I asked, “Where we going again?”

“Boneyard, Slim,” Ernie said. 

 It was a school day. Ernie told Mom he needed my help. Mom said if I missed any more of seventh grade they’d send me to the Audy Home, but she said a lot of stuff when she was drinking. One time she even claimed Ernie was my real dad. “That’s the voice of cheap vodka right there,” Ernie had said. I already knew he wasn’t my dad.

Photo credit: Samuël Berthet

“The snow was up to my knees. 
Looked like those rows of rusty cars went on forever.”

We pulled into the parking lot, which already looked like a boneyard.

He pointed at the sign “U Pull It. Named after your favorite pastime.” 

He made that canned corn laugh that always hurt my ears.

“It says Pick a Part. U Pull It is the other place,” I told him.

He said, “Guess all that pullin’ improved your eyesight, Slim. Goes the other way for me.” 

Then he did the corny laugh again.

The office guy was wearing blue coveralls with a name patch. Ernie wanted to know which way to a 1972 Monte Carlo.

Office guy asked, “What do ya need?”

“Not much,” was all Ernie said.

The guy pointed a finger and went back to his paper. We walked in that direction for a long time. The snow was up to my knees. Looked like those rows of rusty cars went on forever. 

Ernie said, “I could spot a ’72 Monte Carlo a mile away.” I was getting cold. 

He told me, “You carry the goods, I’ll buy you a burrito the size of your arm.”

I already figured that.

Ernie got to work pulling parts. I got behind the wheel pretend-driving away from Chicago like always. I felt around the seats for change. Didn’t find any. Opened the glove box. Empty too. Got out and popped the trunk with a screwdriver and hammer the way Ernie showed me one time. 

Just the usual stuff. Tire and jack. Rags. Half-full quarts of oil. But there was an envelope poking out from under the spare. That was funny to me. I tried pulling, but it was stuck pretty good and I didn’t want to tear it. I was thinking it might have something important inside like cash or a ransom note. 

After I got the spare moved there was more grease on me than Ernie. I wiped my hands on my pants trying not to smudge the envelope. The paper inside was the kind with lines like you use in school. The handwriting was nice.

Dearest Tom, 
You can say whatever you want, but I will always be yours. And no matter what you think, the baby is yours too. I don’t know what happened or why. And I don’t care what Jimmy or anybody else told you. Oh, but I wish you still had even a crumb of care for me. I love love love you. Is there any reason to live other than to be with you? I hope hope hope you get this before something bad happens. Please don’t forget us. Please don’t let something bad happen. 
Yours forever and ever,
Laurie

Ernie called me over. He said, “Take this linkage and that rod.” 

I had to put the long metal part down my pant leg. It made me walk stiff like I had a cast on. I was sure the office guy would notice. Ernie told me to keep moving while he paid for some cheap part. I walked to the van quick. Not so much afraid of being caught, but I thought if I looked, the office guy’s name patch was going to say Tom.

“He was a good mechanic when he stayed off stuff. 
At least that’s what mom used to say.”

We got big burritos at El Ranchero after and went to fix the Chevy. I handed Ernie tools and sipped his Old Style when he wasn’t looking. He joked about his beer evaporating, pretending he didn’t know. After awhile I got more bold and took a whole tall boy for myself, and then another one. Ernie was busy wrenching and didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was a good mechanic when he stayed off stuff. At least that’s what mom used to say. 

When I felt the beer in me I climbed inside the trunk and lay there watching the garage roof spin. Ernie woke me up later and carried me to the van. It was freezing. I rubbed my jacket on the window and saw a guy paying him for fixing the Chevy.

On the way home Ernie said he needed to make a stop. I could tell it was the West Side by the abandoned houses. Some were half burned down. It looked like a boneyard for buildings instead of cars. He ran inside one and came out quick. I knew he was fixing in the back of the van so I didn’t look. When it got quiet I went back there and started shaking him, saying it was time to go home. He opened his eyes a little and said, “Yeah? Well you got drunk on beer.” He was too high to do the canned corn laugh.


We didn’t go to the boneyard anymore after that. I guess Ernie stopped wrenching on cars.

For a long time I kept the envelope in a tobacco can underneath my bed. I’d pull it out and read it once in a while. Just a sentence or two most times. Sometimes I wondered about Laurie, what she looked like, or what Jimmy said, or if something bad did happen. Sometimes I wondered if I should put the letter back where I found it.

Jake La Botz is a touring musician and Buddhist meditation teacher. His songs, and sometimes acting, have been featured in film and television, including True Detective, Ghost World, Rambo and others. La Botz’ fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in In Parentheses, Bear Paw Arts Journal and Wrong Turn Lit. www.jakelabotz.com.