of his savings would go toward her college costs.

"Then this isn't for you; they usually want more than that for this kind of car. Kids go crazy for them─especially with the 350 engine," he said in an authoritative tone. "Provided, of course, it's as good mechanically as it looks─even though it's a '77."

She grimaced with disappointment. "Oh, are you sure?" She ran her hand over the long front fender. "Let's ask the salesman, Ronnie, to see what 'Special' means."

"Okay, but you're only going to be shaken up."

They headed toward the mobile office and she said, "Ronnie, you're such a pessimist─but I'm glad you're with me."

A paunchy middle-aged man stepped out of the mobile office and greeted them with a smile and said, "I noticed you're interested in our great weekend special, eh? No finer bargain on the lot than that classic bird."

The three of them walked back to the car, and the salesman unlocked it. "This is in such beautiful condition that we lock it even during the day...real leather and a five hundred dollar stereo system in it! Yes, dearie, this is a once-in a─lifetime chance to sport around town without costing you a fortune. Do you realize what Japanese sports cars are going for today? But this is the one that showed them the way─yes, young lady, this is the granddaddy. Why, the ones five years old are still commanding five-seven thousand dollar price tags!"

"How old is this one?" Debbie asked, then looking over at Ronnie.

"Oh, about eight or seven," he said coolly, "but the important thing is how well it's been kept and the low mileage."

He held the door open and gestured that she sit in it. "And just look at that gorgeous interior."

Ronnie said, "It's considerably older than that by my calculation─it happens to be eleven years old─it's a '77," he pointed out to the salesman.

"You don't say?" The salesman looked at him dumbly. "Well, it's hard to tell with these cars. Still it's the history of its maintenance that counts and I can tell you this is a one-owner beauty."

He bent in and put the key in the ignition and said to her, "Now watch this magic; look around, no antenna, right?" He switched it to the accessory and the radio blared out Tommy Dorsey's "Song of India"; he quickly pushed the tuner selectors. "That's my boss; he's got every car on the lot tuned to that old band channel."

Debbie coveted the leather wrapping round the steering wheel and admired the cushy upholstery as she listened to Springsteen resonate out of four speakers. Ronnie shook his head and bent under to check the exhaust system which was badly scraped and rusting out, and there was no future for the muffler either. He lowered the radio and said to her smiling face, "If you think that's a great sound, wait till you try your cassettes out on this player built into the console with its separate amp. And just look at that stick shift─impressive─yet I know you ladies don't like clutching so it's an automatic just for you."

"Oh, I don't mind shifting─in fact, I rather like it," she said with a trace of resentment.

"Well, then, you're in for a great new dimension─there's nothing like the convenience and smoothness of an automatic transmission, especially GM's─they're the best,...should be, after all, they invented it...And what did you think of the radio, wasn't that something?...and without an aerial."

"Oh," she smiled politely, "I know that it's built into the windshield."

"Ah, brilliant girl─yes, you'll go along way in this great car!"

"Perhaps,...what's the price?" she said wincing.

"Do you know the story of the guy who went into the Cadillac showroom?─probably not, you're much too young. Anyway, he asked the dealer what the price was for the model on display. The dealer told him that if he had to ask, then he was not Cadillac ownership quality."

Then he guffawed and said, "But for you, dearie, I'm going to quote you an unbelievable price, if you're really interested─I'm obligated to warn you that this is not going to be on the lot very long. Why, I'll wager as soon as our ad reaches the newsstand this afternoon it'll be gone in an hour."

"Oh, really you've advertised it?" she asked warily.

"Oh, yes, you see, as you must've gathered from the radio, my boss has this nostalgic disease and he used to own a Firebird when they first came out and has regretted ever selling it and he told me if I didn't sell it by tomorrow, he was going to keep it for himself."

"Oh, my really?...It must be a good buy, then."

Ronnie in the meantime had circled the auto looking for body rot which he knew these cars were notorious for, especially, oddly enough, round the cowl and rear window; he was impressed that there was very little. He had gone round to the driver's side and asked Debbie, "Did he say what the price is?"

The salesman looked at him resentfully but did not hesitate. "I was just coming to that, my boy; I was just telling the little girl here, that it's an advertised special....It'll go fast."

Then he faced Debbie and announced enthusiastically, "Yep, this classic has been marked down all the way from twenty-five hundred!"

Debbie sank in the seat "Oh, my!..."

"Ah, my girl, don't look disappointed; you can have it for the fantastic price─mind you, now, from twenty-five hundred all the way down to sixteen-fifty!" He grinned and touched her shoulder, "Can you believe it, dearie? That's eight hundred and fifty off the regular price!"

Debbie looked up and beamed over to Ronnie. "Oh, Ronnie, isn't that wonderful? Maybe dad would go for it and I could pay him the rest with my summer pay!" Then she felt guilty, knowing her parents were counting on that money for her extra expenses at college.

Ronnie nudged the salesman aside and reached in and turned the key to the ignition and cranked it momentarily─the battery was low. "Switch the radio off, Debbie, and pump the accelerator a few times─not too much now."

He switched to start again and it cranked and the engine almost caught. Debbie looked over his back at the salesman sheepishly. Ronnie pulled the hood latch and went to the front of the car. Releasing the safety latch under the sprung hood, he raised up the hood. The battery side terminals were frothing with corrosion. He picked up a twig by his feet and scraped some of it off and twisted the terminals to check that they weren't loose. He poked his head around and yelled to Debbie, "I don't think it'll start but try it once more before the battery is killed altogether."

