Tidewoven Inc | Rust, Salt, Possiblity

19-year-old Micah Rowe rattled up Mom and Pop Reyes’ driveway in a car that looks like she’s held together with prayer and spite. But he doesn’t care. The car belonged to him! He’s been working at NorthArc for over a year, and he finally had enough money to pay for the car he’d been watching on the lot for weeks. The wait was finally over!

The engine coughed when he shut it off, but he didn’t care. Micah sat there one extra second, hand on the wheel, not smiling but close. A small tug at the corner of his mouth. Pride buried so deep he barely recognized the feeling.

Mom was the first one out the front door at the sound of his arrival. She wiped her hands on her apron and froze when she saw the giant vehicle.

“Mijo… what is this beautiful thing?” She said beautiful the same way people say bless your heart.

Micah climbed out of the beige and rusty beast. “She runs.”

“That’s a generous definition of running,” Daniel called from the porch, unwilling to come any closer, as if he were afraid oil would drip on him if he did. He probably wouldn’t be wrong.

Micah’s sister, Elise, came barreling out of the modest house, pushing past her long-time boyfriend, Daniel, ponytail bouncing. “Is this yours?” She streaked straight past Micah and circled the large SUV, inspecting her like a rescue animal she’s already planning to rehabilitate. She tapped the fender. It made a sound that suggested Elise would soon need a tetanus shot.

Micah shrugged at the sound as Elise raised an eyebrow. “Got her cheap.”

Mom beamed like he had just brought home a college degree. “You bought this with your own money.”

Micah nodded once.

Pop came around from the side yard, wiping his work-worn fingers with a cloth as if cleaning off engine grease, even though he hadn’t touched a motor all day. He walked straight toward the vehicle, now dripping oil on his very clean driveway, and ran a hand along the hood thoughtfully. A familiar gesture. Respect between two creatures who have both survived more than their frames were built for. “She’s got an old soul,” Pop said. “How’s she run uphill?”

“Slow,” Micah admitted.

“How’s she run downhill?”

“Fast,” Micah smiled, just a little.

Pop laughed in delight. “Perfect.”

Daniel stepped down the porch stairs and squeezed Elise’s hand briefly. He gave Micah a look that was half amusement, half disbelief. “You sure this thing is legal?”

Micah handed him the folded registration. “Mostly.”

Elise pushed her shoulder into Micah’s arm. “Can I sit in it?”

“No.”

She scoffed, offended. “Why not?”

“Not ready.”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t push. She knew how much it would mean to him to show the car off to her when he had fixed it up.

Mom cupped Micah’s face for a second, her warm brown eyes looking into his storm-colored ones proudly. “I am making dinner. You wash up. And then you tell us everything.” She lowered her voice. “Everything you want to tell us.”

Micah nodded, grateful for the distinction. Even after all these years that Mom and Pop had welcomed him into their home, it was still difficult for him sometimes to open up. To feel comfortable enough to open up.

Pop slapped the hood once, gently, and spoke directly to the car. “Welcome home.”

The beast creaked like she accepted the gesture.

Micah stood there a moment, taking in all of it. The porch light. The voices. The family he somehow belonged to. The car he had just purchased with his own money behind him like a shadow with wheels.

For the first time in a long time, something inside him settled.

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