Midnight

Slowly ambling along the path, I keep a sharp eye out for movement. It's an ocean of Mercury as far as the eye can see down this row, but I'm looking for one model in particular.

I rumble past groups of Cougars, Montegos, Montereys...

There we go - Comets.

As I hit the model I'm looking for, all of the cars get smaller, the path just a little wider now with a lining of compacts on either side.

Well, compacts for '70s America.

But I'm not looking for the Ford Maverick clone. The intermediate they sold in the mid to late 1960s alongside the Ford Fairlane is what I'm after.

If that wasn't confusing enough, the Comet name was used on a stablemate to the Ford Falcon compact prior to the switch to an intermediate chassis.

Great work on that confusing mess, FoMoCo.

I finally spy Midnight's dark coat ahead on the left, practically sprawled over the engine bay of a '66 Comet. Evidently, she's gotten a part pull job from hell.

Fortunately for her, it's likely the last one for the day. Hard to believe I can say that with how busy I've been - but five o'clock is close at hand. It's certainly an adjustment to get used to working out in the sun all day.

And well - actually working all day. But it isn't too bad.

I come to a stop in front of the car, though Midnight has not moved or otherwise made note of my presence. As she fights with whatever parts are being trouble, her tail swishes back and forth idly.

Hm.

It makes for quite the view if I do say so myself.

... but I should probably stop being a pervert.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" I comment, leaning out the window.

"Ah, there it is, the retarded comment I was waiting for," I hear Midnight muse, barely audible over the engine of the Trailduster and her head remaining buried in the engine compartment.

I throw the shifter into park and step out of the truck.

"Did I live up to your expectations?"

Midnight doesn't answer until I wander over to the passenger side fender to get a look at what's going on.

"It was wittier than I expected. So you kind of failed," she says, glancing over at me with those lustrous blue eyes.

"Damn," I sigh expressively before taking a more serious tone. "Everything going okay?"

"Getting there. I'm assuming you didn't purposely give this job to me knowing how awful it was going to be. Or did you?"

I quickly shake my head to dissuade any notion of asshattery on my part.

"Wiper motor, right?" I ask to be sure.

Midnight nods as her attention is directed back to the specific area of work - the cowl. "The mounting bolts were rusted to fuck - this car definitely didn't come from around here," she explains. "Took forever to get those damn things out - I've been fighting getting the nut and the linkage off of the shaft."

"Yeah, sometimes you really gotta work the shaft before you get a release," I reply, tongue-in-cheek.

Midnight does her damndest to scowl at the comment, but there's still the hint of an upturn at the corner of her mouth.

"That was fucking stupid. You should apologize for that," she laments after a moment and a clatter of metal within the cowl. The wiper motor comes free of the firewall and levitates over to me, dropping into my hands.

"See? It helped."

"No. You are not allowed any leeway for that."

Midnight gathers up her tools while I head around the back of the Trailduster and put the motor in the back amongst the pile of other pieces collected today.

The housing is pretty rusted and weathered - hopefully, a test will show it still works... Certainly does need the output shaft cleaned up, though. That's no joke - no wonder she struggled with this part.

More importantly, I'm proud of Midnight for showing patience with it - that's certainly been a learning curve for her.

Walking back to the open driver's door, I hop in just as Midnight climbs in and sets her bag behind the seat.

"That was good work, Middie. Sorry the last job of the day had to be a shit one."

"Yeah, that wasn't fun - but I got it," she exhales.

After I get us moving along, I glance back over at her.

She looks tired.

Aside from her hair being out of sorts from toiling in the nitty-gritty of ancient automobiles all day with the dust and grease that entails, she's slumped forward in her seat. Her eyes are noticeably lazy and unfocused as if sleep isn't too far away for her.

Without a word, I reach over and stroke her back, in between her wings. She arches her back a bit as I do so, not unlike a cat.

"What?" she asks, turning to me.

"I'm not poking fun at you when I say this - you look worn out."

For a moment, I don't get any sort of response. Not really unexpected.

"Truth be told... I didn't expect to actually feel like it was work," she states slowly. " Not saying I don't like doing it, it's just-"

"A lot of work."

"Yeah."

To be fair, she has been absolutely killing it when it comes to getting parts quickly. But in the back of my mind, I was wondering if that tenacious drive would catch up with her.