She cranked it; it caught; the carburetor coughed and it died.

"Dearie, don't be discouraged when you come back with your father we'll have it purring for you," he assured her, then he looked over at Ronnie indignantly.

"Oh, you will? That's just great!"

"Hold on, mister, we're not through looking at others, nor this one, you know."

He ducked under the hood again and pulled a thinly insulated wire from a spark-plug and noticed the rust at the base and the grease round the insulator. He checked the engine dipstick; it was low and black. Even the power steering dipstick was low, along with the hydraulic brake fluid. He noted there was no anti-freeze in the overflow chamber so he twisted off the pressure cap and the water level was not visible. He removed the air-cleaner cover and the air and pc valve filter were filthy. It was obvious, to him that the car owner was one of those who polish every week had neglect the service end.

He was about to remove the distributor cap to check the points and rotor when the little man came round and cautioned, "Don't do that, young feller!" He tugged on Ronnie's windbreaker and urged him out from under, then he slammed down the hood, muttering, "Who's buying this car?─butt out!"

"Hey, mister, that's my girl and she asked me. If you think you're going to fleece her you're high on something."

He went up to Debbie who had turned the radio back on and had her knees in the seat looking over at the big speakers in the back window deck. He peered in and checked the odometer; it read 07899. He clicked off the radio. She sat back down. He pointed to the odometer.

"How can that be Ronnie?" she said looking up at him with a perplexed expression.

The salesman jumped in, "Oh, yes, that's right; the previous owner told me that the speedometer hadn't been working for quite a while. But he told me the approximate mileage is 68000."

"How in blazes did it pass inspection all that time? Is it working now?" Ronnie probed.

"Why, of course, it is─we couldn't sell it otherwise."

Ronnie looked at Debbie who was fondling the steering wheel again and he said skeptically, "Debbie, don't be taken in by this─obviously, it's the second time around."

"My God, you mean it has over a hundred thousand miles on it!"

"Now, see here, young feller, I've told you what the true mileage is!" he grated. "Don't be putting ideas in the little girl's head that shouldn't be there."

"Yeah, right, and I suppose you're willing to sign the affidavit on the title certificate to that effect."

"Well, of course not, we cannot testify to that; the previous owner has already done so."

"And you expect us to believe it? It's a violation of state law to permit the previous owner to write down an estimated mileage that doesn't jell with the reading. It's as clear as day that the reading of over a hundred thousand is consistent with the age and condition of the car,"

Ronnie said confidently, then bent over and showed him the brake pedal.

"Look, it's practically new! No one replaces a brake pedal unless it's over a hundred thousand."

"Aw, that's hogwash─maybe he was a brake-rider─proves nothing!...You've been reading 'Consumers'. We get you smart alecks in here all the time."

"Say, mister, I'm just trying to be realistic about this─I'm not a wise guy. Facts are facts and I'm not saying this car is hopeless. After all, it's proven itself over and over again with that sort of mileage, but it's not worth more than six hundred. Let me jump it and I'll prove it."

"You're ridiculous! And I thought the little girl was serious about buying a car."

"Oh, but I am!" Debbie said in a mild panic.

He reached in for the key and nudged her out of the car as she sighed. "I'm sorry, dearie, but as I said they'll be here in droves soon, I can wait."

He walked back to the office.

She looked at the car again, "Oh, Ronnie look at that paint job ─the way the metallic glows! It had to be taken care of."

"It's not the original paint. Be sensible, Debbie, it's a clunker.

Sure, it'll look beautiful in the junk yard two months from now, but that won't be much consolation to you, now, will it?"

"Ronnie, how can you be so sure?"

"I cant' really until we've taken a spin in it; but he's not going to allow it. But I do know that it'll take a lot of money to fix it right.

Why, just the exhaust system alone, if I don't do it for you will cost a couple of hundred. And I suspect the engine will have to be torn down, not to mention brakes and stuff. Why, doing the work myself it'll still cost over a thousand, I'll bet."

"It's that bad, huh?" she whined.

"Cheer up. There's a nice little Bobcat over there with a five hundred sticker on it. I know they're not glamorous, but it'll get you to school and work. Of course, you'll have to try it out. I suspect it'll need work─used cars always do─and it has 80,000 some odd on the odometer and I know those two liter cube four cylinders aren't the best but if kept tuned it'll get you where you want to go for a year or two."

"Ronnie, you make me feel that a car is a bad idea."

"No, Deb, it's just that all used cars are a gamble and I don't want to see you miserable. But if your father is willing to go as high as a thousand, I'd rather see you get something for less and let me put the rest into getting it right, rather than to pick up something for a thousand and then finding out you need brakes and any number of things."

"But I can't expect you to spend all your time fixing my car ─and you know how your mother is."

"I can handle that."

"Gee, Ronnie, I don't think I want a car now─or what about the classified? Don't you usually get a better deal through a private party?"

"Yeah, if you really want to scour several towns; but keep in mind: seldom does anybody give a good car away. And once you plunk down the money─and most won't take a check─and the car falls apart a house away, that's it. Of course, these dealers are hardly any better─what with the lousy thirty days they allow you and then when something goes wrong they'll tell you that it was your fault. Still, there's some recourse."

