Shocks

Carlos was working on his black souped-up Honda. "I'm putting in new shocks because there's no spring left. Those are the old ones," he said, pointing to them lying on the asphalt parking lot. "They look like humans bent at the knees with springs for torsos," I said. He laughed. Anthony, the nine year old boy from next door came over to see what Carlos was doing. "She makes books," Carlos said to Anthony, "Do you know anyone around here who does that? You know people who live here know how to fight but do they know how to write?"

Anthony scurried away. "I have a friend who doesn't know how to read. He's my age. I've thought of trying to teach him," I said to Carlos.
"You should, it's not too late," he said.
"I think about this because reading saved my life."
"Me too," Carlos said. "I spend all my time alone reading and working on cars and taking long walks. I even get lost, but I'm not scared."
"That's because you have courage and inner wisdom guiding you," I said.
"I would just walk and sometimes it was three hours straight, like from here to Providence."
"That's 17 miles!" I said.
"When I got lost I knocked on the door of some people and apologized for disturbing them. I said, 'I need to get here. I am lost. Can you help me?' I had my map and they showed me. I got lost in New York City too, many times and I wasn't afraid to ask. Then I finally learned how to read the signs."

The woman from building three was standing in the parking lot next to her car. She was wearing skin-tight blue-jeans and stilettos. Her hair was a fluffed up nest of black curls and she was taking selfies. "Oh wow look at that!" Carlos said.
"I know," I said.
"I like the shape of her legs."
"They're a mile long," I added.
He laughed. "You should do stand-up comedy."
"Funny, I say that to my friends all the time."
Would you ever switch your profession to stand-up comedy from writing?" He asked.
"It's the same thing, writing is performing," I replied.
"She's a nurse," he said, gesturing over the fender. "She won't be interested in me. She must be going somewhere." We smiled and waved as she drove away.

Carlos slipped and pinched his finger. "Ouch," I said, looking away. "It's all my fault," I joked. "If you get hurt it's my fault because everything is my fault." I laughed. "Oh, I can't look, I'll faint," I said.
"What's a matter you don't like blood," he said holding out his hand. A big shiny red oval of blood was now covering his fingernail.
"What do you need? Besides the nurse," I said. He laughed.
"Do you have gauze?"
"I'll get some."
"Do you have alcohol?"
"That will hurt," I said.
"Pain is between your ears," Carlos said.
"Not always. I've cut myself on my nail and it was excruciating. Do you need ibuprofen?"
"No."
I ran into the house and got gauze, tape, scissors, alcohol, a bar of soap, and paper towels. Carlos washed his hands under the hose. The suds were dark gray, no blood in sight. I taped up the wound.

Anthony came back. "Hey, you got a haircut!" I said. "Nice, I love the shaved sides and full top. Who did it?"
"My dad."
"Is he a barber or does he do this for fun?" I asked.
"For fun," Anthony said.
"Looking good," said Carlos.