Tristan was a good kid. He got good grades, was rarely late for class, and was always polite. His parents were divorced– they had been since he was a toddler–and Dad wasn’t really around much. He and his Mom got along okay.
Mom had a boyfriend here and there, and things would get better for a while. They’d be able to buy food from the grocery store instead of the discount store with the dented cans. He would get clothes for Christmas that still had the tags on instead of secondhand from Goodwill. He always liked having a guy around when he was younger.
When Tristan hit high school, a lot changed. Things were rough for his mom: she lost her job as a receptionist at a local office and started waiting tables at an old diner just to stay afloat. When he was old enough for a work permit from school, Tristan started at the hardware store to help with the bills. His mom tried not to ask him for much, so when she didn’t need it, Tristan put as much of his check aside for something he knew would get him places… A car.
His junior year of high school, Tristan signed up for Automotive Technology at the technical center nearby. He wasn’t doing well in his math and science courses, and Auto Tech was a hands-on way for him to get the credits he needed to graduate.
His grades had been slipping since his mom got a new boyfriend. Brad was nice at first. He would show Tristan how to do things like pop the clutch on his mom’s beat-up old Saturn when it wouldn’t start. They could talk about classic cars over dinner, his mom sitting across the table smiling peacefully as they ate. Brad was helpful around the apartment, too. He was able to fix things so they wouldn’t have to call the landlord and wait for things to get done. Which was great, because the landlord was notorious about never reporting problems. Tristan and his mom had gone months with a broken window pane once.
Sometimes Brad would have a beer to many after dinner, though. He would get loud, and a little grabby with Tristan’s mom. Tristan would close himself in his room with his car magazines and put on his headphones, blaring the music so he couldn’t hear Brad’s drunken laughter.
He began to miss the nights alone with his mom. She would playing the radio in the kitchen while doing dishes and Tristan would sit at the table doing his homework. Those days were gone.
Tristan’s first day of Auto Tech felt like coming home. He gazed around the shop in awe as his teacher explained the different machines: the scissor lift, tire machines, all these new toys just waiting for him to use. As the days turned to weeks, Tristan’s whole focus became those two hours at the end of the day. He could mount and balance tires faster than anyone else in his class; he studied hard; and his teacher thought he showed promise in the field.
Tristan was on his way to becoming an ACE certified technician. He could feel it.
Winter came, and Tristan was able to make a little extra money changing tires for friends on his “Free Fridays” during Auto Tech. Off with the old summer tires, on with the nicely treaded winters, and all the money went to his savings. That coffee can he kept stashed under his bed was filling up nicely.
When spring rolled around, he was able to get a little money back on his taxes. It was finally enough money to start looking for a car.
Tristan looked through the local paper for people selling beaters. He looked online. He looked out the bus window to and from school hoping to see a ‘For Sale’ sign on anything with four wheels.
After weeks with no success, Tristan started to lose hope.
One night after an especially loud round of Brad-and-Mom, there was a knock on Tristan’s bedroom door. His mom looked weary but pleased, and held out a crinkled paper flyer.
The flyer was an ad for a 1997 Subaru Impreza. It had high miles and a few problems, but was still safe to drive. The price was just about right, too. Tristan was only a couple of hundred shy from the asking price.
His mom sat down on the edge of the bed and explained that she had seen it on a bulletin board at the grocery store. She wanted to give him the money he needed to buy the car, but he couldn’t let Brad know. Tristan agreed, overjoyed, and fell asleep that night dreaming about what that car could become.
After a few rounds of phone tag that weekend, Tristan and his mother went to look at the car. The guy selling the car wasn’t much older than Tristan, only in his early twenties.
Tristan sat behind the wheel, played with every knob and handle he could think of, and then popped the hood. There were a few things under the hood that weren’t exactly stock. The seller started to go over the changes he had made, but Tristan, all too knowledgeable, quickly hushed him. To his mother, Tristan explained that the intake was to improve gas mileage and nothing else.
Papers were signed, money exchanged, and Tristan babied the car home with an eager grin.
Monday morning, Tristan drove his new car to school. He spent all morning just counting the minutes until Auto Tech. His teacher allowed him to put the car up on a lift after the lesson concluded, and helped him give the car a thorough once-over. The exhaust was definitely aftermarket, bigger around and with a deeper sound than an everyday sedan.
