Midnight

Well, it's finally happening. After a month of having an improved ordering system, I finally made a decent profit for the first time in years.

Midnight almost has the whole junkyard cataloged, aside from the imports section in the back. I went ahead and got that done on my own. Pretty soon, that whole spreadsheet will be finished and uploaded on the website for customers to view what we have.

For me, it will help me keep track of what I have, as well as where it is located.

Depending on how this month starts, I may finally give a month's notice that the business is going to get rid of the self-serve picking model, and go all-in on orders - with me and Middie doing all the pulling.

Just as well - it seems the customer base that used to pull parts themselves has found the new system preferential. There has been a couple of days where not a single customer has come in.

But the orders online have certainly picked up.

Everything is looking far brighter than I ever expected. Even with how things turned out last weekend.

Midnight cornering me on my actions and mannerisms was an awkward and nerve-wracking moment. I must be pretty shit at being low-key about how I feel about her.

Or maybe she's that observant.

Regardless, I couldn't lie to her. Even though I really wanted to. After all, I was basically saying I found her - a pony - attractive.

This development came after Midnight made it clear early on she didn't want me to be one of those creepy bastards that lust over ponies.

But, Midnight didn't freak out. She wasn't pissed off. She didn't holler and carry on about how much of a nutjob I am, and how she couldn't stand to be around me.

Midnight just said 'no.'

It stung to hear that - but it was a load off of my mind, too. Now I don't have to worry about tiptoeing around her, scheming how to test the waters. Or mull options of how to back out of things if she began finding something suspicious about me.

It's all out in the open now. Rather than driving her away, Midnight seems to want everything to stay the way it has been.

Friends.

I'm good with that.

The biggest fear was losing what I had because it meant something to me. It's good to know she really does see me as a friend.

First and foremost, everything I have done for her was to help her as my friend - that wasn't a lie. So if that's all we amount to... hey, I can't be upset about that.

I can't help the way I feel, but the boundaries have been drawn in clear and concise lines. I have no intentions of pushing or even staring down those lines.

Maybe someday, there will be another chance. But I'm leaving that alone. The ball remains in her court until she decides to serve.

Since that night, my focus has once again been placed firmly upon the junkyard - and helping Midnight adjust to a more normal life.

All things considered, the latter goal has been going well aside from the supermarket visit. That was a blindside hit to learn kids may be frightened by her just from tenuous connections to the show.

"You know, when I said I would eat something if you were going to stop to make lunch, I didn't mean I would eat whatever you decided to char on the stove."

Midnight's voice causes me to become aware of the harsh sizzles emanating from the skillet in front of me. I hurriedly flip the sausage patties that had slipped my mind, showing off the dark brown caramelization that had nearly begun to slip into carbonization.

"Sorry."

"What has that little empty space between your ears so damn occupied today?"

"Same thing as every day," I say with a dreamy sigh, turning to Midnight.

She looks on with sudden apprehension.

"Air."

So, I do kind of like how my feelings out in the open allow me to get under her skin with a simple choice of tone. Case in point, Midnight's face scrunches up in mild embarrassment.

"You know, I'm supposed to be the one teasing you about this shit," she mutters.

"And yet the turns have tabled, haven't they?"

"You mean the tables have turned," she corrects.

"I know what I said."

"Retard."

"You know they send people to sensitivity training for using that word?"

Grabbing a paper plate, I toss two of the lighter sausage patties onto it and slide them over to Midnight.

"Guess it's a good thing I'm a pony then. Excludes me from that retarded shit."

"Hm. I guess that's true."

I sit down on the stool across the kitchen island from where Midnight has seated herself.

While Midnight has elected to just eat hers plain, I decided to throw my pork onto some bread with cheese. Nothing fancy, just something quick.

"What's really got you thinking?" Midnight asks.

"Just trying to figure out what to do about your appearance now that we know how kids see you. I know you say it isn't a big deal, but we can't be causing a fuss when we go anywhere, either."

Midnight shrugs, but she doesn't do a very good job hiding that mischievous grin. "Guess you will just have to do your shopping and other lame errands without me. Just to be safe."

Pinching off a small piece of bread, I roll it into a ball and flick it, plinking her square in the snout.

"What the hell?!" she shouts, recoiling and snorting reflexively.

"We'll just have to stay near each other from now on. No wandering off."

"As I recall, you were the one that left me."

"Only because you dawdle."

"Bitch, I walk faster than you do," Midnight retorts.

"You have two extra legs, I would hope so."

Midnight stares, while I stare back at her.

A standoff.

Except she doesn't blink nearly as often as I do. If she even has to do so. I guess I've never paid attention to that...

Fuck. I have to blink

"Loser," she taunts.