She looked in on the plain cloth interior of the Bobcat. She circled round it and commented, "It's no Firebird─but it is kind of cute."

"Yeah, they're not bad little cars─lousy on gas though. With a light foot you can get almost as much mileage on that Firebird tanker if finely tuned and the engine is decent."

"Ronnie, you're confusing me!" She whined looking longingly over at the bird.

The salesman emerged from the office and headed toward them loitering round the Bobcat. He came up to them and had a big grin on his face.

"You're in luck, dearie; I just spoke to the sales manager and he said you can have the F-Bird for an even thousand. How does that fit your budget?"

Debbie's face lit up, but Ronnie said, "Wouldn't give you a hundred for it without taking it for a spin."

"Hey, boy, you stay out of this! I'm talking to the little girl."

Debbie faced Ronnie, appealing, "Oh, Ronnie, it sounds like such a wonderful deal!"

"Well, the salesman's right, in a way─you're buying it. So come back with your father, if you really want it. But make darn sure your father checks it out thoroughly. And check into the Bobcat, too."

"Now that's more like it, my boy," the salesman interpolated with a twinkle in his eyes, then added, "And, young lady, we'll have it purring for your father."

She looked at Ronnie. "How's that sound, Ronnie?...And you will come back with us? Dad doesn't know anything about cars."

"Well,...okay, but you heard my price," Ronnie said to her, looking straight at the salesman.

The salesman frowned. "Now hold on this is a firm rock-bottom offer and there can't be any further bargaining. You're father has to either take it or leave it. The price stands."

"You mean to say if the transmission is slipping, the exhaust system is shot─you know how low slung these cars are─it needs brakes, especially rotors─that's it?"

"Hey, shop for a new car then. All we guarantee for that price is that it runs. Good lord, boy, this is six hundred dollar discount we're talking about."

"Well, you could save us a lot of time if you let me jump it now and we take it for a spin."

He touched Debbie's arm and nudged her to leave.

"Thank you for your time, sir; I'm sure I'll be back with my father," she said wistfully.

"Fine, dearie, but make sure you get back today─it won't last an hour at that unbelievable price."

He headed back to the office as they ambled to the van.

"An hour?...Ronnie, my father isn't even home! He's doing some work over at Nana's."

"Don't worry about it, Deb. That guy is just sucking you in anyway. With his attitude the car's gotta be a clunker─just as well."

Since Debbie's father had not gotten home yet and Debbie had already taken the morning off at the dress shop where she worked, she decided to go to work and reluctantly take Ronnie's advice and forget the car of her dream.

Ronnie dropped her off and cruised around town for a while to see if he could find any of his friends around. Since all of them worked to feed their cars and meet the gruesome car insurance payments there was no one around. He grew envious of his friends having to work for their spend- money and car costs. For sometime he had been thinking of taking on a job. He even had talked his mother into giving up the gardener who came every week. But she hired him back because Ronnie had let the leaves get out of hand this fall while he was helping a friend install a rebuilt transmission and engine in a Falcon. He drove out to the junk yards on the outskirts and left Debbie's phone number with each one in the event they could use a hand after school or on weekends. Had he given them his number, and his mother had gotten any of the calls she would have hung up on them. He pulled into Stanowski's garage for gas. Though it wasn't a self-serve, Ronnie always jumped out and helped himself because he felt sorry for old man Stanowski who had a bad heart. He could never understand why people were so hung up on an education that they felt they were failures if their kids did not go to college. Here Mr. Stanowski had a strapping son who knew automobiles and could make life easy for his father and yet the old man sends him off to learn engineering. He thought that was crazy.

Mr. Stanowski came out heaving heavily from the garage after Ronnie had already hung the nozzle back up and ready to hand him a twenty. "You didn't have to come out, Mr. Stanowski, I would've come into the garage to pay you. You look like you have your hands full."

He gestured to the bays.

"You're a good boy, Ronnie, but why don't you save some money and go to the self-serve station down away. Why pay me two pennies more?"

"Aw, Mr. Stanowski, you're a good one too─don't worry about it. How's George doin' at college?"

"Very good,...smart like you."

"I hope he's better than me! I don't plan on goin'."

He laughed as he gave him back his change. "You fellers...always with the jokes. And you, a doctor's son!"

"Yeah, that's all I ever hear. But everybody's got to live his own life."

He looked over at the garage. I see you got both bays goin', eh?"

"Yeah, customers are draggin', me round today─like that every Saturday. Just finishin' up a tune up. But that other one's a big job and he wants it tonight. Big date, I guess."

He chuckled. Then he gasped for breath and held his chest.

"Are you okay, Mr. Stanowski?"

"Oh, yeah, I just sit a minute in the office...be okay."

Another car pulled up to the pump. "Oh, not right now, I guess."

He headed for the pump. Ronnie intercepted him.

"No, Mr. Stanowski, you go rest, I'll get this for you."

"You will?...Like I say...you a good boy."

He handed him some singles. "Here you might need this for change."

Bent over he headed for the office while Ronnie took care of the customer. After he pulled his van up to the bay. He jumped out and went over to the car the old man was tuning up. He checked the gap of the remaining spark-plugs and wrenched them in. He removed the distributor cap and could see the old man had installed the points already. He turned the crankshaft to the high point and checked the gap. A box of wires were out so he replaced the old ones as he removed each of them. He cranked it up and checked the timing and it was right on the money. He poked his head in the window of the door and he could see that the old man had dozed off. The bell rang as another car pulled up for gas. He looked in the window but Stanowski did not stir. He pumped in ten bucks worth of gas. He went over to the LTD. The customer had left a note that it died out intermittently and several mechanics had diagnosed it as carburetor trouble and should be replaced. Ronnie shook his head, "These mechanics today─unbelievable."

