His Frozen Heart (11 page)

I blurted out, “I have a car. It
doesn’t run, but I have one.”

Kravitz raised an eyebrow, “It’s full.
Sorry, Candy.”

Not wanting to be shut down a second
time, I began pleading, “You don’t understand, it’s a ‘66 Chevelle.
I really want this car, but the only way I can afford to get it
running is if I’m in your class.”

“
A 66 Chevelle?” His
interest was piqued, “Convertible or hardtop?”

I had set the line; I just needed to
reel him in. “Convertible.”

“
Super Sport?”

I could feel my face glowing,
“Yes!”

He shook his head, taking a second to
look at me. “My class is full, but I wouldn’t mind the class seeing
how the older engines function compared to the new ones with
computers on board. Could you leave it here for the whole
semester?”

What was he saying? Was he going to
let me in the class or not? “Uh, yes, the class description says
once I’m signed up, I bring the car in, and you teach me how to fix
it.”

“
I don’t have room for
another student, but I may have an idea.” Kravitz called into the
other room that I had believed to be empty, “Mr. Brewer, can you
come out here for a minute?”

Feet shuffled from the other room as a
student came through the doorway. He glanced in my direction, but
his eyes settled on Mr. Kravitz’s boots, “Yeah?”

The student wasn’t anyone I would have
ever given a second look. His jeans begged for detergent. The
stench of stale cigarettes permeated his clothes. Those were just
surface issues. The most disturbing thing about him was that he
kept his eyes focused on the floor instead of looking at either Mr.
Kravitz or me. Mr. Kravitz introduced us – Dave looked like he was
thousands of miles away. “I may have a solution for you, Candy.”
Kravitz was nearly beaming.

My heart skipped a beat when I thought
he was going to tell me he’d find a way to make room for me in his
class. Maybe we could double-team my stupid counselor with the idea
that knowing how to fix a car was a skill I could use while I was
going to college to help cover expenses. His big arms gestured to
Dave, “I have a student without a car.” He looked at me and
gestured with his other arm, “Dave, Candy’s got a diamond in the
rough, but there’s no room for her in my class. I thought you two
might be able to strike a deal.”

A monotone answer, laced with
irritation responded, “No, thanks.” Still focused on the floor, his
thick leather boots, scuffed raw, shuffled against a free standing
toolbox.

Kravitz answered optimistically, “You
found a car?”

Dave shrugged his shoulders, his eyes
still refusing to leave the floor. “Found one at the salvage
yard.”

Mr. Kravitz eyed Dave suspiciously; he
must have known a great deal about this student because he asked,
“So you’ve got the money to buy it and all the parts you’ll
need?”

Dave shrugged his shoulders
again.

I saw my dreams getting ready to
disappear into a puff of smoke. “Pleeeaaase,” I dragged it out like
a seven year old begging for a later bedtime.

Dave shook his head, shoved his hands
in his pockets, and walked out of the room.

Mr. Kravitz huffed as we both watched
him take a quick turn down the hallway and disappear into the sea
of other students. Kravitz gave me a sheepish look, “The class is
offered in fall. If he doesn’t have a vehicle to repair in the next
couple of weeks, he’ll be reassigned to another elective. I know he
wants in my class. Get your car here this week. You know you will
be responsible for all the parts?”

Confused, I said, “But he just said,
‘no.’”

His voice lowered, not that there were
any others around to hear, “Mr. Brewer is in the foster care
system. He’s got great instincts for cars, and he hangs out here
after school helping me with odd projects. I’ve never seen someone
with his attention to detail. Unfortunately, the state only covers
his basic necessities. A car for my class isn’t a necessity, so he
can’t enroll in my class.”

My heart went out to Dave. I didn’t
know him, but I had heard awful things about foster care. His
clothing choices and absence of detergent seemed significantly less
revolting with that tidbit of information. I was ashamed of my
initial assessment of him when he walked in – who was I to judge?
My parents weren’t the greatest people on the planet, but at least
they made sure I had everything I needed. I’d bought the car with
babysitting money – money that I had earned from watching their
friends’ kids.

