Page 93 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
“Me? Oh, no.” She laughs. “But I may have to quit giving my brother the cold shoulder. First, he decks that prick and now—”
“Wait. What prick?” I ask.
“Uh...”
“Sweetie, don’t you want to go see your new car?” Trish interrupts. Without waiting for my answer, she opens her door. Rose quickly wiggles off my lap, crawls over the stick and follows Trish out. I sit in the truck for a few more seconds trying to comprehend this new turn of events while also waiting for my legs to regain feeling.
Once circulation in my thighs resumes, though still without an answer to the car’s presence, I get out of the truck.
“There you are,chica. Finally.”
I turn to see Paulie leaning against the carport, his usual wife beater and low slung pants in place.
“What? Were you waiting for me, Paulie?”
He nods and tosses something at me. Without much thought I catch it. I open my fist to see a car key attached to a NASA emblem keychain resting in my palm.
Paulie gives me a two-finger wave. “And thanks for the clunker,chica. Amy will be able to get to more classes without having to use the bus.”
“Wait, I—”
“Two guys dropped it off last night. Your guy said he’d already fixed it up so I wouldn’t have to. Plus, he gave me a job.” He looks at the ground, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Flynn hired you?” I look back at the keychain. “That’s great, Paulie.”
“Thanks,chica.” He turns to go, but stops. “Not sure what kind of name Flynn is, but any man who gives a car like this to his woman and a man like me a chance can’t be all bad.” Paulie walks away but calls over his shoulder, “But if he turns out to be apendejo, you let Paulie know. Boss or not, I’ll fuck him up.”
Rose laughs.
“Um, yes. I will. Thanks, Paulie,” I call out. But he’s already turned the corner out of sight.
“Dude, you know some interesting people,” Rose says, stepping up beside me, staring off to where Paulie disappeared.
Slowly, I maneuver around Rose and walk to the front of the Corvette. I realize now why it looks so familiar. It’s an exact replica of the car General Motors gave Alan Shepard after he’d become the first American in space. It even has altimeter gauges.
Flynn built me an astronaut car.
“Holy Mercury,” I breathe, still looking at the car. I reach out to touch it, but stop just short of the hood, afraid to mar the shiny paint. I glance at Rose, then back to the car. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand?” She shrugs. “My brother loves cars. He loves you. Figured he’d get around to getting his head out of his ass and both his loves together sooner or later.”
“Wait— what?” I spin to face her. “He doesn’t love me… he said he couldn’t be with me if I became an astronaut.”
Rose’s eyes narrow. “I’d like it on record that I do think my brother can be a bit of a dick.”
“Uh, okay,” Trish says, giggling at the end.
“However, seeing as our parents died in a car crash, I can see where he would freak out over you going into space.”
“Statistically speaking, flying into space is much safer than driving a car.”
“Sugar, I know you’re super smart, and we all love that about you,” Trish says.
“Especially Flynn,” Rose adds.
Trish nods and continues, “But sometimes statistics and logic aren’t enough to overcome fears and emotions. At least not at first.”
“Oh.” Suddenly, Flynn’s pathos-based reaction to my interview makes more sense.
