I’d never had a job before, but from what I’ve heard folks say, there are things a person should do if they plan to keep it—things like being on time, doing your work without complaining, and never stealing anything, even if it’s worth less than a penny.
Daddy checked his watch when I stepped through the door. “Thank you for being prompt, Gabriel.”
“Is Lucas here?” I asked.
“Three o’clock is quittin’ time for him. Unless he’s in the middle of something important, soon as that second hand hits the twelve, he’s in the wind.”
The clock on the wall read three fifteen.
My next question was, “Is Meriwether here?”
“Should be here soon. Usually sticks his head in when he gets here so we can talk about what needs to get done. But c’mon now. Time for you to learn to work the pumps,” Daddy said, “and remember, even if you don’t feel like it, always greet your customer with a smile.”
As luck would have it, my very first customer of the day was the one who had almost taken my life, Mrs. Betty Babcock. It wasn’t Sunday, but as always, Betty Babcock was, as Mama says, all done up. Her lips were painted bright orange, a gold necklace and earrings sparkled in the sunlight, and a long pink scarf was tied around her neck.
As soon as she saw me, Mrs. Betty Babcock hopped out of her car. “Hello, y’all!” she hollered.
As instructed, I smiled. “Hi, Mrs. Babcock. You want me to fill it up?”
“You ain’t but just turned twelve and your daddy has got you workin’. Shouldn’t you be off enjoyin’ the summer like other people your age?”
“I wanna work, ma’am. It’s my first day.”
“Suppose you’ll be takin’ over this business from your daddy someday?”
I’d actually never thought about that, but the sound of what she’d said felt to me like a piece for the wrong puzzle, something that was never going to fit. “Don’t think so, ma’am,” I replied.
She winked at Daddy. “Hope you’re at least payin’ the boy, Jake.”
“He is,” I told her. I was raring to get to it. “Should I fill it up?”
“Twenty-one cents a gallon? Strange how I never noticed the price of gasoline until I started drivin’. It’s pure thievery, Jake. Can’t you do something about these prices?” she asked, then winked again.
“Out of my hands, Betty.”
She turned to me. “I reckon you need the experience . . . so may as well fill it. And check the oil too, and while you’re at it, Gabriel, my windows could use a good cleanin’.”
I knew how to fill a tank and washing windows was a cinch, but I’d never checked oil. I gave my daddy the I-need-help look.
“Gabriel, hold off on fillin’ the tank and let me show you how to check the oil.” He popped the hood and yanked a rag from his pocket. As he worked, he schooled me step by step until he was done. “Then you put the dipstick back where it came from and close the hood.” He closed the hood. “Oil’s fine, Betty.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Where does the oil go if I havta put some in?”
“Tomorrow’s lesson.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday and we’re going to Charleston for the parade,” I reminded him.
“Next week, then. For now, anyone comes in needin’ anything more than gas and clean windows, have Matthew see to it. And if it’s something major and I’m not around, Meriwether’s inside the garage.”
“Even air in the tires?” I asked.
He frowned. “Especially air in the tires. Your first week or so is gonna be mostly learnin’. Got one word of advice: if you find yourself in doubt . . . don’t do anything. Understand?”
“I do.”
By the time Betty Babcock climbed back into the Buick, her tank was full and her windows were as clean as I could get them. She screeched away, the scarf around her neck waving in the wind.
As soon as she sped off, another customer rolled in. “This car drinks up gasoline faster than a thirsty man drinks water,” the man said. I smiled and agreed.
“Fill ’er up?” I asked.
“Five gallons oughtta do.”
Minutes later, Matthew, who’s mostly called Matt, arrived and took over, allowing Daddy to retreat to his office to “shuffle papers.” And when a car drove up that needed oil, Matt sent me to the garage to get some. Resting against the wall outside was an old bicycle I’d never seen before, and inside, Meriwether had arrived and was working. “Hi, Mr. Hunter.”
He peered out from underneath the hood. The sweat on his dark brown forehead made it glisten, and he wiped at it with the back of his hand. “Hi there, Gabriel.”
“I’m workin’ here now,” I informed him.
“So I’ve been told,” he replied.
“That your bicycle outside?” I asked.
“Not exactly . . . Friend of mine let me borrow it. Beats walkin’.”
My eyes searched the shelves for the oil until they found it. “But you have a car. There were two in the driveway at your house.”
“Not mine—fixin’ ’em for folks is all.”
“You’ll have a car someday, Mr. Hunter. I betcha.”
“If you’re worryin’ yourself because I don’t have a car . . . there’s no need,” he said, smiling. “I can see you suffer from the same affliction as lots of folks, Gabriel.”
“What’s that?”
“Only bein’ able to see things through the two eyes on your face instead of four or sometimes even more.”
“But all I have is two . . . same as you.” I wanted to keep talking, but Matt was waiting on the oil. “Be right back after I take him this oil,” I told Meriwether.
In a jiffy, I rejoined him in the garage and asked, “About seein’ things with more than two eyes, is it some kind of riddle?”
Meriwether leaned his back against the car. “Not a riddle, just one of those things called a great truth. Let me help you understand it.” He paused and looked upward, gathering the thoughts he was about to put into words.
I waited patiently.
“Whenever possible, you gotta try to see the goings-on of life through more eyes than just your own, because that can help you see things more clearly. Sometimes it’ll even let you see things the way they really are and give you peace of mind. You understand?”
I didn’t, so I shrugged.
“It’s like this. The way you see it has you hopin’ that I’ll have a car someday, right?”
I nodded.
“On the other hand, the way I see it allows me to be content because I’m just one of many in South Carolina—in the whole of these United States, for that matter—who don’t have an automobile, and for now that bicycle gets me where I need to go. But when I look at it through four eyes—my two plus your two—I can be both content and have hope. That’s why four eyes are usually better than two. And the more eyes you look through, the better you see things—understand now?”
“Kinda. Like if there are ten people with cameras and they’re standing around at ten different spots and they all click a picture of the same mountain at the same time, all the photographs are bound to be different. And afterward, lookin’ at all ten pictures instead of just one is gonna show you what that mountain really looks like.”
Meriwether grinned. “Got a good mind, don’t you?”
I chuckled. “Mama and Daddy say I think too much.”
“A talent for thinkin’s a mighty nice thing to have.”
“Thinkin’s not a talent,” I told him.
“Sure it is,” Meriwether replied.
Two car honks came from outside, and I realized Matt probably needed my help. “See ya!” I exclaimed, and made a dash.