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I'd always seen myself as an anomaly, different from most of the Tulsa youth. As Mr. Hanson once told me, not many people read books anymore or make the effort to go to the local theater. They got into fights, rumbles and turf wars. In the extreme, they would jump people, get drunk for kicks and harass the other side of the track, because that's what they believed they had to do. Not many could sit and read, get lost in their musings and enjoy what's ahead of them. They had to conform to the way most kids acted to fit in to be accepted. That never mattered much to me, although it had its down side.
I'd always hated weekends. I didn't have many friends. Of course, I had classmates I knew rather well. I couldn't do much more than work on assignments with them, though. I had Steve's friends, but they were just that: Steve's friends. Going to see a movie with Sodapop was a rare occurrence, and it was strange even getting dinner with Dallas. For twelve years of my life, ever since I'd learned to read, I'd spent each weekend with my face buried in a book. It made it fly by a hell of a lot faster, and it paid off in my schoolwork, especially English.
For once, I thought maybe I'd do something else. I had finished the book Mr. Hanson gave me, and figured I wouldn't go back for a couple days since I'd just been, and I wanted to stick to the routine. So, I got my butt off the couch and did something out of my comfort zone: got dressed, and went for a walk.
The days were scorching and the nights were frigid in Tulsa. It was the afternoon, just after twelve and Steve was working at the DX. I figured I'd pay him a visit. The walk wasn't too long. No more than ten minutes and I was standing in front of the small building, staring up at the sign. There were a couple cars around. One guy was wheeled under a blue mustang tinkering with the undercarriage. Steve had taught me all the proper names for parts of the car, but I forgot most all of them.
Much to my surprise, the guy rolled my underneath the car and looked up at me, his face covered in dirt and oil. His hair was jet black and disheveled, his wife beater top covered in layers of grease. He hunched up, doing somewhat of a crunch and smiled.
"You need your car fixed? Or filled?" He stood from his roller. He was tall, and his arms were rather large. He caught me staring and sent a smirk my way, making me coward and direct my gaze towards the floor.
"Uh, no, I'm not," I said, trying not to trip over my words, "I'm looking for my brother, his name is Steve."
He nodded and then turned around, cupping his hands around his mouth, "Steve! Your sisters here."
I followed his gaze and found Sodapop working the cash, Steve organizing the stock. A crimson blush appeared on my face, wondering how I'd not seen him there. I turned toward the man and he smiled, sending a wink before sliding back under the car.
