We're stranded in a Morgantown parking lot at 8 p.m., car engine dead. P. W. Auto has been my car's second home for the past half a year--lid up, mechanic tinkering under the hood. The owner is a thin man whose hands are smudged with car grease, except when he cleans up on Sundays--he doubles as a Baptist minister. I think back to the waiting room in my mind; I've spent a good few hours there. The corner table is stacked with gospel tracts and magazines. Pictures of his grandchildren line the opposite wall.
I call Wade's 24 hour tow service and my mother.
"Well," she says, "consider this your first pre-marital trial." I'm standing in the back of a Five Guys on my cell phone, talking over the pop music on the radio. The air is heavy with burger grease and peanut oil. My mouth is watering. (I'd skipped lunch to watch an episode of Downton Abbey. Those British shows get me every time.) They have two of the new-fangled pop machines. The touchscreen advertises its new flavors: "Orange Coke. Sprite with Peach."
I look for Mike's dark hair. He's sitting at the table, holding the grease-stained brown bag. He's grinning, attractive in his glasses, head bobbing to the radio.I tell my mother I'll call later. I sit down at the table and we eat, grabbing our burgers and dumping the fries in the bag. We share.
"It's the peanut oil that makes the fries, you know?" He says to me, dipping his fries in ketchup. I nod. It must be--the salty, buttery taste of potato sinking into my tongue.
The tow truck driver calls me. He maneuvers through the parking lot, and I wave him over to my car. At first I think there are two men in the truck, but then the driver opens the door and I see the car seat. The driver lifts his small son down and waves him over to the side of the road.
He's shivering because it's March, and it's freezing.
"Want me to zipper your coat?" I say to him, kneeling down to his level. He nods, chattering. "How old are you?" I ask.
"Six," he says to me.
"Six!" I exclaim. "I would have thought you were twenty-six, or one-hundred and six!"
He smiles and talks about wanting to be a fireman. His father, the driver, finesses my dead-engined vehicle onto the back of the truck as one would maneuver the body of a beached whale.
We all climb into the tow truck. I sit in the back seat next to the boy, whose name, I've found, is Trenton. Mike sits in the front next to the driver, who wears a name tag stitched with John on his blue coveralls.
"I think you need to stop and get me a drink," Trenton informs his father.
"Oh do you?" John laughs, speaking with a heavy southern drawl. He points as we drive out of the complex. "Up there is the best hibachi place I've ever had in my life, and I've travelled all over the country. This little guy can even catch the shrimps in his mouth. Can't you Trenton? Show 'em how you catch 'em."
Trenton opens his mouth wide and waves his head around, pretending to grab at flying shrimp with his mouth.
"And you leave there full. Everybody at the table gets an equal portion." John nods.
"I think I've been there before," Mike says. "It was really good. I couldn't remember how to get back there though."
Trenton points down another bend in the road. "Go down there."
John nods, "Oh yeah, you can go down that way too. You should see this kid. He might never be a philosopher, but he's a good navigator." He steeps us in a story of how Trenton saw a rodeo when he was two and remembers it now, if he passes by the stretch of pasture. John's eyes gleam with pride.
He pulls the tow truck into Sheetz. "Do ya'll mind if we stop? I gotta get my helper a little something to drink. Want anything? I'll buy it."
We decline, hanging out in the truck while Trenton and John go inside. We both look small, strapped into the seats of this oversized, breathing, quaking beast.
I turn to Mike. "I couldn't have asked for a better date night."
He turns to me. "I was just thinking the same thing."
By the time we arrive home, we have two new friends, a high car bill, and an invitation to see Trenton ride a sheep at the April Mutton Bustin' on the Fairgrounds. What can I say, though? One must make the most of her pre-marital trials.
Trenton, Five Guys, and Mike! I'll say it was a great date night.
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