Jenny

Today, I finally made my way to get my first car inspection.

I know, I know, give me a round of applause. It only took me a total of 20 whole minutes, but hey, I feel like I should deserve some sort of award because it feels like I'm taking a step closer to becoming an adult. Though, let's be real, I'm still a long way off from that.

Since August, I've encountered my fair share of car troubles within the span of just seven months. It started with a classic fendy bendy that took the shop a whopping three months to fix. Then came the dead car battery, followed swiftly by a flat tire that also managed to ruin the suspension. Don't ask me how or why, because honestly, I probably shouldn't even be on the road in the first place (but let's not dwell on that).

There's always something inherently uncomfortable about dealing with car-related tasks, especially for someone like me. In all these situations, Tyler would be the first person I'd turn to for help with car troubles. I remember telling him that I seemed to always learn things the hard way, and perhaps this was his way from above of silently teaching me about cars and how to navigate dealings with dealers and old mechanics (the ones he used to complain about at his job, all the time). While he was alive, One of his go-to lines for me was, "Well, at least you've got pretty eyes," because that was his favorite feature of mine. And it never failed to bring a smile to my face. He had a knack for making people smile.

There are moments, like today, that make me feel like Tyler is still with me in spirit. When I turned off a main road in Belmont after a green light, I approach toward a small establishment that's part auto repair shop, part gas station, during my lunch break at work. A massive truck leaves me with barely five feet of clearance as the guy with the red cap stands outside, nearly finished with his cigarette, dropping it to the ground and crushing it under his light brown Timbs. In his defense, if he had kept it any longer, he probably would have burned his fingers. He looks up as my glamorous little sedan whips into the parking lot, me likely hunched over the wheel, gripping onto it for dear life like a grandma, while he sizes me up and down. My heart races, not out of appreciation, but out of sheer nervousness. My fight or flight response kicks in, and I'm itching to leave already. Where do I even go for this darn car inspection?

Beyond me, there are three workers outside. One is engaged in conversation with a guy in a hoodie right outside the shop, while the other is busy pulling up his baggy pants next to a huge "STATE INSPECTIONS HERE" sign in front of a dusty garage door. Ah, lightbulb moment. I edge forward, awkwardly maneuvering beside a trash can, Helen's rear end (yes, that's her name), nearly brushing against the entryway of the autoshop.

My pointer finger hesitantly presses the button to roll down my window on the right side door. Stretching over to the passenger side, I poke my head out, hoping to catch the attention of one of the workers and get some clarity on what the heck I'm supposed to do. Every street parking spot is filled with cars, as are the gas spots, and there are no standalone parking spaces left in the lot.

But no such luck. The two dudes by the shop glance at me, exchange a look, and then continue their conversation. The other guy decides to go inside to get ice. Do I turn off my car and park here? Do I get out and talk to someone? I can't just leave it here, causing a scene, so I decide to just stay put inside the car.

I glance back at my watch. It was 12 when I arrived, and now it's 12:20. The guy who went inside to get ice finally emerges from the shop, empty-handed, and places both hands on the outside of my right door. I jump instinctively, dropping my wrist, and he's smiling. "You here for a car inspection?"

I nod vigorously. He takes a quick look around my tires. "Ah, boy, this one's gonna be real expensive for you, you know why?" Oh god, no, not after everything I've been through. My heart sinks into my stomach. "Why?" I manage to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"Because your eyes are just too damn pretty!" he exclaims with a laugh. I sit there, nervously laughing along with him. As strange as it may seem, it instantly brings Tyler to mind, reminding me of how he used to compliment me to ease my nerves. And in that moment, it feels like Tyler's presence is with me, spiritually guiding me through this. I sink back into the headrest, my mind drifting back to another moment shared with him. It's a memory that feels like a snapshot from a different lifetime, yet it still holds the same warmth and familiarity.

"Marissa, come here."

Tyler's voice carries a hint of flirtation, each syllable drawn out in a deliberate, slow cadence that fills the space from his mudroom to the kitchen. Despite his beckoning, my attention remains fixated on the adorable sight before me: Blitz, curled up on the cream decorative couch pillow with a thin jets blanket tucked snugly underneath him, creating the illusion of a couch sausage.

Weighing my options, I find myself torn between heading to the kitchen to join Tyler or staying put to greet the irresistibly cute dog. In the end, cuteness overload wins, and I sink into a low squat beside Blitz. My black leggings afford me the flexibility to bend comfortably as I run my fingers through his curly fur, his pink belly exposed as he luxuriates in the attention.

Meanwhile, Tyler finishes tying his shoe lace, shooting me an amused glance before making his way from the kitchen table to the mudroom.

"Do you want to see my new car?"