"I was joking when I told you to put your money where your mouth was in regards to pulling more parts than me - you know that, right?"

"Of course - it's a matter of personal pride," she says while sitting up straight, her chest thrust out just a bit.

"You don't need to kill yourself over it, though."

"I might be going at it a bit too hard," Midnight acknowledges, relaxing back to her previous state. "How the hell are you not tired?"

"I am a little bit - but remember, I did all of this shit by myself before you came along. In the shop for eight hours, then out back for three or four hours. So with eight hours and the two of us - yeah, I suppose I'm going at a slower pace. Let's be honest, I'm also using the truck - your stubborn ass walks all the way to the other side of the junkyard every time you decide to fetch a part without me."

"Yeah, and if I take the Trailduster, what are you gonna do?"

I shake my head. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying be smarter about it because I know you can look at what we need and determine what is close by. You're trying to prove something to me that I already know you can do."

Midnight scowls at me with that remark. Seems about right...

But surprisingly, that face of mild irritation softens up.

"You have a point. It really isn't a competition, is it?"

"No, no it's not," I reply, trying to hide the astonishment from my voice. A failed attempt, seeing as how Midnight stares back, suddenly perplexed.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just didn't anticipate you agreeing with me."

"Oh. It was a good point, I have to admit that."

That's almost like being called intelligent. By Midnight.

"I try to say smart things."

"You do, you've gotten better at actually using what little you possess."

"Is that an insult, or a compliment?"

"Yes," she replies, clearing her throat. "But there was something else that you said that I've sort of been mulling for a little bit."

"What's that?"

"Well... maybe doing a night out, or a night here with Starla and Teddy... like a date, I suppose - maybe that's not such a bad idea."

I look back over to see her expression. She looks a bit sheepish after that proposal but is otherwise dead serious.

"You know I'm not opposed to that - what made you consider it?" I inquire.

"Starla suggested the same thing a couple of days ago when we were talking."

"Man, she's got a hold on you, doesn't she?"

"Bite me," Midnight growls.

"My bad, I didn't mean it quite as crude as that. I just meant you really do take what she has to say to heart, yeah?"

"Yeah - she's been through a similar situation, the same sort of background. That means something, you know? It isn't that I don't trust you - I do. But... it's a different perspective from someone like me. It's a connection that differs from what we have, and in some instances - it just resonates a bit better. Or maybe it was hearing it from someone else, I don't know."

"I think I get it - but it also sounds like you're apologizing to me," I suggest.

"I don't want you thinking that I'm only going to listen to her advice."

"You already proved to me at the start of this conversation you have an ear for my suggestions," I calmly remind her.

"...oh yeah," she laments, mocking a slap to her own forehead with a hoof.

"You really are burned out from today - don't sweat it," I console, momentarily leaning and putting an arm around her in a hug.

"Oh, speaking of ideas - Starla also agreed a project car would be something neat to tackle together," Midnight pipes up.

"What, you and her?"

"You and me, dum-dum."

"Welp, my turn to feel stupid now. Glad I'm used to it."

Midnight's disappointment is palpable. "Really? You couldn't let me hit that pitch?" she whines.

"Nope, too easy," I respond, smirking.

"Fiiine. But that's two opinions now that think a project car would be neat," she protests.

It's cute - she practically looks like she's begging with her ears folded back and a slight pout.

"There's three of us with the same opinion - it's about timing and the price."

"And the car."

"You think you can afford to be picky?"

"If we pull something from out back, yeah. Probably be more work but... hell, I'm for it."

"Well, I suppose - if something tickles your fancy, and it's not completely roasted, I'll consider it."

That gets an ear-to-ear grin from her, supplemented by the presence of fangs.

"And I get to pick."

"You get to pick. Pending final approval that it's something doable with parts availability."

It's only a couple more minutes before we arrive back in the shop, but Midnight has perked up a bit, her attention now directed toward the rows of cars that pass by.

Both of us quickly offload parts to end the workday after pulling into the shop, leaving the Trailduster sitting in the first bay of the garage.

"Food and rest now," Midnight affirms.

"Nope. Shower first - you look like you were rolling around in the dirt," I tease her.

"Shower isn't a bad idea. You probably need one, too."

