My Private Pectus (19 page)

I get the motor running as best I can with the parts available, then stand back and listen. Not perfect, but I think Oscar will like what he hears. It's quite an improvement. Coming up to midday, I wander the wrecking yard, collecting odds and ends like door seals and wiper blades. The last thing I do is get a bucket and a sponge and give it a once over, but it's like polishing a turd. Satisfied it's better than it was when I started, I go back to the office and find Oscar. I give him my two lists.

He reads through them and sniffs. He opens a drawer on his desk and pulls out some paperwork and shoves it at me. I take it. His black fingermarks are all over it.

‘Fill this out and bring it back next Saturday,' he says to me. ‘We open at seven.'

I don't know what to say, so I just lean over the counter and shake his hand.

Walking out, I see the Pissan in the car park. Standing behind an open door Dad yells, ‘Well, how'd ya go?'

I hunch my shoulders and stare at my feet as if the world has collapsed around me. I open the passenger door and get in.

‘Jack?' he says. ‘Jack?'

‘Let's go,' I tell him.

Dad keeps looking at me. ‘I wouldn't be too worried, you know.'

‘Dad, shut up.'

He reverses out and starts up the road. ‘I think it's time I told you something. You know how I almost played for a Brisbane club? How those scouts came out to Kingaroy?' He's looking at me instead of the road, his face sincere. ‘Well, I didn't make it. Some other bloke got the spot, not me. I joined the army because I wasn't good enough at footy.'

‘No way,' I snigger.

‘Nah, that's fair dinkum. So don't feel bad about missing out. It's not the end. I mean, I'm sure there's another intake in a few months and—'

‘I know it's not the end, Dad.'

‘That's the spirit.'

‘I got it!'

‘Huh?'

‘I got it!' I yell and thump the dash. ‘Are you listening to me? I got it!'

He swerves towards the gutter and slams on the brakes. He hugs me. A huge hug. A man's hug. Then he honks the horn and thumps the wheel. Both of us hit anything we can. I punch him in the arm.

When I get home I jump in the shower and clean up. I sing as I clean off the grease. After drying off I stand naked in front of the mirror. I wipe the mist off with the towel, and then measure the crevice in my chest with my fingers. It still goes in to the second knuckle. I flex my biceps. I grin. They're getting bigger.

I go back to my room and turn on the stereo. I want to dance. I feel great. Feel superb. And why not? I've got a hot date at four.