Tuesday, December 16, 2014

THE AUTO SHOP


I have lived a thousand years.

I am a black cat walking on rooftops.

My name is the middle of the road. 

I go as far as my voice.


This morning, Preston received a baby Jesus from his Sunday school teacher. She made one for each of the children. The baby Jesus face is drawn with pencil and he has a blanket over him. There is a piece of gold tinsel wire. Brown paper makes the manger. The whole thing fits in the palm of your hand.  

I love Candy.

The woman at the pool?

No, Candy candy.

You like candy?

Candy.

Preston, that baby Jesus is for me.

No he’s mine.

He is for all of us.

No.

Give me that baby Jesus. Let me look at him, he’s so cute. Look at his little eyes.

The Sunday school teacher drew baby Jesus like a little Kewpie.
The Japanese love Kewpie. They squeeze their mayonnaise from Kewpie bottles.

Preston, please!

No, baby Jesus is mine!

Kids love baby Jesus.
We are at the Irvine Auto Shop and a beautiful black woman says this. She is standing between us and the door. Preston and I are standing beside the counter, while the Iranian man is getting some information. This is California, but I want to register my car in Nevada, and I need a smog check.

I recognize the woman standing behind us but I do not say anything because I am not sure. I think this is Rosealea, who I met a few months ago in Laguna Beach. It was afternoon, and I was sitting on a bench.

Yes they do. I mean, this one is really cute.

They all are.

This baby Jesus kind of looks like Kewpie.

I love Kewpie!

Are you Rosealea?

Yes, I thought I recognized you. If you want, why don’t you just scan the smog certificate you get from this place and send a copy to Nevada.

I’m not sure how it works.

This is the future! Everything is that way now.

When I met Rosealea, I was sitting in a little patio between two buildings. We were high up on the cliff and overlooking the ocean.

I have lived a thousand years and I am walking on water. See, my feet are in the sky.

Rosealea…

I can scan it for you.

The Iranian man comes back and he has put his glasses on. A younger man follows him into the office.

You want to register with Nevada?

Yes.

We can do this. We have another customer who does the same thing. You don’t need the certificate. We give you the report. We can send it to Nevada. If you have problem, come back to us.

Thank you.

Do you want a piece of candy?
He motions to a green bowl sitting on the counter. There is also a plastic coffee pot.

Thank you.
The candy is a chocolate truffle, wrapped in gold leaf.

My mother made those.

It’s delicious.

I come here just for these.
Rosealea’s hand is like an otter. She’s carrying a white bag covered in fur. She is wearing a black fleece.

Why you want to register with Nevada? The older man asks.

Because of the Mojave.

Does it rain? No.
And the sky, it is very big?
Yes.

Would you all mind if I sang for you?
Rosealea is leaning in the corner beside the green bowl.

That would be very nice.

I learned to sing when I was a little girl. I was a dancer, and I played the violin. I used to sing when my sister was asleep. She would dream of a lake.

Where are you from? I ask.

Clovis.

Outside of Fresno.

Yes.

I hear it’s beautiful.

It is beautiful. The air is like fruit and dirt.

Ooo

Are you with a husband? The older man asks.

Yes and no. Rosealea laughs.

So, are you going to sing for us? My father loves to hear singing.

I love singing, echoed the father. We used to live in Pittsburgh. We were in good shape then.

I love Pittsburgh.

But cold in the winter.

Yes!

Even the spring.

Rosealea walks across the little room and stands in the doorway between the office and the garage shop. I think of the cherry blossoms in Rittenhouse Square in Philadelphia, and a tiny restaurant with wine and cheese.

Suddenly there is a loud noise in the shop like something big falling into water.

Heraldo! Rosealea jumps out of the way and the two men run into the shop.

He can’t swim!

I hear one of the men jump in. Rosealea and I look into the shop and there is the young man holding Heraldo in an above ground pool.

One time I saw a statue in Rittenhouse Square. One moment it was there and the next, it had disappeared. I saw it another time in the courtyard of city hall. The statue was a man with a bird.

We used to have a pool like that, Rosealea said. In Clovis.
[[The young man has got Heraldo sitting on the little dock. Both men are covered in a yellow goo. The young man and his father are speaking to each other in Farsi. Rosealea whispers so quietly that I can hardly make out what she is saying. I’m not certain if she is talking to me, or if I am supposed to hear.]]

The pool at my house was decorated with orange beach balls and red umbrellas.

What was your father’s name?

Jeremy.

Who was your mother?

She was Linda.

Preston is holding my hand.

Child, is that the baby Jesus?

Yes.

Let me see.

Preston hands her the little paper manger with the piece of gold tinsel wire and the cut-out of baby Jesus lying inside.

Where did you get this?

Sunday school.

Sunday school. At that moment, Rosealea reminds me of a feather.

I am a black cat walking on rooftops. I lick my paw when I touch the ground.

The older man appears again in the doorway.

Sorry for that! Heraldo cannot swim!

Is he alright?

Yes, yes, is alright.

The young man appears behind him. He has changed his clothes and cleaned his face and skin.

I have finished your smog check! Here are your keys.

Thank you.

The man prints a paper and signs the bottom of it.

I sent your smog approval to the Mojave.

Thank you.

Is there anything else you need?

Rosealea is still holding the baby Jesus, peering at his pencil face.

No, that’s all. Thank you.

Preston is holding my hand and he is watching his baby Jesus. Rosealea hands it back.
Take good care of him.

I will, Preston says. I love him.

Nice to see you.

Nice seeing you too.

See you later.

Take care.



Preston and I walk outside. At the entrance to the office there’s a little fountain made of cement. It is meant to resemble a waterfall, and is painted blue. One part is painted green.


As I am about to put Preston in the car, the father runs out of the office. 

I was just thinking, he says...
The Mojave, it is in California.

He's right.

You're right.

Okay, have a good day! The father says.

Thank you, you too!

Come to our shop if you need a repair.

I will. Thank you.



Goodbye!









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