We both need showers.

...should I suggest it?

They say you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take...

"Should we just knock out a shower together?" I suggest casually.

A look of incredulity spreads across Midnight's weary face, her eyes widening.

That'd be a no.

"I think you can handle a shower on your own, perv," she sasses, returning to normal. "You got a view earlier, that's enough for one day."

... Wait.

Midnight doesn't wait for any sort of expression or verbal response from me as she turns and saunters to the bathroom, slipping through the door without another word. Just a glance back at me before the door shuts - only visible thanks to the light from her eyes, apparently preferring instead to leave the lights off.

Any expression from her otherwise is left in a mystery.

It leaves me wondering whether the 'view' earlier was incidental or something more.

Just when I feel like I've figured her out, Midnight shows another layer underneath.

This evening is a shared weariness between Midnight and me. There are days that, for whatever reason, just suck from morning until quitting time.

This was one of those days.

Dropped tools, broken bolts, and seized up parts.

And the wind. Oh god, the wind.

The wind by itself was bad enough, making it a bit of a fight to walk or even stand. But then adding the sand all around us...

That was horrible. I don't remember ever experiencing a day with sandstorms like that.

Neither of us had to say it when trudging up the steps and walking into the kitchen. It's gonna be a lazy night.

And that's why I find myself as is. Lying on the couch. Just to hear Midnight protest when she gets back from a shower.

"Up, you greedy jerk."

There she is.

I tear my gaze from the ceiling to the mare standing beside me.

"Hi."

I give her a big smile. She doesn't return the gesture.

"Are we really gonna do this?"

"I just wanted to see you pout for your seat."

Midnight looks to mull that answer for a moment. But without warning, she leaps up on top of me, lying down.

"Hey, what-"

"You're the couch now, I guess," she interrupts. "Sucks to be you."

Her light weight means that there's no discomfort. It's actually pretty nice and cozy now... Maybe too much...

Down, John.

Midnight sighs away the troubles and fatigue of the day away as she gets comfortable. She lays her head on my chest so that I can look down and see her.

I'm having a hard time discerning whether Midnight is trying to tease me or if it's just my mind. Things weren't bad after the 'water-saving shower' idea a couple of days ago, but it did leave a trace of awkwardness the rest of that night.

I don't want to do that again. But she knows that I have an eye for her.

So...

Fuck, just focus on something else, dude. Enjoy this for what it is right now.

"Now what?" Midnight asks, breaking me free of my mental battle.

"TV, I guess."

"You mean flipping through channels and bitching about how nothing good is on?"

"Yeah, probably. You not computering tonight?"

"Sounds like work," she mumbles, turning her head to face the TV. "Entertain me."

"Fine. You're needy," I jab at her. "And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're using my greediness as an excuse to cuddle with me."

"I'd argue, but you're going to believe what you want anyway," she replies in a flat tone as I flip through the channels with the remote. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hogging the couch in the hopes I might do something like this."

"Guess we're at an impasse, then."

"Yep."

Banter ends there as the focus now turns on the television.

Why is everyone so damn obsessed with stupid reality shows? Or is that just what the networks fart out and people just learn to like it? I don't get it. Probably never will.

As I keep flipping through the slideshow of programming mundanity, the startup of an engine through the speakers makes me stop on a black screen.

What's this...

A golden vee badge appears on the screen as the engine revs up.

Oh. I haven't seen this in ages. There's the title.

"'Christine'? Are we really gonna watch a chick flick?"

I look down at Midnight while the opening credits flash on the screen to the tune of a vintage V8. Midnight eyes me with a hearty helping of skepticism.

"Who said it was a chick flick?"

"... the name? Just give me a break, I'm tired."

"So am I."

"You've probably heard of this before or something."

"Seen it. Just not in a while."

"Exactly - pound sand."

"Alright, just this once."

As our light-hearted bickering winds down, the music suddenly kicks in, seconds before a factory floor pans onto the screen. Then, the assembly line of cars appears.

I feel Midnight stir to attention at the scene.

"I can't say I've done too much reading on cars from the fifties..." she says aloud.

"Plymouths. '58 Plymouth Fury, to be exact," I note, knowing that was Midnight's reason for the comment.

"They all look the same, though. Color-wise, anyway."

