He led me out to the garage and cheerfully presented an old, rusted hulk of a four-door car. In its day, fifty years prior, it must have been spectacular. Now, it looked like it was held together with saliva and happy thoughts. I was afraid that if I touched it, the car would collapse into a pile of dust.

Jeff turned to me and smiled. “Isn’t she a beauty? A ‘61 Mizaki Firestorm. Dad bought it years ago, but never did anything with it. He gave up on it and said I could have it. I’ve been saving up money for new parts. We are going to rebuild it.”

“We? You mean you and me?” I asked. “Doubtful. Besides, the prom is in two months. Do you seriously think we can finish on time?”

“Last week, I ordered the parts I need; they should be here in a day or two. The money I’ve been saving up covered the price of parts and delivery and, amazingly, I even had some money left over.”

“But, who’s going to put the parts together?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“Dad and I have been doing this kind of stuff for years,” he said, brushing off the question. “You’ll assist me. No problem.”

Okay, I thought. But, I’m going to ask my mom for a ride, just in case.

We spent all of our free time over the next few weeks on that vehicle. Honestly, Jeff did most of the work, since, by that time, I had rehearsals nearly every night.

Jeff and his father had developed a weighted wheelchair with a lift, which Jeff had to use in order to get into position to work on the engine.

He was hunched over the car while I stood there and handed him parts and tools. There were some nights, I’m sure, when he kept working after I had gone home. I don’t know how Jeff managed to pass his final exams, but he did. He’s a wonder.

When the engine had been completely dismantled, I looked around the garage. A billion parts had been neatly laid out on the table, on the counter and on the floor. It amazes me that Jeff’s room was a disaster area, but for this, he was suddenly super tidy.

Jeff had gone through each little piece to see if it could be salvaged. To me, it seemed like Jeff was talking telepathically with each individual part. “Now, some of are going to stay and some of you will be going to a better place,” he seemed to say.

With all the parts out of the way, Jeff inspected a big piece of metal that he referred to as “the head.” It made no sense to me that something called “the head” would be in the middle of the engine, instead of the top. Performing what appeared to be a sacred ritual, Jeff gently place a flat piece of wood atop the head and made some motions with a small gauge. He was not happy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“The head is slightly chipped in one spot.”

I leaned in to take a look. Everything looked fine to me.

“Maybe the wood is warped or chipped,” I suggested.

“Maybe,” he said, tilting his head in both directions, hoping that perspective would make a difference. “It’s such a little area. Maybe if I just put a little extra sealant there when we put the gasket on, it’ll be okay. It’s either that, or we take it to a shop and spend big bucks to have it planed.”

It reminded me of times when Mom and I tried to bake. We were a little short on baking powder, so we added a little cornstarch. The cookies still tasted okay, in my opinion. Making substitutes in this case could be more disastrous, I assumed.

“What’s the worst case scenario?”

“It’ll be fine for a while,” he said. “But, over time it’ll lead to coolant or oil leaks and cause the engine to overheat. The head will become even more warped. Over time.”

We thought time was on our side. In the end, we decided to go with Jeff’s extra sealant theory.

When we finished working on the engine, Jeff wanted to see how it worked. The car still desperately needed body work, but if the engine wasn’t going to work, why bother, right? “Let’s start it up!”

“Okay.” I responded. Fear crept up behind me.

He opened the car door, which made a loud creaking noise, got behind the wheel and stuck the key in the ignition. “Ready?”

“Ready,” I said, as I prepared to run for the door.

He turned the key. The engine cranked several times, and I almost gave up hope, but, the engine roared to life. Involuntarily, my hands flew up my ears. Jeff got out of the car, a big smile on his face, and started yelling at me. The noise was too loud to hear him. I tried to read his lips, but only made out “needs a muffler!”

Next Chapter: Chapter Nine