As if to drive his position home, he
added, “Dave’s been jerked around his whole life. He’s one of those
kids who has to warm up to an idea. You get your car here, and I’ll
see that he stays in my class.”

I’m sure the disappointment showed on
my face at his unwillingness to help me out with Guidance. I really
wanted this car, so I asked one more time, “If he’s not in your
class, does that mean you would have room for me? Could I be put on
a standby list?”

Mr. Kravitz must have wanted to
persuade me this was the best solution because he answered, “Candy,
you have options. That boy who just walked out of here? He doesn’t.
He needs this class more than you do. Get your car here this week,
and I’ll convince him to do the repairs.” Mr. Kravitz walked back
over to the car he had been working on and leaned back down into
the engine where I had found him.

I wasn’t convinced, but Mr. Kravitz
had made it clear he wouldn’t be advocating with the guidance
office for me to get into his class. If Dave Brewer wouldn’t agree
to repair it, I’d be stuck with a six hundred dollar car that
didn’t run. Defeated, I made my way to the door when Kravitz added,
“Get the registration up to date. Every car we keep has to be
legal.”

A friend helped me tow the car to the
high school the next morning. We put it inside the automotive
repair fenced-in area just like Mr. Kravitz had told me to. Two
weeks later I got a note to come to the auto shop around the back
of the school. When I peeked around the corner of the building – I
was elated. Kravitz was standing there with a clipboard; Dave was
leaning up against the brick wall with a frustrated look on his
face. Mr. Kravitz tapped Dave on his shoulder with the clipboard,
“C’mon, Mr. Brewer. You agreed to it. You’re going to have to go
over the list of parts her car’s going to need.”

Dave shoved himself off of the brick
wall. If he’d been a cartoon character, a huge “Bwong” would have
shot up from behind his back. He nearly ripped the clipboard out of
Kravitz’s hand and shoved it at me. “Need those parts by this
fall.” His hair looked greasy and hung in stringy waves just above
his shoulder, his face was all scraggly, and stale cigarette smell
clung to him. His jaw was set in an angry way as if he were
challenging me to argue with him about the parts I needed to
purchase. Dave wore the same faded black jeans and scuffed up boots
he was wearing the first time I had met him. His clothes didn’t
matter; if he was going to fix the car – he could do it naked for
all I cared.

Mr. Kravitz watched Dave walk back
into the classroom and removed the paper from the clipboard, “Take
this sheet to Advanced Auto on South Tenth Street. They’ve got a
deal with the school district. If you give them this sheet, they’ll
order and sell you the parts at cost.”

I put on my bright, cheerful, and
grateful face, pretending to be surprised – I wasn’t. This was the
reason I’d tried to sign up for the class to begin with. I wouldn’t
have to pay any labor and the parts were dirt cheap. Every repair
made by a student, no matter how big or small, got a sign off by
Kravitz that it was done right. Six hundred for the car and another
few hundred dollars in parts, and I’d have solid transportation by
the time I had my license.

Once the fall semester rolled around,
I saw Dave in the hallways lots of times. It didn’t matter how many
times I said, “hi,” or smiled at him – he never gave me a second
glance. It almost seemed as if he preferred to sneer at me. I’d
sneak down every few days and see Mr. Kravitz after school. My car
was progressing faster than most of the other cars that had a lot
less work to be done. For what Dave lacked in personal skills and
hygiene, he made up for in mechanical ability.

When it was all done, the engine had
been rebuilt, the brakes were replaced, as well as the radiator,
the battery, and most of the electrical wires behind the dash. Mr.
Kravitz told me before Thanksgiving break that my car was ready.
The right thing to do was to thank Dave, but since he preferred to
believe I was invisible every time I saw him – I wasn’t sure how to
accomplish it.

