Never the Same #49 You Can’t Always…

Sometimes you get what you need even when you don’t know what you need!

            Well. Now, Kirk definitely comprehended the benefits of safety on the job after his close call. After the incident, at his Georgia Pacific plant job as Kiln Monitor, he now closed all the covers over the holes in the floor and only opened them when he needed to check the level of gypsum in the hoppers and/or poke the clogs down for the hungry auger to grab and feed onto the kilns. That auger that would have eaten him alive he had fallen in. Now, he’d experience an emotional reaction every time he looked down into the hoppers, but he did his job just the same.

            After the event that he never told anyone at the plant about, Kirk pondered that he should really consider moving on to another job and honestly wanted to, but there was no open job bid sheets posted for months it seemed. Wondering how a short timer like him got the job in the first place, he perceived that maybe no one wanted the job he filled because of the excessive heat in the summer, but Kirk thought more than likely that not many guys wanted to man a solo position like he now filled. Then again, maybe there just wasn’t much of a turnover in personnel and jobs during the winter. Persevering Kirk continued to do his tedious job like the conscientious fellow he was and lived every day to show up at work. But he endeavored to be careful and attentive to what he was doing. It was the first time he learned that industrial settings with dangerous moving parts must be respected at all times.

            Perhaps the dangerous experience coupled with Chuck’s words of racing encouragement made Kirk think about his future. At home he had been dragging his feet in doing much of anything though he spent much of his spare time with sweet little Sarah Elizabeth. Why not, she was a soul similar to himself, isolated while harboring a feeling of alienation so they buoyed up each other’s lives. Never being big on social engagement and not all that out going, Kirk and Sarah spent their time together but not so much in public places or social settings. Not a lot conversation went on with those two which gave Kirk plenty of time to ponder.

            Just for the heck of it, Kirk decided to disassemble his forlorn looking stock car that now was primer, bare metal, and a mish-mush of swirling grinding patterns. He hadn’t decided what he was going to do with said stock car even though Chuck’s words echoed through his mind over and over. He didn’t have a well-equipped garage there in the old cow stable in the core of the big, old red barn. But he had his well-outfitted toolbox that had all the tools required to attend his college course and a few more tools he acquired while working at the dealership. Having worked on his Firebird off and on, he also bought a good floor jack and jack stands. Even though still in the freezing cold throes of winter, he began with the process by jacking up the car, first the rear then the front. He rolled under the car with a flashlight lying on the stable floor shining in another direction other than where he worked, not the best way to illuminate a work area, but he pressed on.

             First disconnecting the driveshaft, an easy task by removing four smaller bolts dropping the rear of the shaft and then sucked the front yoke out of the transmission. Not surprising him, the transmission oil began leaking out with that wonderful aroma of dead fish and heavy petroleum. He slid the jack under the transmission, but decided he needed to remove the shifter first. He had to unscrew the knob from inside the cockpit before that. By now, his fingers were getting numb with the freezing cold, the bane of mechanics in the northern winter season. Getting the shifter linkage off and the mounting bolts, Kirk decided he had enough already with stiff uncooperative fingers. He called it for an early night with no existent incentive egging him on.  There’s nothing worse than to try and scrub ground-in grease from frozen fingers in hot water. Anyone for a bit of screaming?

            That night as he laid in his warm bed with the bedroom’s temperature in the 50’s, Kirk decided to page through a couple race programs from the prior season. Opening one up, he thought that he could smell the fumes of race day of high octane gasoline and burnt rubber. Then again, the smell was maybe the vinegar fries that fell on the open program. He paged through, pausing at the photos of all those winners and the action shots of spectacular crashes. Kirk’s silver metal flake coupe didn’t adorn any of those pictures. Not too exciting to take and post pictures of a wannabe racer bringing up the rear in the heats and consolation and only one showing in the back of a feature. Kirk paused again at the race standings as of late August. His eyes focused on his name in the standings stuck at twentieth. The only saving grace that reassured Kirk was that there were at least another twenty drivers behind him. Not too shabby for a first-year rookie he thought. The words of Chuck replayed in his mind saying that he had skills and talent driving a stock car. Again, Kirk wondered if Chuck meant it. He laid the program down, snuggled in and slept. And he dreamed.