It's clear that Tyler is attempting to regain my attention, perhaps feeling a twinge of jealousy that I'm lavishing affection on his dog instead of him. Or maybe it's the fact that my nose is less than a centimeter away from Blitz's face that's bothering him.

"You finally managed to finish Jenny up?" I call back, my thumbs still caressing the pads of Blitz's paws.

"I did," Tyler responds, his voice light with a hint of pride evident in the beam on his cheeks. His smile is infectious, spreading across his face like a proud father reveling in his creation. His excitement sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"I bet she looks so pretty," I grin, my thumbs trailing off Blitz's paws to his pink tummy, stopping just short of the diaper strapped to his bottom.

I glance up to find Tyler's black Adidas sneakers pointed in my direction, his head tilted slightly to the left, hands resting confidently on his hips. He looks like he's deliberating something flirty, but honestly, he seems a bit ridiculous. His eyes seem to bore into me, a mischievous twinkle dancing. It's as if he’s jealous that Blitz gets both of my hands on him right now, or perhaps he's genuinely touched by my compliment about his car. But it’s all a theatrical performance. He continues to stand there, mute like a fool, so I mirror his posture with a playful smirk, waiting for him to break.

"You're pretty," Tyler finally opens his mouth, his words spilling out softly, each syllable carrying a weight that momentarily steals my breath. My heart quickens, and a rush of warmth floods through my veins, coloring my cheeks and fingertips.

"Oh yeah?" I respond, attempting to maintain a facade of nonchalance despite the fluttering in my chest.

"Yeah."

I subconsciously grip Blitz' paws a little too tightly before releasing them, realizing that my emotions were beginning to consume me. Taking a deep breath, I tuck my hands underneath me and lean back against the legs of the brown couch, extending my feet in front of me.

"You know where I think you'll look even prettier?" Tyler continues, his tone filled with playful anticipation.

"Where?"

"--In the passenger seat of my new car." 

No hesitation there. 

“Oh, you think so?”

His brown eyes, warm with anticipation, meet mine as he turns to grasp the gold doorknob of the mudroom, the sound of its release causing Blitz to erupt into a frenzy.

Okay sweet talker, now you got me walking. I rise from my crouched position where Blitz once was, shifting my weight from my toes to my heels as I make my way towards the kitchen table. With a swift motion, I retrieve my grey Bentley University hoodie from the chair, pulling it over my head. I adjust my low ringlets, tousled and tamed by a black thick elastic, to sit comfortably beneath its sleeves. 

I can't help but feel a surge of pride knowing Tyler spent weeks meticulously repairing his car himself. I'm genuinely touched that he wants to share his hard work with me.  

"Absolutely. With those pretty lashes and the speed I'll be driving, we'll be flying," Tyler exclaims with a hearty laugh, unable to contain his excitement with his own joke. I laugh with him that he finds himself that comical. 

Slipping on my black flip flops in Tyler's mudroom, I shake my head fondly. "You're too much."

Tyler deftly adjusts the zipper on his jacket, the sound of its teeth coming together filling the room as it glides effortlessly up his chest. He reaches for his belongings on the white washer, a pair of large machines tucked neatly behind the half wall separating the mudroom from the kitchen. After securing his ID in his grey jogger pocket, he grips the silver key tightly, casting a glance back at me before stepping out onto the garage stairs, his open palm inviting me to follow. "Come on."

As our hands intertwine, his firm grip feels like a silent promise, guiding me with a gentlemanly grace through the door and down the wooden steps. Yet, in true Tyler fashion, there's a mixture of pride and impatience in his demeanor. Despite the clutter of tools scattered across the workbenches and floor of his garage, I feel a tad bit safer under his influence. After all, with my open-toed shoes and propensity for clumsiness, those loose pliers, screwdrivers, and wrenches could spell disaster.

Looking ahead, I notice the humidity and gnats already swarming around the big yellow light dangling from the ceiling. Yet, Tyler doesn't seem to notice or care, his focus steady as he leads the way. Even as red raised bumps trail up his forearm, he doesn't flinch. The man is on a mission. His steps echo against the cemented white walls until he reaches the garage door remote controller.

He lets out a big sigh, releasing my hand and rubbing his hands together in excitement. "Are you ready?" His voice deepens There's no room for jokes or games in his passion for cars. I nod in response. 

He slams his pointer finger into the controller, the loud screech of the garage door filling the space as it rises to reveal the night sky dotted with twinkling stars. And there, soaking in the soft glow of the moonlight, sits his prized possession: the grey Jeep Gladiator, waiting in the driveway.

"Marissa, meet new Jenny," Tyler announces proudly as he strides across the border from garage to driveway.

The exterior is impeccable, every surface polished to perfection, not a single scratch marring the mirrors. "Wow," I murmur, genuinely impressed by his handiwork. His eyes are locked onto me, observing my every move with a mixture of pride and anticipation. As my hands run along the handles of the car, he crosses his arms, a subtle shift in his demeanor.