But that little exchange ends there as we return to stuffing our faces. It doesn't take long before both of us head back downstairs, ready to resume the work day. Only one customer so far - in person, that is. A fair amount to do this afternoon picking parts.

As usual, I take up my spot holding the counter down, while Midnight sits in a bucket seat set aside in a corner off to my left by the stairs. Nothing I can have her tear apart - the storage room is packed to the gills.

It will be nice when the transition finally does happen. If enough days without customers occur in a row, I may just say fuck it and go ahead early.

"If you could pick out a car to do, what would you want to restore?"

"That's an out-of-the-blue question."

"Perhaps. Not like there's anything pressing to accomplish because you won't let me out in the yard to get shit done," she replies, a hint of bitterness in that notation.

"Nah, I'm going to make you suffer with me, even with that pendant and the fact you're on private property."

"Ass."

"Misery loves company," I rib her.

"Back to the question, for shits and giggles."

"It's still not an easy question - you know that right?"

Midnight looks frustrated while I continue to withhold any sort of an answer.

"Fine. How about a few cars?"

"Is that supposed to make it easier?" I chide.

Up from the floor, I see a small discarded bolt slowly levitate on its own.

"Hey, no throwing things, Middie."

"I do what I want. Answer the question," she demands. She turns her attention upward while making the bolt do loops and swoops through the air above her.

Alright, I guess I better do a few.

"Honestly, I wouldn't mind a Charger like my dad used to have. And I always thought the Barracudas were cool."

"What body?"

"A-body or E-body. If it's an A-body, fastback body all the way."

"First-gen A-body?" she asks with a knowing grin.

"Good lord no. Ugly as sin," I laugh. "But if I had to choose a specific there... I always thought the AAR 'Cuda was cool."

"The what?" The bolt Midnight had been juggling clatters to the floor.

"1970 AAR Cuda. Limited production car meant to homologate it for road racing. Side-exit exhaust, flat black hood, strobe side graphics, and a 340 with triple two-barrel carbs. Rare, but cool."

"I don't remember seeing anything about that - but I guess I don't really focus on any particular cars when I read," Midnight admits.

"You know, you don't have to focus on cars anymore - you can branch out to other stuff," I propose.

"I don't follow. What do you mean?"

"I mean if there's something else that interests you, go for it. I don't expect you to know everything and anything about cars. You read through every one of my shop manuals, and you see how well some of those directions actually apply in practice."

Midnight gives me a funny look as if I have spoken complete gibberish.

"John, I've gone through other topics from time to time. How do you think I figured out how to fuck with your website?" she reminds me. "How do you think I have some basic understanding of the outside world despite having lived in isolation for virtually my whole life?"

"I get that - I just feel like whenever I glance over, it's always car-related. I just sometimes wonder if you feel pressured into it."

She shakes her head, scoffing at the idea. "John, the first thing I could latch onto once I got out of that hellhole and arrived here was cars. There wasn't much else to learn or figure out aside from occasional faded newspapers or magazines left in some junker out back. So for me - yes, cars mean a lot to me. They were the key to finding me somewhere to fit in. There's a very special meaning there for me."

Well damn. Now I feel like a dick.

"I never took you for the sentimental kind, Middie."

"I'm not. I'm merely appreciative of the opportunities that I've been fortunate enough to encounter. Now, less bullshit, more cars."

"You scheming something with this info?" I'm beginning to become skeptical of this as just idle chat.

"What else do we have to talk about? Do you have another topic you'd like to discuss?" Her voice betrays the impatience and guarded nature in regard to any answer she has.

"Alright, alright. Charger, AAR 'Cuda... I always like the Mercury Cyclones, both the fastback of the late sixties and the Cyclone Spoilers of the early seventies with the gunsight grille. The front end was really wild-looking, like a trident from a top-down view. Oh, and the Pontiac Catalina, with the 421 Super Duty..."

"John, I said a few."

"Nope, you opened this can of worms, you're going to deal with the fallout now..."

"You got it?"

The whole engine shifts upon its mounts aggressively a split second after my inquiry.

"Could have just said yes instead of trying to flex."

"You could have just taken that as a yes and not given me a lecture on my actions."

"My point stands."

"Mine too."

Midnight and I have been battling with a stubborn exhaust manifold in a Plymouth Valiant for the better part of an hour now. An old workhorse 225 Slant Six engine.

As expected, every single nut and bolt on the cast iron piece was virtually welded into one with years of rust - hardly uncommon, but still a major pain in the ass.

"Seems so odd someone would want to keep something like this around," Midnight muses, ogling over the odd little compact from '62.

"Yeah, Chrysler sort of lost their way in design at the turn of the decade. Almost every one of their cars was odd-looking after a downsize. But, like anything, people have sentimental value over some cars. But they used this engine for many years and many models - just because we're pulling the manifold off of this particular car model, doesn't mean it's going on an exact twin."