For now...

"Yep, that's the only way they came. Cream white with gold trim. Gold interior."

"Huh. Not a bad combination."

"I always liked em, but then there's-"

I pause as 'she' suddenly makes an appearance on screen. Blood red with aluminum anodized side trim, red interior.

"All the same, huh?"

"In reality, yes. This one's actually a Belvedere - one trim level lower than the Fury, and they did come in this color combo. The movie just badged one as a Fury. You'll see why."

Both of us remain mum as the camera takes focus on various attributes, up until the assembly line stops.

I already know what comes next as a man opens the hood for inspection.

Probably not a good idea, bud...

I feel Midnight twitch just a bit at the ensuing 'malfunction' of the hood hinge springs.

"Haha, you jumped."

"Shut up, dick. What kind of movie is this?"

Some poor bastard getting in the car to relax with a smoke should be a good explanation...

A few moments later a fellow worker frantically opens the door. And out spills the smoker.

"Proof that smoking kills."

"Horror movie, I take it?"

"Yep. Hell hath no fury like a Plymouth Fury."

No response. I look to Midnight, who is clearly unenthused by that comment.

"Don't blame me, that was a tagline of the movie or book - something like that," I calmly protest.

"You repeated the lame line - I'm holding you partially accountable."

"I'm not gonna win this argument, so okay."

"Good boy."

There's not much chatter between us over the ensuing entrance of the characters and minor conflicts of their lives. Midnight and I exchange some idle comments or banter between us regarding them all, but it dies down as we tune into the movie itself as it progresses.

Particularly once Christine enters the fray.

To think - in her initial state that she's purchased would be considered a fairly decent project nowadays.

"Are most of the cars in that era so... flashy?"

"Yeah. It was all part of the times and what was going on in the world at the time," I reply, idly petting Midnight from her head to her neck. "Jet aircraft were all the rage - it was a new era in technology. So design cues carried over from one obsession to another. There were some claims that the fins helped aerodynamically, but it was just a sales gimmick, in that sense."

"Certainly stand out - can't miss em."

While I can only speak for myself, Midnight looks about as nauseous as I feel watching Christine get vandalized after all that hard work of restoration.

But then the fun really begins. The character infatuated with his car turns his back while trying to resurrect Christine one piece at a time. In moments, the sounds of metalwork can be heard - and the engine is suddenly looking like new in all of its black, gold, and chrome glory.

"What engine is that? It looks like a dual-quad carb setup."

"350."

"They put a Chevy engine in it for the movie? And those came as dual quads?"

I shake my head as Christine's headlights flash on, restoring herself in mere moments as the camera focuses on multiple areas during one of my favorite scenes.

"Chrysler had a 350 engine for a little bit - I think it was only during the fifties," I clarify for Midnight. "I really don't know a lot about em, just bits and pieces. 'Golden Commando 350' is what they called it if I remember right."

"Huh. I guess I found a whole new era of shit to go through," she comments.

"The fifties is when performance in terms of horsepower really started to become of interest in terms of selling points. Power numbers started going up across the board. It's when Chevy developed the first of their legendary small blocks, and when Chrysler brought the Hemi to the streets for its first stage appearance."

Again, things get quiet as Christine begins to enact her revenge upon those who destroyed her. The first one is always worth a little chuckle as Christine basically toys with her prey.

Then we get to see the rest of the posse cruising late at night in a Camaro, before again, Christine makes an appearance.

I always liked this whole set of scenes as the encounter goes from a mild annoyance to a life-and-death struggle.

Bye-bye, Camaro. And what a sendoff for it and the gas station.

"That escalated quickly."

"Shut up. I'm supposed to make the stupid comments."

"Hm. No." Midnight closes her eyes and sticks her nose up at me.

"You're gonna miss the next bit if you do that."

On cue, the sound of tires squealing from the fire and flames pulls both of us back in, as a ride that now looks straight from hell stalks the final victim.

"Why the hell doesn't he just get out of the road? Why would you just run straight down the centerline?" Midnight scoffs.

"Movie logic. Don't question it," I reply, waiting for the right moment...

Closer...

Christine is almost there...

"Boop!" I exclaim, touching my index finger to Midnight's nose just as Christine finishes off the last guy.

"Dumbass," Midnight grumbles, unamused.

