Read Online Walt by Ian Stoba - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ian Stoba
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Contemporary
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point I call him an ingrate and an incompetent. I announce that I will take all my vehicles out of the garage if he does not produce my favorite car immediately. Whichever car he brings around I am grateful for. I smile at him and tip him generously for his efforts. As I drive away, I can see out the mirror that he has already crossed his legs and is again farther away from the San Francisco I can see than Walt ever was on Tristan.
It was in precisely this manner which I obtained a car for Walt and I to use on the Drive.
Jose disappeared into the recesses of the garage, seeming more to float than walk. I have never been a great fancier of cars, but I have always enjoyed the tension and the expectation that rises whenever Jose disappears into the nether recesses of his domain to bring out a car for me to use.
As he rounded the corner from wherever in his concrete dungeon the car had been parked, I studied his expression behind the wheel. It was ethereal. He seemed to be on the receiving end of some sort of cosmic bliss that may or may not have been connected to the car. My guess is that it probably was not.
It took me a while before I thought to look at the car. It was white and sort of boxy looking. It was not any kind that I had seen before, or that really grabbed my attention. I did notice that it was a convertible. The tan colored top was up.
Only when Jose had pulled up right in front of me did I recognize the insignia on the grill. Jose left the car idling when he got out. He left the driver’s side door open, and ran around to open the other door for Walt. Walt eagerly climbed into the car, but I stood by the open door blankly staring at the pedals.
Jose had brought me a Ferrari.
I was worried for several reasons. One, of course, was that joyriding a car worth as much as a whole block of homes in the Sunset District was probably a very serious offense. This risk I could accept. The problem I was staring at was the mysterious third pedal on the left. I had never driven a stick shift before.
I very nearly lost my control at that point. I was worried that Jose might discover my fraud. I looked over at him, but he was already sitting on the concrete floor in a full lotus position, his head back in the stars.
I climbed into the car.
I tried to do everything very slowly, with much thought in every action. I knew you used the clutch every time you wanted to switch between gears. At least, I thought, I have a good theoretical understanding of what I will be doing. I had also noticed that people with stick-shift cars used their emergency brake much more frequently than was the norm in cars equipped with automatic transmissions.
My first thought, then, was to locate the brake handle in the Ferrari. It was off to my left, between the edge of the seat and the door. The handle was all the way down. I thought that perhaps Jose had forgotten to set the brake. That seemed to make enough sense.
By this time Walt was staring at me curiously. Even though it was his first time in a car, he seemed to have some suspicion that everything was not quite in order.
Breaking any sort of eye contact with him, I put the clutch pedal all the way to the floor, moved the shifting handle into the slot marked with a one and gently stepped on the gas.
The engine made a racing, whirring sound. I realized that I probably should take my foot off the clutch. When I did this, the tone of the engine changed to a much deeper roar. We still were not moving.
In a blast of insight I grabbed for the emergency brake lever. I pulled up on it and noticed that it did not make any clicking noise. I pulled further until it felt like I had caught hold of something. Then I pressed the button and felt a tremendous surge as I let the handle down.
By this time the car was making a great deal of noise, but we were hardly moving. I stepped on the gas even harder. The car felt as if it were ice skating, gently moving forward as it wobbled from side to side. The
It was in precisely this manner which I obtained a car for Walt and I to use on the Drive.
Jose disappeared into the recesses of the garage, seeming more to float than walk. I have never been a great fancier of cars, but I have always enjoyed the tension and the expectation that rises whenever Jose disappears into the nether recesses of his domain to bring out a car for me to use.
As he rounded the corner from wherever in his concrete dungeon the car had been parked, I studied his expression behind the wheel. It was ethereal. He seemed to be on the receiving end of some sort of cosmic bliss that may or may not have been connected to the car. My guess is that it probably was not.
It took me a while before I thought to look at the car. It was white and sort of boxy looking. It was not any kind that I had seen before, or that really grabbed my attention. I did notice that it was a convertible. The tan colored top was up.
Only when Jose had pulled up right in front of me did I recognize the insignia on the grill. Jose left the car idling when he got out. He left the driver’s side door open, and ran around to open the other door for Walt. Walt eagerly climbed into the car, but I stood by the open door blankly staring at the pedals.
Jose had brought me a Ferrari.
I was worried for several reasons. One, of course, was that joyriding a car worth as much as a whole block of homes in the Sunset District was probably a very serious offense. This risk I could accept. The problem I was staring at was the mysterious third pedal on the left. I had never driven a stick shift before.
I very nearly lost my control at that point. I was worried that Jose might discover my fraud. I looked over at him, but he was already sitting on the concrete floor in a full lotus position, his head back in the stars.
I climbed into the car.
I tried to do everything very slowly, with much thought in every action. I knew you used the clutch every time you wanted to switch between gears. At least, I thought, I have a good theoretical understanding of what I will be doing. I had also noticed that people with stick-shift cars used their emergency brake much more frequently than was the norm in cars equipped with automatic transmissions.
My first thought, then, was to locate the brake handle in the Ferrari. It was off to my left, between the edge of the seat and the door. The handle was all the way down. I thought that perhaps Jose had forgotten to set the brake. That seemed to make enough sense.
By this time Walt was staring at me curiously. Even though it was his first time in a car, he seemed to have some suspicion that everything was not quite in order.
Breaking any sort of eye contact with him, I put the clutch pedal all the way to the floor, moved the shifting handle into the slot marked with a one and gently stepped on the gas.
The engine made a racing, whirring sound. I realized that I probably should take my foot off the clutch. When I did this, the tone of the engine changed to a much deeper roar. We still were not moving.
In a blast of insight I grabbed for the emergency brake lever. I pulled up on it and noticed that it did not make any clicking noise. I pulled further until it felt like I had caught hold of something. Then I pressed the button and felt a tremendous surge as I let the handle down.
By this time the car was making a great deal of noise, but we were hardly moving. I stepped on the gas even harder. The car felt as if it were ice skating, gently moving forward as it wobbled from side to side. The
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