Right on cue, the bolt I had been straining on during that exchange lets loose with a crack of snapped metal. The sudden lack of resistance causes my knuckles to find the cast metal with force. Instantly, a familiar feeling of pain that has yet to become tolerable with experience washes through my veins as I instinctively pull my hand back.

"Goddammit," I mutter, grimacing as I grab hold of my hand. Unfortunately, I also hear the ratchet I had been using plink its way down through the engine bay.

On my sore hand, blood slowly pools into the voids left by skin impacting rusted iron. That's gonna hurt like hell for a few days.

"This is going smoothly."

"It could be worse. That should be the last bolt, Midnight."

I watch as her eyes glow just a bit brighter, in unison with the engine shaking back and forth.

The manifold remains in place.

"Alright, now it's worse," I say, my shoulders slumping in disappointment. "Fuck, I must have missed one somewhere."

"Let me try," she offers, squatting down to the side of the car momentarily. Midnight returns to her previous position over the fender shortly, with my ratchet in her care.

"Don't break that one, please."

"Oh fuck you," she resentfully snaps back. "You said so yourself, that last one was a piece of shit."

"That was a joke, relax," I say, gesturing with my hands for her to settle down.

While not wholly convinced judging by her expression, Midnight goes to work finding the last hangup while I take a break. I pull out my phone and check for any new messages, pausing to hop up and take a seat on the hood of another Plymouth nearest the Valiant.

A couple of days ago, I reached out to an old acquaintance with a backhoe, hoping to not only smooth out some of the ruts in the main path that have accrued over the many trips out here but to bury the scrap dumped by EquisCo by the imports. He mentioned he would text back when available, as he already was helping someone with laying drain pipe.

I didn't even think to ask for an estimate of time. Not that it really matters - I would just like to get both items taken care of.

But not knowing kind of sucks.

Nope, still nothing.

Just as I go to tuck the device back into my pocket, it begins to ring. The screen lights up with not a number, but a contact name.

Teddy.

I ended up adding him to my contacts after the last time he was here and the explanations that entailed - just in case I ever needed his help.

Odd to be hearing back from him - but then again, he did mention the Cutlass he's working on. It was why he even came to my armpit of the universe in the first place.

"Hello?" I answer the phone.

"John, good afternoon!" Teddy's voice cheers from the other side.

"Easy to say that when your knuckles aren't a bloody pulp," I chuckle, inspecting the damage again.

Yep, still fucked up.

"That rough of a day, huh?"

"Nah, not too bad up until now. Hang on, let me put this on speaker."

"Sure thing."

I fumble around with the phone and finally hit the speaker icon on the temperamental touchscreen.

"Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," his voice blares through the speaker.

"Who the hell is that?" Midnight asks, looking over as I shift my seat to the fender of the Valiant we're working on.

"Ah, still putting Midnight to work?" Teddy chuckles, catching wind of her voice.

Midnight freezes for a moment before I show her the screen of my phone and the name on it.

"I work on my own terms. John doesn't get a say in what I do," Midnight replies.

"How are you doing otherwise?"

"Alright, I guess," she says, devoid of emotion or interest.

I had hoped she might be a little more receptive to someone she'd met before - as well as the guy who gave her a free pass to the outside world.

Oh well - typical Midnight.

"What's going on with you?" I ask Teddy.

"Well, the Cutlass is running again and moves under its own power - but I don't have a working speedometer. The cable is new, I'm confident everything is good with the trans, so that sort of leads to the gauge itself being bad."

"Sounds like the perfect excuse for an expedited joyride - I'm sure the cops will buy that."

"Ha! I had too much fun in my younger years - I'm sure they still got a rap sheet of all my speeding tickets."

"Never hurts to try your luck," I wryly suggest.

"I don't care for the sounds of making this car a target for Johnny Law to keep an eye on, thank you very much," Teddy replies with a laugh. "I was wondering if you had any speedometers for a Cutlass that you know work for certain."

"I can probably pull a couple of em - I don't have any on hand, but I can test to make sure I have at least one working one."

"How much you reckon a good used one will go for?"

"A moon pendant with an RFID chip inside of it."

"Well damn, I had one of them, and I gave it away," he jokes.

"That's alright, your credit is good here."

"You know you missed two bolts, right?" Midnight asks, unamused and seemingly oblivious to the exchange. "Both at the very bottom?"

"I don't have the eyesight you do, Middie," I remind her as she gloats.

"I question whether your eyes work at all."

"I meant in dim light, you ass."

"I still stand by what I said."

On the other end of the phone, I can hear Teddy laughing at the idiocy that Midnight and I are displaying.

"See what you did? You made him cry."

"Shut the hell up, he's laughing."

"What did you want for din- oh, sorry." Another voice can be heard from the other end of the phone, hushed as it may be.