His teacher made recommendations, and a list for Tristan to pick up supplies for Friday. Tristan could barely contain his excitement. He brought his list to work and wrote down prices when he wasn’t stocking shelves. He couldn’t wait to get home!
He pulled into the parking lot back at home to see Brad’s car in the visitor’s spot. Tristan rushed inside to share his good fortune only to find his mother seated at the table with Brad towering over her, voice raised and, as usual, beer in hand.
Tristan threw his backpack on the floor and sat down next to his mother. Brad took a step back, gave him a look and walked away muttering. Tristan started explaining the help his teacher had given him. He pulled the list out of his pocket. He needed fluids and filters by Friday and wasn’t sure he had enough money. His mom agreed to let him borrow the funds until payday the following Monday, and Tristan threw his arms around her. He hadn’t hugged his mom like that in years.
As he composed himself and drew back, Tristan noticed tears in her eyes. He felt like someone was watching him and, sure enough, Brad stood in the doorway behind him. He practically filled the arch, and made no space as Tristan walked towards him to head to the kitchen.
Tristan squeezed by, throwing a glare at Brad as he opened the fridge. After grabbing his plate of leftover Hamburger Helper and putting it in the microwave, he had no choice but to wait in awkward silence.
Almost as soon as his bedroom door closed, the yelling began. Brad badgered Tristan’s mother about the cost, about wasting money on something that wasn’t necessary, about babying her son.
After no more than a few bites of lukewarm noodles, Tristan couldn’t take it anymore. He swung his coat over his shoulders, grabbed his keys and stormed out past the two of them.
He fired up the car and tore out of the driveway, leaving his mother staring out the window as his taillights disappeared into the night. His tires squealed as he rounded the corner, speeding off towards the open roads.
The exhaust growled as Tristan pushed the car to its limit. He drove faster and faster until he noticed the needle on his temperature gauge creeping towards the red. His anger diminished, and he let off the gas.
Driving once again like a reasonable human being, Tristan turned the heater on full blast to try to cool down the engine. He put his window down as the car filled with the smell of hot metal and oil. He pulled into a parking lot at a shopping center and popped the hood. Steam poured out into the night air as he stood there surveying his engine bay. Afraid to touch anything, he let the car sit for ten minutes or so and crept towards home.
Sitting in the parking lot of his apartment building, he noticed Brad’s car was gone and the lights were off. Tristan opened the door, and then tread softly down the hall to his bedroom. He thought he could hear his mother crying through the thin walls, so he covered his head with a pillow and went to bed.
Brad was scarce for the rest of the week. Come Friday after school, the Subaru was running like new. Tristan didn’t have to work that night, so he drove straight home. There was a note on the table when he got there that his mother was going to be working late, and there were warm-ups in the fridge. As Tristan sat down at the table to start on his homework, he heard a familiar car pull up.
He glanced out the window and confirmed his suspicion.
Brad burst through the door without as much as a knock. Judging by his red face, he had already been drinking.
He began demanding to know where Tristan’s mother was and called her every name but her own. Tristan yelled back that Brad had no right to talk about his mother like that. He told Brad that his mother deserved far better than an alcoholic for a boyfriend.
Brad barreled across the room and shoved Tristan with both arms, sending him flying. Tristan picked himself up off the floor, yelled a few more obscenities at Brad and ran for the door.
He jumped into his car. Tristan had to get out of there.
He jammed the key into the ignition with shaking hands and turned the engine over. He glanced behind him as he flicked the door lock closed. He drove off not knowing where he was going, and ended up on some back roads in a nearby town.
Tristan put the pedal to the floor as he went up a small hill and experienced a freeing weightlessness for a few seconds as he cleared the crest. The intake howled as he downshifted, hugging the turns on the old dirt road. He felt the car start to slide and fought it, managing to bring the car back to the center of the road.
He came to a stop and sat there for a moment.
His heart was pounding; his eyes wide open and a smile on his face. The sound of the exhaust bouncing off the surrounding trees gave him chills and he sped away once more.
Tristan turned towards home as the moon sat high in the sky. He eased back into the parking lot, grateful to see Brad’s vehicle gone.
As he approached the door, he noticed it was cracked open and hanging oddly on its hinges.
He rushed into the apartment to find his mother sitting on an overturned chair amid absolute chaos. The contents of the pantry and fridge were strewn about the kitchen. Dishes lay in shards on the floor, pots and pans beaten to unusual shapes.
Tristan looked into his mother’s tear-filled eyes and picked up the phone to call the police.