He shakes his head and drags his fingers through his salt and pepper hair.
“Fuck, I’m old,” he mutters. “It’s a movie. The kid wants to learn karate, so he hooks up with this guy named Mr. Miyagi and Mr. Miyagi makes him paint the fence and wax the car. The kid gets frustrated and says ‘you know, you told me you were going to teach me karate, but instead, you got me waxing the car and painting your fence. That’s not a direct quote, but the kid is pissed as fuck. Shit. I mean, he’s mad. Really mad.
I have no idea where he’s going with this, but he seems very passionate about telling me this story. I mean, his hands are flying and he’s even changing his voice to sound like what I’m assuming is this karate kid that he speaks of. Suddenly, his face grows serious, and he adapts some sort of broken English accent and continues.
“Mr. Miyagi tells him that not everything is as black and white as it seems. That he taught the kid plenty, and he tells the kid to show him how he waxes the car.”
Yeah, my soon to be guardian is crazy with a capital C.
“The kid does as he’s told,” Riggs continues, moving his hands in a circular motion. “Wax on, wax off,” he says, using that horrid accent of his. “Wax on, wax off.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You see where I’m going with this?”
I shake my head.
I think maybe he does drugs.
He sighs exasperatedly and drops his hands to his sides.
“Show me how to paint the fence.”
My eyes bulge. Surely he can’t be talking to me. I glance behind me, expecting to find Eric standing close by, but it’s just me and the Mr. Miyagi wannabe.
Staring at him, I protest, “Me? I don’t know how to paint a fence.”
He flicks his wrist.
“Up and down like this,” he instructs and sure enough, I start mimicking the motion. Right there on the front lawn, I paint an invisible fence with invisible paint and an invisible paintbrush. I think it’s the water. There’s something in it. They say it’s the reason the bagels are so good in New York, but I think it makes everyone a little crazy too.
“That’s it,” he cheers. “You’re painting the fence too! Now, in the movie, the kid starts to realize all these little moves—the wax on and off thing and the up and down thing—they’re all vital to karate.”
With my hand still moving up and down, I narrow my eyes and try to understand the logic behind this. Whenever I did something wrong, my mom and I would talk things out. By the end of the conversation, I’d apologize, and we’d be done with it. This…is…I’m not sure what this is.
“So, you’re teaching him karate?”
“All Kitten said was that I needed to teach him a lesson, she didn’t say what lesson and this way I’m teaching him two. Three, really, because after this shit he ain’t gonna want to lift a stick of gum, much less the keys to his uncle’s BMW. His arms are going to ache for weeks.”
Don’t laugh.
It’s rude.
“Um, you can stop that now,” he says, pointing to my flailing hand. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” He moves to stand behind me and places both hands on my shoulders, turning me toward the street. “Now, for the reason, I brought you out here. Surprise!”
I stare at the street, waiting for something to pop out at me, but all I see is his bike and my mother’s car.
Wait, a minute.
My mother’s car…
The last I saw her car it was parked in front of Kate’s with the back bumper sitting in the street. Now, it’s attached to the car and there’s a fresh sheen of black paint and I think those are tinted windows.
Turning to Riggs, I stare at him with what I’m sure is a dumbfounded expression.
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, your mom told me you have your license and I figure that’s an asset to have around here since the karate kid over there can’t seem to remember to put the damn thing in park.”
“But—”
“Your mom asked me to have it repaired for you,” he explains as he reaches into his leather vest. Pulling out a key ring, he hands it to me. “Pipe put new brakes and tires on it. All the cool kids have tints, so we slapped those bad boys on there too. If you get pulled over, there’s a PBA card in the glove box.”