"It's alright hon, I'll be done in a moment," Teddy replies to the other voice.

"Don't let me hold you up with the misses, Teddy," I tell him.

"No, no. It's fine," he says reassuringly. "Knowing Starla, she already has something in her mind she wants to try - it's the perfect excuse for her to do it."

"'Starla'? Was that her stage name?"

"Midnight!"

I shoot her a disapproving glare, which Midnight brushes aside with an apathetic shrug.

Thankfully, Teddy is in stitches again on the other side of the phone.

"Sorry about that, Teddy," I apologize anyway.

"No, it's fine," he says, finally getting his laughter under control. "I see Midnight hasn't lost her edge one bit."

"I wouldn't go that far, but she does find time to make a snarky comment or two."

"I can do it more if you want."

My suspicions Midnight is doing this to keep a facade up around Teddy begin to grow with that threat. After all, she's not been this consistently combative in some time now.

"Is that manifold ready to come off yet?"

I get a frustrated leer in response but Midnight does return her focus to the task at hand.

"Starla, huh? That's an interesting name for sure," I remark.

Speaking of suspicions, I already have my own about who this Starla is...

Or more appropriately, what she is.

"Well, as I said - ponies really do tug at my heartstrings. In more ways than one."

Bingo.

I would really like to ask more about her, but it doesn't feel appropriate.

I glance over at Midnight, curious if she was paying enough attention to have heard that. Maybe that wasn't the best idea to talk about right now...

Sure enough, Midnight has stopped what she's doing, staring incredulously at the phone.

"What the fuck," she murmurs to herself.

But her eyes rapidly dart to me and narrow in time with an expression shift from shock to suspicion.

"Anyway, I'll probably get a couple of speedometers pulled tonight and test them to be sure I got a good one. Just stop by whenever you get a chance, whether that be tomorrow or a week from now."

"Will do. I appreciate it John - you two take care," Teddy replies.

"Right back at you. See ya."

I pick up my phone and end the call, awaiting Midnight's inevitable response.

"Has everyone lost their fucking mind?" she wonders aloud.

"To be fair, I sort of already knew just by what he told me that day during our discussion," I admit.

"And he set you on the path to trying to woo me?"

"No. What he did was weird me out when he mentioned it."

"Really?" Her tone and accusatory staredown make it clear Midnight doesn't buy my answer.

"Yes, really. What he did aside from that initial feeling was make me realize I do care about you - I care about your well-being, your feelings, your wants, and aspirations. And that was a result of him seeing your little outburst behind the counter."

Embarrassed by that reminder and my revelation, Midnight nonchalantly tries to return to her work. It's her ears sagging down that betrays her shame.

"I didn't mention it because I didn't want to embarrass you, and Teddy didn't want to mention it either. But if that doesn't tell you that I wasn't already sort of on this track, then I don't know what else you want from me."

"I just don't understand it. I really don't," she says, shaking her head.

I have to throw my hands up - in agreement, more than anything.

"I don't either. All I know is I'm a degenerate, but I'm not going to do anything with that, as I promised you. I don't see you as a goal, Midnight. I see you as someone that's had a miserable go of it through her life, subjected to awful shit that I couldn't imagine. And I want you to see the good sides of life. That's what I want out of you, I want my friend to be happy."

My tidal wave of heartfelt words causes Midnight to perk back up enough to look at me. However, her expression remains reserved and unsure

"That's all I'm hoping to get out of you - a smile, excitement, contentment with where you are. The shit you got out of me last weekend - that's beside what I'm telling you now. Everything I do for you, I do it because I give a shit - not because I'm hoping for something better."

"So going out to that drive-in and going grocery shopping - those really weren't dates."

"Midnight, that was a shitty attempt at exploring how you felt while making it as a joke. I didn't see either expedition as an actual date. I swear on it."

Midnight's demeanor has yet to shift as she goes back to her work in silence.

I have no indication of how she feels about everything she's gleaned from me after this inopportune phone call.

I played it honestly - that's the best I can do.

Midnight's eyes glow as she strains her power on the ratchet in her grasp. With a metallic pop, she exhales, bringing up the ratchet into my view with a busted bolt in the socket.

"That should be the last one," she announces.

I shuffle over and grab the manifold, which now has some play upon the remaining studs it rests on.

"I'm glad one of us has decent eyesight so we aren't out here all damn night," I comment in hopes of building a bridge between us again.

"I never actually saw them - I just felt around with the socket in the tightest areas," Midnight replies as she helps me slide the manifold out.

"Yet I would never have been the wiser if you hadn't told me."

"I figured why not be honest since you're doing the same right now."

It is not a challenging or sarcastic remark. Her quiet, almost bashful tone lets me know that was not something easy for her to say.

"Well, thank you."

"Likewise."