He started it up and it coughed, spit, sputtered. He shut if off and removed the air cleaner and started it up again. It held freer, then started to flutter. He rocked the butterfly and it raced free again. He was already sure what the trouble was but he checked the timing anyway. Then he ripped off the choke mechanism. And steadied the accelerator it worked fine. He shut it off. The bell rang again. This time Stanowski emerged from the office. "I'll get it, Mr. Stanowski. He pumped in five bucks. A young woman strolled up and asked if her car was ready. "Is that the tune up over there?" She nodded. "Yes, Ma’am, all done. Mr. Stanowski saw her and stepped as briskly as he could toward her car. He tipped his cap and scratched his head when he saw the hood down and quickly unlatched it. When he raised the hood his eyes popped; he saw the empty wire box, then looked at the new wires already installed. He looked for the timing gun. Then saw it over by the LTD. The young woman came up to him and asked what she owed him. He scratched his head again.

"Uh, just let me start it up to double-check it, young lady."

He cranked it up and it purred beautifully. "Ya, ya, it's already to go."

The young lady was delighted. They went into the office to settle up.

Ronnie pumped another three bucks worth and came into the office just as she left. He handed him the money. They watched her pull out and she waved, coupled with a gleaming smile.

"Mr. Stanowski, I want your permission to go down to the auto parts and charge a choke-kit for that LTD."

"My boy, watch ya been up to?...How long did I doze off? I know you tinker with cars but I didn't know you was this good."

"You looked beat, Mr. Stanowski, so I didn't want to disturb you. My father always says that rest is the best medicine for mild chest pains─that's what you were having again, right? You had better have my father look at you. It's something you can't ignore. It's as bad as forgetting to replace the spark-plugs and to change the oil every two thousand miles." They both laughed.

Then Stanowski said stubbornly, "No, no time for that. Now, what's this about a choke kit?"

"Well the customer has an intermittent problem, so the way I figure it the choke is weak and especially when the car is cold it chokes out and when it's warm I imagine once in a while the butterfly flips causing it to die out for a time. If it were something internal in the venturi it would do it all the time. Besides the carburetor is clean and I checked the fuel line and it flows fine. So I'd like to take the LTD to the parts place with the choke spring removed to see if we get any of the symptoms the customer is talking about. I know with it removed it'll work fine. On that note he claims that other mechanics diagnosed it as needing a new carburetor─gees, they want five-six hundred bucks for them! And the carburetor on it is good and they don't include the choke kit! So he'd have the same problem anyway."

"That's real good thinkin', Ronnie. I told you, you was smart. Yeah, it didn't make no sense to me neither, but I darn near almost called up for a carburetor─good thing I didn't, eh?"

"Right, because I know you care about your customers."

"And you too; so what are you waiting for? Go!" he handed him his wholesale charge card.

Mrs. Terry had planned on eating out Saturday night as was their custom, but since Ronnie had defied her she wanted to confront him when he got home. Because her husband was famished she could not delay dinner any longer. Ronnie's father had returned from an emergency call to the hospital and had not eaten since breakfast. The maid had just finished serving them, and said she would keep Ronnie's dinner warm in the oven.

"The steak is delicious, my dear. We should eat home more often," Dr. Terry said seriously.

"Yes, so you can be near the phone, I imagine," she said.

"No, I didn't mean that; they have no trouble locating me no matter where I am─you know that."

"Only because you're so utterly conscientious by always having that annoying beeper with you."

"I should think all doctors are."

"Humph."

"What's our son up to today? I was surprised not to see him out back when pulled in─he's usually doing something with his van or one of the cars," the father asked.

"I specifically told him not to, but that he should study all day." The she sighed. "And still he took off on me this morning," she said exasperatingly. "I really think we should reinstate him at the academy."

"Good grief, Heather, you're not serious! I mean,...with his grades?"

"That's precisely why. Perhaps they could somehow salvage this graduating year. I'm not sure he is going to make it."

"Oh, heavens, it's still early in the year. He'll shape up," he assured her. "He's simply not qualified for Stratton; besides, what good would it do him─a fish out of water. Though admittedly his grades are nothing for you to brag about up at the club, but they're considerably better than when he was at Stratton."

"Oh, Robert, you've never been supportive. Perhaps if you had he might have developed differently."

"I resent that. True, I've been busier than most fathers, but I've always managed a pretty good relationship with him. Maybe I could have spent more time with him on his studies, but after all, we spent enough dough on tutors and private schools to see to his development. Look, he's a good kid. He's never been in trouble, never any trouble to us─we ought to be thankful─look what some parents have to go through today? No, I can't go along with you, my dear. I've accepted him for what he is."

"And just what is that supposed to imply─that he's stupid?" she blared with a peevish expression on her face.

"What a terrible thing to say! I simply meant that he is not going to follow in his father's footsteps; and that he obviously is not college material─though I shall do everything possible to persuade him to at least try some college for a year anyway."

"See? Exactly what I mean. You don't see the compromising fallacy of your willingness to send him off to just any college. I suppose you had the community college in mind."