I stand on my tiptoes to eye the roof, taking in every detail, and I notice a change in his expression. His big, toothy smile begins to falter, shrinking slightly as I inspect the car. When I glance at the Jersey license plate, his smile thins even further. He lowers his eyes, retrieving his phone from his back pocket.

Tyler navigates to a picture on Facebook Marketplace, showing Jenny in the same position, bathed in daylight. My eyes widen in realization.

"It's official."

“What? Why would you sell it?”  I protest, unable to comprehend his sudden decision  Ah, if this was the performance tonight, then what. a. stunt. Unbelievable plot twist.

He glances back up at me, running his hand through his straight hair, his jaw clenched. His gaze shifts to the Jeep for a long five seconds, and I can sense there's more layers in this decision. Despite knowing his deep love for cars and the effort he poured into it, it's clear that this is something he feels he has to do. But the intensity with which he stares at it makes me wonder if he's harboring doubts.

Breaking the contemplation with a quick pat on the hood, he turns back to face me, while I'm still cupping my neck with my hands in bewilderment. "I can't afford her anymore," Tyler explains, his voice tinged with resignation. His smirk returns, slightly easing the temporary guilt that had settled in my gut. "I'll cut you a deal and sell it to you for $8,000."

I don’t share Tyler’s passion for cars, and the first thing that came to mind was when my neighbor, Dom Spera, used to pick me up in a Jeep for school. I nearly face-planted trying to get in because the tires were so high. It was especially risky on rainy days. And looking at Jenny now, her tires seem just as imposing.

"I don't know. Those tires seem pretty high," I say as I bend down to inspect them, though my knowledge on the subject is limited at best. "I'd practically have to jump to get in. How about $6,000?"

He snorts in response. "You'll look even cooler jumping into it every time. $7,500," Tyler counters, crouching down to meet my offer with a soft peck on my lips before straightening up again.

Eye roll. As if his attempt would sway me with a kiss. I stand my ground. "Gotta account for falls or injuries. $6,500," I press.

“You're an athlete.” Undeterred, Tyler opens the front door of the driver's seat, gesturing towards the car. “$7,000 and a bottle of wine," he bargains, already making his way into the driver's seat and inserting the silver key into the ignition.

"What kind of wine?" The engine turns on. I’m now catching a whiff of gas and quickly step back, my senses on alert. With caution, I move towards the passenger side as Tyler unlocks the door from the inside and holds it open for me.

“Merlot, considering we're fresh out tonight," he jests, a playful glint in his eye as he notices the red stain on my upper lip. I quickly lick it away, meeting his extended hand without a second thought.

"Okay, ready? One... two..." Tyler starts the countdown, but before he can even say three, he swiftly pulls his hand back, tugging me into the car with surprising force. I can't help but erupt into laughter at the sudden movement, caught off guard by his playful antics. I settle into the passenger seat, catching my breath and smoothing down the flyaways from my ponytail. Tyler looks at me expectantly, his lips pressed into a flat line. I compose myself, while he’s nearly twiddling his thumbs waiting for me to finish this negotiation. Talk about pride and impatience.

"Alright, $6,700," I finally say, breaking the silence.

"Perfect. $7,000. Glad we could make a deal," Tyler responds with a satisfied grin, quickly shaking my hand with a firm grip before placing it on the wheel. As his foot touches the gas pedal, the car accelerates swiftly, the speedometer climbing from 25 to 60 in a matter of seconds. I can't help but feel a pang of unease, my legs pressing together instinctively. I focus on the passing houses, each one blurring into the next.

Suddenly, I feel a warm hand on my thigh, and my muscles relax. I glance down to see Tyler's open palm once again. “Do you trust me?” 

I understand that this is Tyler's way of feeling alive, asserting his masculinity, and expressing his love for cars and hard work. Surprisingly, I feel less of an urge to clutch the emergency handle as I let my fingers intertwine with his. He chuckles, and with a firm press on the gas pedal, the speedometer shoots from 60 to 80 in another matter of seconds. I roll down the window, letting the warm summer night air breeze through my curly bangs.

Tyler can't contain his laughter of pure enjoyment as the song “Wagon Wheel” plays, and he belts out the lyrics with unabashed enthusiasm. So candid. 

It's moments like that one that bring me back to reality now, holding onto those memories where I hope he's out there somewhere, sending me messages – whether that's through weird interactions with mechanics or other quirky moments. It's as if he's still guiding me through life, even if he's no longer physically present. And as I sit in the car, reminiscing about our negotiations and adventures, I can't help but feel his spirit beside me, urging me forward with his trademark. Just like he was there during my car inspection, silently guiding me through the process, I feel his presence now, nudging me to embrace life's uncertainties and find connection in the small moments.