Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Those three little words

Yesterday I looked down as my cell rang and noted the number. I answered and started walking to my computer to log ioto internet banking.
We’d had many conversations along the lines of:
Clueless: “The diff on The Beast is wonky.”
Me: “How much,” I sighed.
When he told me the cost, I slid off the chair. “Wait? Are diffs made from pure gold?”
As an aside, I don’t know what a diff is, what it does or if it even exists.
What it looks like and what is the dream.

A background on The Beast which is one of the first Holden Commodore’s that rolled off the production line. It was owned by my sister in law’s father from mile zero, then my brother who treated it like a third child with its throaty V8 engine. When my brother died tragically a few years ago, I couldn’t bear the thought of Beastie leaving the family, and my sister in law couldn’t take hearing it come down her driveway, so The Beast is still in the Manning family and shall remain so.

Clueless is deep into his degree and shares a house with five others. There have been calls for books, food (I was horrified, I couldn’t bear the thought of him starving), so three delivery trucks turned up the next day. 
To give Clueless his due, he works three jobs and pays his tuition. (I won’t tell you what we pay in New Zealand for education, but divide your nation's debt by the amount of sheep we have – sixty-six million, then halve it because it’s in New Zealand dollars. No complaints here from the cheap seats people.

Back to Clueless and the phone call.

“Hey, what’s up?” I said, walking toward the computer.
“What do you mean nothing.”
Was he in a police cell?
“Just wanted to say I love you.”
I grip the phone. “Have you been kidnapped? We’ve only got about a buck fifty. I don’t think that will cover it.” Wait. “Have you been abducted by a cult? Are you playing the tambourine in public and working for your body weight in kale?”

Clueless: “No, I thought about all you’d done for me over the years and I wanted to say how much I appreciated what you’ve done, and I love you.”

I am rendered mute as tears fall down my face. I’m glad he didn’t mention the shoe throwing incident. I’m not proud people, I’m not proud, but said shoe didn’t connect.
Those three puffy little words skidded over me and dropped neatly into my soul where they were bundled up in soft cotton and cherished. 

I shall take out the package when I’m shelving out for a thingo that makes the doovie go around.