            Kirk saw a sparkly purple stock car. It appeared perfect without a defect to be seen. Faceless admirers strolled by taking in the gem and commenting favorably about it. Kirk heard the announcement and he crawled into the car’s window. The engine sounded and felt powerful. He followed the numerous other cars out to a crowded track. Bewildered, Kirk noticed that cars of all the classes were on the track. There were so many cars that they circled the entire track front to back. Kirk felt a surge of fright. A giant, oversized green flag dropped and the noise and bedlam commenced. His perfect car got hit on the left, on the right and in the rear on the first lap. There was no avoiding hitting and being hit with so many cars. He tried to drive between the cars that ran four wide on the track. Cars spun out right and left, he hit three cars but they just flew out of his way. Kirk was amazed. The crazy crowded race went on and on. Broken cars littered the track and the infield, but he threaded his way through�"at speed! He challenged the two top Late Model cars and with some fakery driving he tricked them into letting him past and still crashes resounded all around him. The last lap flag came up and he was assured a glorious win. He pressed down hard on the accelerator as the two cars put him in a squeeze. Suddenly, they split apart and Kirk found him hurtling with great force toward the last turn guardrail. He struck the rail, felt the rear lift and he flipped over the rail. He flew up and down and saw the ground rush up to meet him. BAM!

            With a physical jolt, Kirk woke up. He wiped his forehead. Visions of mad stock cars on a chaotic track haunted his thoughts. He wondered what brought on such violent version of racing though recalling that most of the racing program photos he had looked at before sleeping were of wrecks or near wrecks. Nothing sells programs like great action photos with potentially spectacular crashes. Kirk remembered then that the staple of late-night drive-in movies he watched with Sarah Elizabeth were car related such as Cannonball, Gumball Rally, The Last American Hero, and best of all Death Race 2000. He recalled that last movie seemed very similar to his dream much closer to a dark, chaotic car-related nightmare.

            As winter marched on, Kirk continued working his previously dangerous job, now safer because he kept those trapdoor covers closed. He actually got a couple random razzings by the older guys who occasionally spelled him from his one-man position for being over-cautious. Kirk decided that working in a solo position suited him just fine. Once in a while, Jimbo or the day laborers would give him a visit and shoot the bull for a few. Kirk didn’t mind that much.

            During this same time, he continued working on removing the engine from his stock car. He still hadn’t made any real decision about the next season, but Kirk told himself that in the very least, he could rebuild the engine himself just to freshen it up with maybe selling it next season as an option. That rebuild in itself might be worth a couple additional horsepower. Working in the dead cold of his unheated stable/garage, Kirk couldn’t do much during his evening work periods so he would just decide to get one small job done before his fingers became so numb, he couldn’t feel them anymore.

               Case in point, from where we had previously left him in the project, Kirk was dropping the transmission as he already had the driveshaft and shifter removed. When he had the gumption to drop the transmission, he bumped under there because the creeper wouldn’t roll on the rough stable floor. He unbolted the cross member after placing the jack under the transmission. He then took out the four big bolts that held the transmission to the engine. The transmission, affectionally called a “tranny”  by gearheads just hung up there stuck to the engine while sitting on the jack. With a deep breath leaving a vaporous cloud near the cold barn floor, he wiggled the transmission backwards. Stuck kind of tight it suddenly let loose released from the engine and nearly fell off the jack but even in his uncomfortable position Kirk grabbed the solid iron heavy transmission. Slowly, he rolled it off the jack. Without proper leverage in his prone position the tranny headed for the floor despite him having a hold of it. Kirk tried to slow it down but it went down anyway, not like a free-falling drop but too fast for comfort. Good thing Kirk had one hand underneath it to cushion its fall against the unyielding concrete floor. YOW! He smashed his fingers and hand which were nearly frozen in the first place thereby exacerbating his pain. He left the tranny sitting there and wiggled out to examine the damage to his hand wondering, unsure if his fingers were still there. It didn’t look so bad even though a couple fingernails looked a funny color and the throbbing pain was excruciating. Could’ve been smashed, maybe it was the cold that made seem worse, he surmised. That was not fun at all! That’s all for that night. Another painful scrubbing of his greasy hands because, remember, even though Kirk was a trained mechanic he didn’t like filthy, greasy hands.

            One night he concentrated on the front of the engine by taking out the radiator, hoses, and water pump. He was glad he had drained all the coolant before it got cold because he saw pockets of ice, but there wasn’t enough left behind to wreck anything. One night he took the manifolds off and another he began taking the cylinder head off. After taking the valve cover off he was pleased that the oily innards appeared in good shape without deposits of debris or gunk. Over time he got everything stripped off the engine so all that remained was what they  called the “short block” including the crankshaft, cam, pistons and rods still installed. Kirk stepped back and knew that he couldn’t pick the block up by himself. Shouldn’t even try without a strained back, hernia or other problems. Besides, he didn’t know what he’d do with it if he just let it drop to the floor, so there the car sat looking even more sad and decrepit than before.   

            Christmas approached and Kirk kept working at the plant at his hot and dusty kiln job. The plant didn’t actually shut down completely for the holiday, but went to minimal operations. Appparently, a lot of houses were being built at that time that needed the supply of drywall manufactured. Christmas didn’t mean a whole lot to Kirk with the traditions amounting to putting a tree up in the farmhouse with his father nailing the tree stand right through the hardwood floor. Plenty of holes adorned the floor. Kirk couldn’t even think about Christmas without remembering the holiday at his grandparents where he was such a bad little boy his mother had to drag him away from the festivities.