"Yes, if need be," he said coolly. "Surely, there is no way he can get into the colleges you would like him at─like all your Ivy league name-dropping friends."

"That's unkind, but perhaps you're right. So at least do this one thing for me and call the dean at Stratton─for heaven's sake he's a patient of yours─I'm sure he'll admit him."

"Yes, I believe he would, but it's presumptuous of me to ask, but more importantly it is not in the best interest of our son." He carved another piece of steak and chewed on for a while as he stared at her searchingly.

"Oh, Bob, I know I sound frightfully pompous in wanting the best for our child as only I perceive it. But at least give me this one indulgence. I just have to know if with some proper, stricter, supervision he might just turn around," she said with emotion in her voice as tears welled up. "Goodness, he's our only child!"

"Who's fault is that?"

"Robert, that was cruel."

She dried her cheeks with a linen napkin. "My theory went awry, I know, thinking we would be so much better off not dividing our, at least my, efforts. It was foolish of me, selfish, and I suppose,...cruel."

"Yes, all of them. You knew long ago that your dreams weren't going to come true with respect to him and had plenty of time to have more children, yet you clung to this remote hope. And you're still hanging on to it. For God's sake, Heather, you're torturing yourself─and Ronnie along with it. Thank God we have the means to set him up in a thriving business where he will be a respectable member of the community."

"Respectable!...The best grease monkey in town! God, I can't stand the thought."

"You might have to learn to."

He chewed another morsel as she held her head in her hands. "I promise to call, but only after I've spoken to Ronnie and he agrees."

"Oh, Bob, he'll never agree to it!"

"Then we will just have to respect his judgment."

"Oh, why must he always have his way?"

"Not always, but as I said before, he's a good kid and deserves our respect. I certainly don't want to destroy his good-nature. Yanking him out in his senior year is rather cruel. You know, I was never much for school either; but I always had this dream to become a doctor and that's what drove me to the books."

"See?...Why, couldn't the same..."

"Because his dreams are in another direction....Oh, perhaps later, he may decide on engineering if the current challenges surfeit. You see, his dream is now─cars are everywhere. And society is crying out for intelligent mechanics."

"Robert, it's so indecent─raising a child to be a handyman to society."

"All of us are in one form or another if we're productive."

Ronnie had closed up Stanowski's. The old man hired him part-time even before the customer came for his LTD and happily discovered the recurrent problem was solved─and for under a hundred bills. In the kitchen, having his warmed-over plate, he was in momentary thought, staring vacantly at his father across from him. "Gee, Dad, even without this new job─and the poor old man really needs me─I just can't see transferring."

"I know, son, it's difficult for me even to ask," the father said apologetically, "but it's so very important to your mother."

Ronnie let out a sigh. "I suppose it is─this job and my friends are important to me too. Still, I could drive home on weekends. Keep the job...see...my friends, Debbie. Yet it seems so pointless. I kinda looked forward to graduating with my friends."

"But are you sure you will graduate? What about those 'D's' and that 'F'?"

"Oh, you know how I am in the first quarter─slow starting─I'll pick up...always do."

He poured some more milk while his father twisted off the cap to his beer.

"Still a milk baby, eh?...Thought you'd be raiding my beer by now." The father grinned.

"Oh, I do once in a while....Not much of a drinker, Dad─I feel lousy after just two beers."

"How about the other...well, you know."

He laughed, then shook his head. "Of course, I've tried it all ─almost have to nowadays. It's not for me. I just don't seem to need a high."

"God, that's great to hear, son," he said, relieved. "What's your secret?"

"Good parents, I guess; and to each his own, too, I suppose. It probably helps too when you have the right girl."

"Yes, Debbie, is very sensible."

"Yeah, she's after me also about college. She's like mom in that way. They're both kidding themselves."

"How can you be so sure?...Ronnie, it's nice to be honest with yourself, but even with that you can't always be sure it is honesty. I mean, have you really given yourself a fair shake?"

"Oh, Dad, believe me, I've tried over the years. Nothing sinks in─not so much that I don't understand the work. It's more that I just don't feel good with it. It kind of strangles me, you know?"

"Yes, I know the feeling─felt that way quite often at medical school─but, of course, I had the dream going for me."

"That's it, I guess─I don't have it....And gosh, Dad, they're so darn tough up there at Stratton. They might not even graduate me."

"I promise to have the dean notify me immediately if he suspects that, and I'll pull you right out, no matter what you're mother says."

"Sounds chancy─I could really screw myself up."

"We all have to learn to make sacrifices, Ronnie. You'll be doing it for your mother."

"Yeah, but what about me?"

"That's what sacrifice means, son. You have to sit your aspirations in the waiting room. Besides, there's an outside chance you're mother might be right and you might just succeed up there. God, Ronnie, you're by no means stupid, and some people don't develop book smartness till late."

"Yeah, too late. And Stratton relies entirely on books─the classics to boot."

"That's where the real values lie, Ron. Look how you're always doting over the Corvette─God, you're worse than I am─there's a magic to old values. It's not that the academy pulls you into the past; it just tries to sustain some old fashioned yet enduring traditions─a proven method of learning. You can understand that."

"Sure I do; but just as some of those kids up there wouldn't give you two-cents for your Corvette, preferring the bulky Wildcat, I just can't appreciate that learning tradition. Yesterday my English teacher and I struck a bargain. I tell you this morning I couldn't stop writing I was so excited in writing up a manual."