"I was hoping you would jump."

"Nah, I'm used to your bullshit now."

"I'll have to change it up then."

"You don't have to."

Meanwhile, Jackhole McFatass the garage owner meets his end as well in a stupid way. And now the nerd who owns Christine is under suspicion for the murders. Or would it be better to say greaser rather than nerd, with his hair and clothes harkening back to another time?

But he's changed inside and outside - and his girl and jock friend have been pushed away.

"This guy does realize being a dick to everyone isn't helping him at all, right?"

I have to just stare at Midnight for a comment that is soaked in irony.

"What?" she asks, completely unaware of the situation.

"Pot, meet Kettle."

"I don't... oh."

I don't say anything else, merely smiling and rubbing one of her ears between my thumb and forefinger. She leans into it while the final pieces in this movie fall into place.

Both the jock and the ex-girlfriend want to save their friend. But Christine is in the way.

Getting close to the final showdown, boys. The would-be heroes hatch a plan and set up their trap in the old garage Christine calls home. But the Fury has other ideas.

The car springs its own trap and catches the girl out in the open.

The final battle begins. Bulldozer versus Plymouth.

It seems one-sided if one stops and thinks about it... But when a car can unfuck any damage caused to itself - well, that's a bit of an equalizer.

I feel Midnight tense up a bit as the bulldozer stalls, giving Christine a chance to make her move. But all too soon, after missed chances, we see the importance of seatbelts as Christine and her owner make a lunge for the former girlfriend, who takes shelter in a divided internal office.

"That's it?"

I can't help but smirk at Midnight's comment of mild disappointment. But I keep my mouth shut as we see the final moments between car and owner.

The radio in the car comes on with another song from the fifties shortly thereafter, signaling the start of round three. Through it all, it's a fight where Christine is even more reckless - now out for revenge. The brutish bulldozer eventually lands a wallop, dragging the Fury to a stop while practically riding atop it.

Now, it's...

Still not over yet. The radio comes on one more time as the Fury repairs itself, with the heroes resorting to repeatedly running the hot rod over and over. The car gives a last gasp as the radiator bursts before collapsing.

"Jesus. Is that all it took to kill the car?" Midnight snidely comments.

I laugh. "Yeah. It was that easy."

Christine is now a cube as the final few lines are exchanged between the remaining characters. And yet...

Part of the grille moves ever so slightly before the music cues in and the credits roll.

"Wait - is there a sequel?" Midnight hesitantly asks.

"No. I don't think there were ever plans for one. That's just the way they decided to end it, I guess."

Midnight looks a little disappointed with that.

"That movie teaches a strong lesson, though."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Don't name your car."

I get a thump on the chest from Midnight's hoof for that inane comment.

"Fine - don't blame me if you don't heed the warning and whatever shitbox we start to work on begins terrorizing everyone."

"On the plus side, we would have to do less work if the car can fix and restore itself."

"Hm. That's a tough choice. But isn't fixing it up part of the fun?"

"I dunno. I guess we will find out at some point."

Without any warning, Midnight opens her mouth and lets out a big yawn.

"Yeah, someday - but not tonight. I think it's time for bed," I reply, catching the infectious yawning virus and mirroring Midnight's sentiments.

Rather than get up, Midnight lays her head back down on my chest.

"Meh. That sounds like work," she murmurs, closing her eyes.

"We have to turn the lights off anyway, Middie," I remind her, motioning to the kitchen light still streaming from the ceiling out there.

Without a word, Midnight raises her head and turns it, looking out toward the cursed fixture. I see something out in the kitchen float toward the light switch, flipping it down and throwing everything into darkness aside from what little moonlight outside trickles in through the window behind us.

Not to mention the muted blue glow from Midnight's eyes as she turns her head back toward me and resumes her prior position on my chest.

"Done."

"Alright, you put up a decent argument," I yield, putting my arms around her. "Goodnight."

I feel her shift higher up on my chest and feel her breath just under my chin.

"That's not a proper good night," she coos.

Holy shit, where has this part of Midnight come from? More importantly - why am I questioning it?

"No? What is a proper goodnight?"

Her lips gently press to mine, and I happily share a kiss with her for a few fleeting moments.

"Goodnight."

"G'night, Middie."