By five forty-five, the rain had backed off to a light, misty spray that coated everything in a slippery sheen. Ethan stood in the narrow alley behind the shop, staring at his 1998 Ford F-150. It was a faded cherry red, though most of the bed was faded to a flat rust color, and the left side mirror was held together with three strips of dark grey duct tape.
He kicked the front tire. It made a dull thump sound. Good enough.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, unlocking the driver's side door with a heavy metallic clack. The interior smelled like old coffee, stale air, and the faint scent of cedar wood from a box of old guitar parts he’d left under the back seat two winters ago. He grabbed a dirty gym towel off the passenger seat and threw it into the bed, trying to make the cab look at least somewhat clean.
"Ethan!"
He turned around. Maya was walking down the alley, wearing a thick rain jacket with the hood pulled up and a pair of worn-out work boots. She was carrying a plastic grocery bag that rattled with what sounded like glass bottles.
"Hey," Ethan said, leaning against the side of the truck. He immediately regretted it because the wet metal soaked right through his hoodie elbow. He cleared his throat and tried to act like he hadn't just wet his arm. "Ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," she said, stopping next to the passenger side. She grabbed the handle and pulled. Nothing happened. She pulled again, harder this time. "Uh. Is it locked?"
"No, wait," Ethan said, leaning across the bench seat from the inside to roll down the passenger window by hand. The crank made a terrible grinding noise. "Okay, now reach down on the outside handle and pull while pushing the door with your knee."
Maya stared at him through the open window for three seconds. "Are you serious?"
"It builds character," Ethan said weakly.
She let out a dry laugh, followed his instructions, and with a loud POP, the door swung open. She climbed in, dropping her plastic bag between them on the ripped vinyl seat. "If this truck dies halfway across town, I'm leaving you on the side of the road."
"It won't die," Ethan said, turning the key in the ignition. The engine coughed twice, sputtered angrily, and then roared to life with a heavy, rattling shudder that made the dashboard vibrate. "See? Smooth as silk."
"Rattles like a tin can full of nails," she corrected, but she pulled her hood down and turned on the heater. A puff of lukewarm, dusty air blew out of the vents. "Okay, head toward 4th Street. My sister’s place is right above that laundromat near the bridge."
Ethan pulled out of the alley, the truck’s tires splashing through a deep puddle at the street corner. Driving the truck always required his full attention because the steering wheel had about two inches of dead space in the middle where turning it did absolutely nothing, but he tried to keep his eyes on the road while still sounding like a normal human being.
"So, what kind of couch is this?" Ethan asked, turning the windshield wipers on. They scraped dryly across the glass with a rhythmic shhh-clack, shhh-clack.
"A heavy one," Maya said, leaning her head back against the faded headrest. "It’s one of those old pull-out sleeper sofas from the seventies. My aunt gave it to her when she moved in, but now Sarah’s getting a new futon from IKEA and wants the old one gone."
Ethan winced. "A sleeper sofa? Maya, those things weigh like three hundred pounds. The iron frame inside is made of solid steel."
"That's why I brought you," she said, offering a small, evil smile. "And also why I brought these." She reached into the grocery bag and pulled out two cold glass bottles of ginger beer. "Payment part one."
"I can't drink that while driving," Ethan said, gesturing to the steering wheel with both hands like a model student in driver's ed.
"I'll hold it for you," she said, popping the cap off one bottle using a metallic bottle opener on her keychain. She held the bottle near his face while he kept his eyes glued to the street.
Ethan took a awkward sip, almost missing his mouth because the truck hit a small pothole on 4th Street. "Thanks."
"You're terrible at this," she laughed, taking a drink from her own bottle.
They drove in relative silence for a few minutes, listening to the engine rattle and the sound of the rain hitting the roof. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just the heavy, quiet mood of a wet Tuesday evening in the city. The streetlights were just starting to flicker on, casting long yellow streaks across the dark, wet asphalt.
"So," Maya said after a while, looking out the side window at a passing bus. "Leo told me you were working on Dave's turntable all morning."
"Yeah. Got it working right before you came over."
"How long have you been doing that stuff? Fixing electronics?"
"Since I was fifteen, I guess," Ethan said, easing his foot onto the brake as they approached a red light. The brakes gave a quiet squeal. "My dad had this old receiver from the seventies that stopped working. He was gonna throw it in the trash, but I took it apart in the garage with a butter knife and a pair of pliers. Took me three weeks, but I got it to play radio again."
"Did you electrocute yourself?"
"Twice," Ethan admitted. "The second time was worse. My arm went numb for like twenty minutes."
Maya snorted, looking over at him with a small smile. "You're a weird guy, Ethan."
"Hey, it worked in the end," he said, turning the truck into a narrow side street parked full of delivery vans. "Is that the laundromat up ahead?"
"Yep," Maya said, pointing to a brightly lit yellow sign glowing through the fog. "Park in the loading zone behind that blue sedan. And prepare your lower back, because those three flights of stairs are no joke."
Ethan pulled the handbrake up with a loud ratchet sound, killed the engine, and stared at the dark brick building in front of them. "I'm gonna need another ginger beer after this."
"If we survive the couch, I'll buy you a real drink," she said, opening her door using the outside handle through the window like a pro now.
Ethan opened his door, stepped out into the chilly night air, and immediately stepped directly into a deep puddle of muddy water, soaking his right sock completely through.
"Great," he muttered to himself, squishing his toes inside his shoe. "Off to a fantastic start."
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