"Well that just proves that you can do anything if you put your mind to it."

"That's just it, my mind isn't there. It's my mother's."

"She's thinking of you─in the long run," the father said. He rose up and dumped half a beer in the sink, then turned back to him and said, "Well, give it some thought tonight and let me know in the morning. Remember, the decision must be yours. I don't know if I ever told you this: I dropped─well, had to drop─out of high school, you know?"

"You, Dad?"

"Yes, when your grandfather took ill. I had to run the store for him. Luckily the school was sympathetic and let me keep up with the assignments in the event I returned in time well before the year was out."

"But you did make it back."

"Oh, yes, but I was prepared not to, in case Pop didn't recover."

"I see."

Yes, Ronnie saw. It was not simply his good nature. There was a maturity about him that germinated within his affinity to the world─the fluid dexterity in which he could labor. He possessed a gift of appreciating, almost philosophically, what the world had to offer in the miracle of its mechanistic structure. Most would despair of this indifference, fear this brute truth; the most they wanted was a spin off they would hope to grab that would yield a cleaner semblance. It is the rare breed who lifts the hood to the world. Ronnie was happy with what was under it. No chance-meeting was necessary, no extraneous fortune. He was merged with its rhythm like the ancients who went about calmly perfecting the wheel.

"I made brownies for you, Ronnie," his mother said after timidly knocking on his door and entering with a stack of them and a glass of milk.

"You, Mom?" he blurted, turning from his desk where he was working on a finished draft for Mr. Federico.

She chuckled. "Haven't been much of a kitchen mother, have I?"

"Aw, you do okay, Mom─not like some of your friends who play golf five days a week."

She never could stay mad at him for very long. He would always look at her softly with clear but puzzling eyes. "I was furious with you, Ronnie, for defying me this morning."

"Oh, I didn't really, Mom."

He held up his paper for English. "Believe it or not, I did the rough copy of this in the morning before I left to pick up Debbie. I really didn't have anything else to study."

"Oh, Ronnie, we have so many books in the study. Why couldn't you browse through them at least," she pleaded.

He shook his head. "Just not me, Mom."

He munched on a brownie. "Good, Mom."

"Debbie called twice today."

"Yeah, Dad said. I forgot to pick her up at work."

"She's a nice girl─and bright."

She ran her fingers through his thick hair. She noted for the first time how much it had darkened. "Oh, son, am I so terrible?"

"Don't be silly. I promise to do my best up there─just for you."

"Oh, Ronnie, not for me, for you! And do you mean it? You would do this?..."

"I owe it to you, Mom, to give it a try. Don't get your hopes up─it's going to be a struggle."

She looked at him admiringly, "Yes, it will be─do your best. I suppose, you'll miss Debbie."

"Got to get used to that anyway─she's going to college next year...been accepted already."

"Oh? Where?"

"At Brown."

"Oh, my."

Ronnie was assigned to Karl's room at the dorm. The dean hoped he would be a help to Ronnie. When Ronnie entered there were two other boys in the room. Karl with a book in his lap looked up and smiled. The other two looked at him strangely. Karl rose up from his chair and put Ronnie's luggage on a bed.

"This is your coffin....So you're the new replacement. I've been kind of happy alone since my old room-mate dropped out. But I must confess that it gets kind of lonely after a while. So welcome to our cozy horror chamber."

He introduced the other fellows, who greeted him indifferently. He edged them toward the door.

"All right, guys, let Ronnie get settled."

They stopped at the door, and Tommy, a short redheaded boy, who seemed no more than fourteen, said, "Now one moment, Karl, maybe Ronnie can help us out on this point."

He looked over at Ronnie.

"Jesus, do you have to bombard him with your trivia now?─give him a break."

Undeterred, Tommy asked, "Ronnie, Jack here," motioning to the much taller boy, "claims that Marlowe was Shakespeare."

"I didn't say that!" Jack noted. "I said that Shakespeare was Marlowe."

"Hmm, a weak point."

"No it isn't. Everyone assumes that Shakespeare had a separate identity and that Marlowe might have fed him his works, thinking Shakespeare was some kind of super Spielberg. I'm saying that Marlowe in fact existed as Shakespeare incognito."

"Well, either way it can't be proven. But at least there is evidence of Shakespeare existing. And no proof of Marlowe living to a ripe old age."

"That's because Marlowe assumed a whole new being and being the greatest literary man on earth, surely had no difficulty creating a character for himself. God, man, common criminals do that all the time.

And since he killed someone at a pub, why wouldn't he, rather than like some pedestrian fugitive going into seclusion, burst forth as a renewed creative giant?"

"You should be writing science fiction, Jack," Karl quipped and looked over at Ronnie's bewildered face. "Besides, the fact is both Shakespeare and Marlowe were really Queen Elizabeth."

"I should be writing science fiction?" Jack grinned as his long thin arms reached for the door knob.

"Don't distract me," Tom injected. "I want to hear from Ronnie; he at least seems to have some common sense. Ronnie, wouldn't you be prone to think that Shakespeare was simply Shakespeare?"

"Yes," he cleared his throat, "I would take it on faith that he was─it's a part of history, isn't it?─can't think of history as fantasy."

"See?" Tom grinned, reeling round to Jack. "My instincts were right─why, Ronnie here is a chap of common sense."

Ronnie wrinkled his forehead and added, "As for Marlowe, I never heard of him."

