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Blake Autumn's Finest Hour
CHAPTER 7.6: AND ON....

CHAPTER 7.6: AND ON....

AND GO BY...

“Ah dag nabbit!” Stevie shouts as I approach the garage. I’m still a bit groggy from my sleep, but his angry tone shoots some life into my step. As I approach the open garage/shed door, I see Stevie on his phone. He looks up at me.

“The shipping for Comby’s body got delayed!” Stevie shouts.

“By how long?!”

“Three weeks. I ordered priority shippin', and it’s still set to arrive well past the race!”

“Oh crap!” I shout in frustration. My mind starts bouncing, wondering of a way to save the situation

“What about the old body? Can’t we salvage it?”

“No way,” Stevie throws his arms up dramatically towards the pile of dark blue metal that was once Comby’s old body. There’s barely anything there.

“Thing looks like a pile of metallic disappointment”

The more I look at it, the more pathetic it looks.

“At this point we might as well just use duct tape and cardboard.” he mutters.

I look behind him, at the back of the shed. There’s a growing pile of empty boxes from all the parts we’ve installed. On the peg wall to our right, there’s a bunch of tools strung up, and a huge roll of black duct tape right in the middle.

We’re both silent as we both eye the duct tape and cardboard, before turning back towards each other.

The idea sets in, and we get started.

* * *

AND BY…

It’s another empty night at the bar. Tia continues to struggle with the TV, while I work on making this drink. I’ve just finished cutting a piece of pineapples into thin slices. I take the delicate fruit, gently laying it on top of the lime. I then take a small mint leaf, capping off the bright orange drink. I’m a lot more methodical with drink-making, as opposed to Tia’s flashy spins and twists.

“Hey, how’s this?” I say grabbing her attention.

I take the drink, and slide it across the bar top, right into the palm of Tia’s hand. She brings the glass to her lips and takes a sip. She immediately shakes her head, her face wincing as she cringes at the taste.

“Nope, this tastes like a fruit roll up.”

I slam my hand on the bar, “Dang it!”

As Tia slides the mai tai of disappointment back to me, some of the liquid spills out. Tia grabs a towel to wipe it up as she continues, “You’re adding too much pineapple juice. mai tais, when made the original way, aren’t supposed to be that sweet.”

I pour the concoction down the sink, setting the glass down with frustration.

“I’m gonna throw the towel on drink making for the night.”

Tia chuckles, “That’s probably for the best.”

I mutter, leaning on the freshly wiped bar. Nights like this drag on. Even with the entertainment of whatever is on TV, there’s no work to do in a bar serving no one.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Tia throws her towel down as she finishes wiping the bar. She seems more irritated than usual. Our group of college kids haven’t returned in a few days, and tonight has been an especially empty one. In my time working here, I’ve noticed Tia always looks on edge when the place is empty.

I look out at the empty floor. It’s been swept, mopped, and then swept and mopped again. The tables are clean, the glasses are clean, everything looks perfect. Sparky’s is probably the cleanest bar in town, because we’ve had nothing else to do. My stomach grumbles in pain. I didn’t get a chance to eat before Stevie dropped me off here, so I’ve been starving tonight.

"I'm bored Tia," I mumble, rubbing my eyes, “and hungry.”

"Welcome to my world Blake."

I look over at Tia, who's leaning against the jukebox, looking down with her eyes closed.

“Why don’t we take the night off and get something to eat?”

Tia perks up and gives me a soured look, “Blake you know this bar is my job, right?”

I nod, “Yeah I know, but you think we’ll get any more customers between now and closing?”

Tia crosses her arms, pouting.

Feeling like I’ve struck a nerve, I approach Tia and lean on the bar in front of her.

“Look I didn’t mean to sound rude about it, but c’mon it’d be nice to have a night off right!? I’ve got some extra money; we could get hibachi at the mall and watch anime at home!” That idea was a bit on the spot, but it’s also exactly what we used to do back in high school. In a way it came second nature to me.

Tia looks past me, slowly turning to look at the empty room in front of us. Her face turns to a half smile. She’s thinking really hard.

“I suppose,” Tia exhales softly, looking back at me, “One night couldn’t hurt right?"

* * *

As the days go by, I start to fall into a pattern. It’s the same cycle over and over again, like a ladder that never ends.

Work on Comby,

Wash up.

Work at Sparky’s,

Go to Tia’s place,

Eat and wash up,

Wake up,

Watch anime,

Sleep,

Go back to Stevie’s,

Rinse and repeat…

My schedule is one I’ve grown to love over the past few weeks. Everyday feels like a new adventure, and no two have been

the exact same. Repairs for Comby are coming along well. We got the new body put together last night. I turn over on Tia’s couch bed, struggling to find a comfortable position.

I can’t sleep.

It is a lot colder now, with temperatures now in the low 50’s. Even then, as I lay here bundled up in my hoodie and pajama pants, I still feel a certain coldness within me. I keep thinking about Tia.

Things with us are going okay… I think?

She’s definitely become a lot more comfortable around me, and she’s starting to feel like the old Tia. The one from high school. Even then, in the moments when we aren’t talking and I catch a glimpse of her, she looks burdened. Like some tornado is beating down on her. Anytime I try to see what’s wrong she gets upset.

Last night was a clear example of that.

I rub my eyes. I don’t even know what time it is.

As I grab my phone to check, my eyes widen. I sit up, rubbing my eyes as I see Stevie's caller ID.

Panicked, I swipe the answer icon, placing my phone to my face.

“What?!” I whisper hoarsely, being as quiet as I can.

“Come outside and get n’ the truck!” he shouts. Stevie’s voice feels like a concert speaker compared to the mute house. I frantically sneak out of bed, peering out the door to see his black truck flashing his bright lights. The sun is barely cracking through the trees behind his truck, meaning I spent the entire night restlessly struggling to get to sleep.

“Why?!”

“I got a tip from one of my old racing buddies. Something’s up with Pigeonburg Speedway, so come get in!”

I see Stevie wave as he holds up a ghillie suit.

“We my friend, are doin’ some recon!”