Sample:

Can’t Get There From Here

by

Jared Axelrod

July 15, 1985

I don’t hear much, but I’ve heard this. You want miracles to happen, you gotta take exit 324 on I-95, go twelve miles down Kenesaw Drive, just past Briar Creek, deep into the pine woods, ‘till you see the field of Pontiacs and Buicks and Chevrolets. Supposedly, you’ll find miracles. In reality, you’ll find Wright’s Garage and me keeping some hunk of junk or another from the scrapyard.

Maggie was told she needed a miracle. Maggie had taken her poor, falling-apart LeBaron to the new Gulf station on the edge of Chapel Hill, over to the Daniel Boone Shell and finally to old man Kubichek’s place. Nobody had any luck figuring out why it gave a keel like lovesick alligator once it started, or why it just quit in the middle of the road, with the starter firing on a full tank of gas. The general rust-and-rot aesthetic of the engine was usually blamed, but a specific solution couldn’t be found.

“You’re gonna need a miracle, you want this hunka junk to run proper,” Juraj Kubichek told her. “Miracles a’ that sort only show up in one place.”

So, Maggie turned her car east on Kenesaw, restarted it about four times on the way, and slowly pulled into my clearing of cars, trucks and tractors in the middle of pines and cedars.

“Hear tell you can work miracles.” Maggie threw open the rusty door with a sickening crunch.

“There’s those that’d say that. I just do what the cars tell me to.” I wiped my hand on my pants before extending it for a shake. “Indigo Wright.”

“Maggie Williams. ‘Indigo,’ huh?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit too much name for me, too. Call me ‘Go. Most do. How can I help you?”

“You can listen to this heap of trouble.” Maggie smiled and scratched her close-cropped hair behind her right ear. Sweat made her shirt stick close to her lean torso. “If you have any ideas at all, you’ll have an edge up on every one else I went to.”

“Well, I better give her a listen.” I popped the LeBaron’s hood and leaned forward. “Start it up for me, will you? Let’s see what she says.” Once Maggie turned the key, I closed my eyes.

I let my head go quiet. I put out of my mind the sweat rolling down my back, the smell of rust coming from the engine I had my nose in, the sound of the starter urging the engine to turn over, even the beautiful smile of young black woman with the large Dayglo earrings behind the wheel. My mind was blank.

…corrosion… corrosion of the oil pan… came a voice in my head. …bleach… bleach in the oil… corrosion… corrosion…

My eyes snapped open. “You can quit now. When was the last time you changed the oil?”

“Change it?” Maggie stood up out of the car and bit her bottom lip. “I haven’t changed it, in like, a year. Maybe more. Is that the problem?”

“Not as such,” I said. “Anybody else drive this car?”

“Not since I bought it from Daddy two years ago. What’s the problem?”

“There’s some…foreign substances in your oil. Shouldn’t take long to clear out, but I’m gonna have to take some time to figure out the extent of the damage. Should be able to get it back to you next week.”

“Next week? I need this car tomorrow!”

“Well, I’m real sorry about that, Miss Williams. But as you can see, I got more’n few cars ahead of you.” I motioned to the field of autos sleeping beneath the pine branches.

“Can’t you put mine in front? Please?” Maggie’s smile pleaded. “I’ll pay extra. Please. I can help.”

“You know anything about cars, Miss Williams?”

“Not a lick. But I’m excellent company.”

Yes, you are, I thought. ’Specially when you smile like that. Been awhile since there had been any company at the garage. Even longer since someone as beautiful as Maggie Williams.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll open her today. But if the end of the day rolls around and this car ain’t ready to roll, you’re out of luck until next week. Go ahead and put ‘er in neutral and we’ll shove it in the garage.

“Oh, thank you so much! You won’t even know I’m here.”

Fat chance of that, I thought as I watched her brown, muscled legs disappear into the car.