The three of them burst into laughter. Jack and Tommy could be heard guffawing down the corridor after Karl had pushed them out.

"That was capital, Ronnie; I love your humor," Karl said as he helped him put away his things.

"I hate to disappoint you, Karl, but I was serious."

Karl broke into laughter again. "Jesus, you're putting me on again!"

"I'm afraid not." Ronnie looked at Karl with an expression that seemed contrite. "I'm sure there are many things you haven't heard of yet. It's just that I've heard a lot less."

"Baseballs! Ronnie, you are serious! I'm sorry, guy. Really I am."

Karl and Ronnie entered their History class. To Ronnie it was eerily quiet, the members in their school blazers politely waiting for the instructor to finish up at the blackboard. Karl took his assigned seat and Ronnie isolated himself toward the back of the room. He opened his new text and thumbed through it for a while then reached under to retrieve his copy of Motor Trend and started looking through as the instructor began.

He became engrossed in an article on classic kits, which got him to thinking about a business where he could reproduce almost any life-size model ever made. The teacher's voice droned. Then he remembered his vow and put the magazine away.

"...Empires are forged by cunning men who first appear as champions of the populace. Such was Caesar's method. True, civilization swiftly advances under the thrust of powerful men, but unfortunately it is at the expense of the private individual who cares only that his will survives to do as he sees fit....Although kinder, a democracy too can impede this will as well as nurture it. The individual must wisely contribute to society as he struggles to retain his identity. Some ironically obtain individuality and greater self-identity by contributing to society; others must struggle to safeguard against society overwhelming him."

Karl was making notes while poring over a heavy book. Ronnie was lying in his bed, palms under his head, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He rolled his head to the side and asked, "What do you find so interesting, Karl?"

Karl looked up for a moment without turning around. "Huh?...Oh, you wouldn't understand, Ronnie; it's Plato."

"Guess you find it dull having me for a room-mate, eh?"

Karl dropped his ballpoint and turned to face him. "Hey, I've put up with you these weeks, right? On the contrary, I find you refreshing. You can get tired of the same pseudo-intellectual crap around here. You're honest; I like that. Oh, I know I get engrossed in my studies and seem to forget you're here but that's part of the game, and I apologize for that."

"Don't. I should be hitting the books too─God, they're complicated! I wish I had a mind for it─just the sight of a book leaves me cold."

"Hang onto yourself: don't force yourself to be somebody you aren't, Ronnie. Plato calls that meddling with oneself. 'Know thyself is the ultimate in wisdom─let the cobbler make shoes, he said, the just man justice."

"Makes sense─though I hope it doesn't mean I can't have a sense of the just too."

"No, but he is saying there are those better qualified to administer justice."

"You mean...like a lawyer?"

Karl laughed. "In a sense, yes, but Plato didn't have in mind the kind we have today. Look, you're good with your hands and would make a crack mechanic or a hell of an engineer. Yet how many are mechanics and engineers today who can't even fit a cog to a wheel?"

Ronnie propped himself up on his elbows, listening intently.

"The world is full of meddlers who are unqualified to labor skillfully or give advice, yet we are at their mercy─especially where it really hurts─in politics, medicine, education, law. I suppose most of us just go along with the power structure because it has a way about it to make us feel inadequate. But it is dangerous, for it is the germ of authoritarianism."

"Sheep, I guess, huh, Karl?"

"Right on, and the worst culprits are in our own teenage circle, which now means anyone under forty─everybody hops on the band wagon. For every freak that goes ape over Michael Jackson there are a million others who beat their chests to the rhythmic chants and steps of the witch doctor; for every sniffer there are a thousand others who will each press his finger to his hungry nostril.... Remember when Travolta was popular?─Jesus, everybody had Saturday night fever!─hopping around like John─a Jerry Louis pathetically serious in his unsuccessful efforts to be like Fred Astaire." Karl made a few more notes, then pushed out from his desk, stood up and stretched. "I think I'll sack in awhile before I turn to the next dialogue."

Ronnie settled back and gazed at the ceiling again, thinking of his peers here and at home, his mother at the club, Debbie and the used car salesman....He looked over at his room-mate, who was also stretched out. "I guess, we're all sheep, huh, Karl?"

"Not exactly, Ronnie, there are the wolves, don't forget."

Later, Karl stirred, opened his eyes and Ronnie was gone. He got out of bed to do some more reading. He went to the closet to get a sweater.

Ronnie's stuff was gone. He let out a sigh, "Well, now...seems the cobbler took off."

Dr. Terry was standing over the hospital bed reading the patient's chart. "You're recovering rapidly, Mr. Stanowski. It was just a scare─no surgery. I'll release you in a few days."

"Ya? Wonderful! Got to get home to my work. My son got to go back to college. Too smart to do my work."

Terry stared coldly at him. "Oh, I don't mean your son not smart too. He's a big help to me on weekends....."

"What's this?...My son?...Weekends, even now? Why, where does he stay?"

"Oh, at the shop. He said you folks were away and closed down the house. I'm sure glad you came back when you did."

Terry just shook his head and decided not to pursue it.

Stanowski weakly nodded into the pillow. "No fear he go to college too. My son says it's just as hard to read mechanic manuals as it is the college books."

"Well, don't send your son back too soon; you have to take it easy. You can't be expected to run that service station yet," Terry cautioned.

"I can't afford reliable help full time. Too much college expense."