            Kirk’s favorite Christmas song remained, The Rolling Stones’ “You can’t always get what you want” along with the accompanying angelic chorus that gave Kirk a warm feeling inside. This particular year, he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted for a gift when asked. Of course, his one, single Christmas with Dee years ago always arose to haunt him emotionally, but he had sweet, loyal Sarah Elizabeth now. That’s a description he could never place on Dee. 

            Anyway, Christmas came and the larger family had dinner at the old farmhouse. Kirk’s two older sisters came with their husbands, Mike and Jon, for a sit down get together.  They had little ones that seemed pretty well behaved. Kirk hadn’t spoken to Mike since Kirk hauled his stock car from Mike’s yard but there didn’t seem any pent up baggage to sort out so nothing was said about that. Jon, meanwhile hadn’t had any kind of interaction with Kirk over the racing season, though they had gone fishing a couple times in the farm pond and had other inconsequential interactions at family events. Sarah Elizbeth attended as well, but she and Kirk strove for low profiles. Just as well. Kirk received a few trifling gifts from the family mainly clothes, socks and gloves. Later on, some of the cousins visited including Kirk’s long time cousin crush which he never revealed to a soul. Kirk and Sarah slipped out begging leave-taking for the standing requirement of showing up at her parents’ house for a Christmas get-together there.

            There, they had a late dinner which Kirk could exactly relate how Sarah felt at his family’s luncheon and the word best describes it would be: Awkward. After that hoopla calmed down, Sarah gave Kirk his present by carefully placing it in his lap like it was highly fragile. Wrapped perfectly, Kirk didn’t expect anything and so didn’t get anything for her a graphic example and an indication of their low key, casual relationship. 

            “You shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” Kirk said.

            “Oh, it isn’t much, just something I’ve been working on for a while now,” Sarah said.

            Kirk began carefully undoing the ribbon and pulling the gift wrap off without tearing the paper.  

            “Just be careful when you open the box,” Sarah warned with a hand extended to Kirk. “What’s inside is a little, ah, fragile, maybe.” Sitting now directly focused with hands between her knees, obviously, she appeared excited over the presentation of the gift she made, but without giving anything away on what it might be.

            Kirk peeled back the excessively over-taped edges and opened the box to reveal a bed of cotton batting. Captivated, Kirk pinched the cotton batting and drew it away on both sides revealing something he never expected: There sat a detailed scale model of his stock car with the exact silver and black scheme, crash bars and all. He didn’t know what to say, he definitely wasn’t about to mention that the car itself didn’t look like that anymore. Cautiously, he pulled the car out of the box and held it in the palm of his hand amazed how detailed the model was now in full view. It even included a tiny rendering of the caricature gopher on the truck lid that Sarah had hand painted on the full-size car. 

            Kirk sat there awestruck and embarrassed at the same time.

            “Wow. This is amazing,” he said. “I never knew you made models. And you even got the right year car. Amazing!”

            “I had to search around at stores for the car. I ended up going to the hobby shop because they have a wider selection of model cars. Sure enough, they did have it.”

            With a loss of words Kirk just grinned and took the model in.

            “I thought that you really love your stock car. It’s you! And this way you can look at all the time and dream about racing.”

            “I guess I can,” Kirk said. “Oh, ah, I have something little for you too, but, I ah, forgot it at home.” Kirk lied, wondering what he was going to do now.  

            Kirk and Sarah E. hung out at her house for the evening. Kirk tried his best to be appreciative of Sarah’s thoughtful gift for him, a sentiment that Kirk definitely lacked. After an embrace and kiss, he headed home with the box with the model inside riding on the van’s engine cover. At home, he took the model out and placed it on the shelf next to his bed with the models he had built over the years. The replica stock car remained in that particular spot for many years eventually collecting dust, but that’s down the road another whole different story.

            The next day after Christmas while most other shoppers returned gifts that they didn’t like or clothes that didn’t fit, Kirk went shopping. Kirk racked his brain over a gift for Sarah. He was never a savvy shopper always unable to pick out gifts to fit the person, but he tried to find something special. But he ended up with a set of colorful scrunchies for Sarah’s long blonde hair and the album Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road. It could’ve been ironic in his case.

            Kirk presented these to Sarah the same day after his best wrapping job, and she seemed overjoyed with his presents. Her delight helped Kirk recover from his dismay over his inability to find good gifts for her or the fact he didn’t think ahead, nevertheless it ended up as his best.

            Unbeknownst to Kirk, what she said to him about his racing had more of an impact on him than the perfect replica of his silver stock car.  It didn’t take long for what Sarah said and what Chuck had said to really sink in and affect him in a tangible manner.

            Kirk would Never be the Same.