The first day of Christmas break, I
decided to thank Dave the only way I knew how. I’d always seen him
wear the same black jeans and boots. He seemed to be as tall as my
sister Kim’s boyfriend and about the same body build, so I asked
him what size clothes he wore. I bought Dave a pair of dark blue
jeans and a rugby shirt. Libby had her license. My sister Kim let
us borrow her car. Libby knew which house was his from the bus
route she had ridden on. I went up to his front door, a little
nervous, and rang the doorbell.

Instead of someone answering the door,
a hateful female voice yelled, “What?”

The television was blaring in the
background, so I couldn’t be sure if the voice was a person’s
inside the house or if it had shouted from the television. I rang
the doorbell a second time.

I heard loud footsteps stomping toward
the door, and a woman flung the door open wide with a menacing look
on her face, “You better not be sellin’ anything.” She was a very
large lady with long greasy hair and a permanent scowl etched on
her face. Her looks alone made me shrink an inch or two on the
spot. This was his mom? Then I remembered Kravitz told me he was a
foster care kid. What idiot state worker would place anyone with
this woman?

I stood there relieved that there was
a storm door separating the two of us. My voice came out meekly, “I
was looking for Dave Brewer. Does he live here?”

She stomped away from the door without
acknowledging my question and bellowed like he might have been on
Jupiter, “Dave, door!!”

I stood there, losing my nerve by the
second. The stale smell of the house began seeping through the
cracks around the front door. Dave appeared in front of me, and I
figured in this circumstance he might actually look at me – wrong
again. He stepped out into the frigid December temperatures with
just a t-shirt and jeans, onto the little cement steps where I
stood. Dave didn’t sound the least bit happy to see me, “What’re
you doin’ here?”

Damn, nice to see you, too. I shook
off my snottiness, and responded cheerfully, “You never let me
thank you for my car. I wanted to give you something.” My shaky
hands held out two white boxes tied together with a thick shiny red
ribbon.

He eyed the boxes, but made no move to
take them from me. “I did it because Kravitz made me do
it.”

Wow, that was a whole sentence. Dave
hadn’t talked to me all semester. Still holding the two boxes out,
I began to think this was an awful idea. “I know, but without you
doing the repairs, I wouldn’t have a functioning car. Here,” I
pushed the boxes in his direction, “it’s no big deal.”

His hands reluctantly took the boxes
out of my hands. An awkward silence hung for a few seconds. I
wasn’t sure what to say, and he didn’t have any conversational
skills. I tried feebly, “So, do you have any big plans for
Christmas break?”

He shook his head, peering over his
shoulder into the house. “Look, I gotta go.” He stammered, as if
trying to find the words, “I . . . hope. . . you like your car.”
Dave did a one-eighty and disappeared inside the house, shutting
the door hard behind him. I stood there for a second, realizing I
had just been dismissed.

I could hear the vile woman inside
shout at him, “Well, don’t just stand there. Dinner won’t make
itself!”

I understood in that moment why Mr.
Kravitz took such an interest in Dave. He didn’t have another
person in the world who looked out for him. I never saw him walking
with or talking to anyone at school – ever. I’d waved and smiled a
few times to him in the hallway, but I’d never gone out of my way
to try to have a conversation with him. Standing on his cement
steps, knowing where he lived and the woman the state had assigned
to care for him, my heart ached for him. I decided when break was
over, I would look for him in the halls. I would do more than just
a shallow greeting – I owed him. If the only way for me to pay that
debt was to befriend him, to let him know someone in the world
besides the shop teacher gave a crap about him, that’s what I’d
do.

I didn’t have to wait for school to
start up. Two days after Christmas, we got an outrageous snow storm
that dumped eight inches of snow. I was clearing the sidewalk in
front of our house, ticked off that both my sisters had
miraculously had things to do and were gone, leaving me with the
snow removal job all by myself.

I still didn’t have my driver’s
license and wouldn’t be able to get it for another couple months,
but every few days I’d go out and start my car just to hear the
engine rumble. It sounded bad-ass. After the shoveling was done, if
I could still feel my toes, I’d go out back and start it – that
would cheer me up.