"Then your son will just have to lose a semester till you recover and think about selling the place. It's too much work for you in your condition."

"Never! All my life I work to send my son to college. No ruin that now. I manage," he said adamantly.

"I can't order you. But I'm warning you: you'll bring on a serious seizure if you persist. Your son is young, he'll find a way to finish college."

Terry left the hospital resenting the old man's good fortune in having a son of college material; yet he admired him for his dedication to that end, even though it would probably kill the old man. He was only mildly surprised to see the van as he turned into the driveway.

His wife was crying in the living room as Ronnie stood over her. She looked up at her husband.

"Oh, Robert, he's back already─couldn't even stay a month."

"I explained that already, mother. I can't afford to miss any more time at the high school. I'm determined to graduate, which I couldn't do there. And who knows maybe I will give the community college a try or take some evening courses next year. Cheer up....It's not the end of the world. I promise to crack some of the books in the study hall too. Maybe there is a world out there that I might be interested in. I'm not going to stop trying."

"But you've promised before─and here you are."

"Now, Heather, what the boy says makes sense; chase the dream away and face the reality the way our son is doing," her husband advised.

"I'll try, dear, but it won't be easy." she looked up at her son. "You better get resettled, Ronnie; put your things away neatly."

He went to the foot of the staircase and grabbed his luggage and leaped up the stairs.

She raised herself out of the chair and started pacing from one chair to another as if she were trying to make up her mind which one to sit in. "I should've realized that he was incapable of thinking this through. I never should have listened to you when he wanted to come home the first time."

"What more do you want? He's home, isn't he? Do you think if you ordered him to stay at Stratton, the result would be any different. Well, it would be to the extent that he would not have come back here."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"I mean if we had taken a hard line, he'd be out of town by now trying to make it on his own....Even high school would go by the wayside."

"That's ridiculous! He's still a child!"

"In your eyes. and you certainly substantiated that with your comment before─that he was incapable of thinking this through. I think he was magnificent."

His eyes walled about the room. "Heather!...for my sake, would you sit somewhere?...He had made the move for us, then instead of deluding us, he returned with some good positive alternatives. I would call that mature thinking. And you ought to be proud of him, in lieu of thinking of him as someone retarded."

"Must you be so blunt!"

"Then you don't deny it. You really do think there's something wrong with him. As a matter of fact you always did!"

"Robert, that's unkind! Why, I never thought of him in that dark light. Oh, yes, I've taken him to psychiatrists when he was a boy. And yes, I knew he had a learning disability. But any mother would do the same."

"Yes, that's true but a good mother would accept it and not go on badgering the child. It was Ronnie's strong character that got him through this far, any lesser boy would have folded under your pressure. Now, I'm telling you for the very last time, Heather, put this to rest, and let the boy grow as he perceives himself."

She sat back down on the edge of the chair, wringing her hands. Then she looked up at him with a woefully defeated look. "Oh, Robert, you must think me dreadful. Oh, I want so much to be proud of him!"

The front doorbell rang and Terry went to answer it. It was Debbie and her father, who had a worried look. Debbie with a pained expression on her face and holding her arm looked up at him with helplessness as her father held an ice-pack to her forehead.

"I was unable to get hold of the family doctor, Dr. Terry," he said worrisomely.

"I was hoping you could look at her arm─she's had a car accident. I thought it would be quicker than taking her to the hospital."

"Oh, my God, step right in. Of course, we might have to take her to the hospital anyway....I've been out of general practice for over a decade now but I'll certainly do what I can. You can wait in the living room, Mr. Gilbert, while I examine her in the study. Mrs. Terry is home, perhaps you'll want something to drink to calm your nerves."

He led Debbie to the study. "Oh, I should've listened to Ronnie, Dr. Terry," she cried. They went inside.

Mrs. Terry opened the liquor cabinet. "What may I fix for you? You must be a nervous wreck. Oh, why must we have automobiles!"

"Any shot will be fine. Yes, I was scared out of my wits when she came barreling in. Yes, I should've listened too," Mr. Gilbert said, pacing nervously."Good heavens that dear child. What happened?...Oh, do sit down and relax."

"Thank God it happened right in the front yard. She turned to pull in the driveway and wound up on the front-steps. She was so frozen to the wheel that the impact injured her arm. And she bumped her head."

"Oh, the poor dear."

"The car lost a tie-rod, which Ronnie had warned about."

"Yes, I heard─so that's what she meant?" She handed him the drink.

"Oh, please, Mr. Gilbert, you should sit down,...try to relax."

He sat on the edge for a moment, then got up again. "That and the fact that she ignored Ronnie's advice about the car in the first place. We went out and bought a used car that she had her heart set on. Ronnie had said it would need a lot of work. He even put it on the lift for her last week at Stanowski's. And called me and told me not to let her drive it until he could get a chance to reline the brakes and replace the tie-rod─damn I should've listened!"

"At Stanowski's?"

"Why, yes, where he works on weekends."

"Works?"

"Yes, that son of yours is one smart feller! A smart pair of hands!"

"Will you have another drink? I think I'll have one myself."

A straight drink to her was grotesque, thoroughly unsophisticated. She poured two drinks and handed him his. She held up her glass of straight vodka to him.

Mr. Gilbert held up his glass of scotch to her. "You must be very proud of Ronnie."

In abandonment, she clinked his glass and tossed down her drink. "Why, yes, I am."

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