SIMPLE TOOLS

Travis was great at fixing cars but he couldn't fix the relationship with Amy. No matter how many times she repeatedly told him that their zombie arrangement was broken beyond all repair he would still insist he could find a way to mend it. Maybe it was his recently diagnosed OCD but he found it hard to sleep at night if he didn't resolve matters to the best of his ability. Letting things just hang in the air, unresolved, really fucked with his head.

"Just imagine you let a customer drive around in their Chevrolet or Hyundai with a  spluttering engine or a broken piston ring. Makes no sense. No, you take it to the garage and get it looked at."

Bill, the bartender stared back at Travis with a look of solemn understanding before refilling an old ash tray full of peanuts.

"You try and fix things with the right intentions these days, they accuse you of being controlling and toxic when all you're really trying to do is fix shit. It's a lose-lose situation."

But deep down, the mechanic knew it went beyond him just being able to simply fix things. Amy had run off with a new man and Travis had been the last person in the town to find out about their affair. He'd felt a fool, having been so oblivious to events outside of his own head. Now the veils were slowly lifting and it left him with a sour feeling in his gut.

Draining the dregs of his beer glass, Travis sloped off home as he wasn't in the mood to flirt with sad, boozy looking gals with their small town talk. He did, however, leave Bill and his bar staff with a Jim Reeves tune on the old jukebox before disappearing through the back door of his favourite bar.

"Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone
Let's pretend that we're together all alone
I'll tell the man to turn the jukebox way down low
And you can tell your friend there with you, he'll have to go"

Walking the moonlit streets of the same town he was born in, Travis wondered if he could ever look at 'Betsy's Diner' or the 'Grand Palace Picture House' the same way he once did now he didn't have Amy by his side to enjoy them with. It wasn't just that he'd lost the girl, it felt like he'd lost the town he'd loved all his life as it only reminded him of a redundant and ghostly past.

In some ways he felt quite desperate although he didn't quite have the facility to fully express his feelings right now. All he knew was that if he didn't have work in the morning he could quite easily go nuts and end up being locked up by the authorities. What did that look like, exactly? First, he would go on a gun toting rampage and gun down Amy with her new beau and then secondly take a hike up into the nearby mountains and blow his own head clean off in the woods, firing his brains up toward the night sky like a Roman candle.

But he did have work in the morning and work always kept him straight. He thanked his lucky stars for that.

Suddenly, the thought of replacing a couple of spark plugs and fixing some oxygen sensors felt like a balm for his heavy soul right now. He hastened his return home and fell asleep on his unmade bed to the sound of an ASMR Twitch Streamer who reminded him of Amy.

The girl was called MillenialFireFly and she had the exact same voice as his lost love and when he closed his eyes it was just like she was in the room with him again and nothing was fucked.

The next day at the garage, Travis had already begun to feel a little better. The murderous fantasies from last night had dissipated with the early morning fog and he was greeted by his old man with a scalding hot cup of coffee that snapped him out of any remaining funk he was in.

"Mrs Roberts got a problem with her ignition coil. I said we'd have it done by ten. She was good when your mom passed."

Travis nodded and set to work on the old Plymouth Valiant, zoning out of his emotions while he set to work on the vehicle like an automaton. Some people had church to find sanctuary in when they faced troubled times; for mechanics like Travis and his pop Maurice, they found their redemption and solace in catalytic convertors and fuel pump replacements.

"You're gonna be alright son," Maurice said as he turned up the radio playing 'Travelling Stranger' by Little Anthony and the Imperials.

Listening to the lyrics, Travis couldn't help but think of that fly-by-night operator who had stolen his girl but he knew it was just a stupid song and kept his attention fully on Mrs Robert's coil instead.

So what if he couldn't fix things with Amy. He would never go wanting for work and he'd be able to fix many things within his control.

That gave him comfort in some small way.

"I love you, Pop!" he said to his old man who was sucking on the end of a broken pen, struggling with a crossword at his plastic fold up desk table.

"I love you too, son."

Sometimes, it was good to remember the simple things that remained a constant while the rest of the chaotic world was in flux.

And as he looked up at the garage clock, Travis saw it was one minute to ten and as if on cue he could hear the familar clacking of Mrs Roberts's high heels approaching.