Free Driver's Education by Grant Ginder Page A

fuck, it’s just going to be that kind of day.” He extinguishes the cigarette, lights another one, number three. Mrs. Dalloway yawns.
    â€œBut then— then . I see your ye ye and his car. All beautiful and golden. He’s driving it into the shop and I say to Franky, Franky, how can something that looks so beautiful sound so rotten. And Franky—I told you what a scheming asshole he is—Franky says, Yip make the car quiet and charge him triple. And then he leaves.
    â€œSo—it’s just me and your ye ye in the shop. He tells me that his caris making too much noise and I’m thinking, Bub, there’s not a person south of Thirty-Fourth who doesn’t agree with you .
    â€œBut the car—I know I keep going back to this—but the car really was something spectacular. It needed some work, okay. But what spectacular thing doesn’t need some work? I remember I told him this—just how beautiful I thought it was—and for whatever reason, that did it. Your ye ye —he just starts crying.
    â€œI was going to put a hand on his shoulder but my hands were covered in grease. Grease, blood—Christ, it’s been thirty years since I’ve actually seen the skin on my palms. So what I did was I said, Bub, talk to me. Then he looks at my ring and he says, Tell me about your wife . I tell him, Bub, you don’t want to know. I tell him, Just this morning she nearly whupped my ass into remembering to buy fish for Chu Xi! I tell him, Bub, she’s got the biggest hands and the strongest back you’ve ever seen . And then I showed him my nose.
    â€œI’ll always remember this: your ye ye, he says to me, You must love her. You must always love her.”
    â€œAnd what’d you say?”
    Yip shrugs. He says, “I told him the truth, which is I’ve never loved anyone so much, and I’m terrified of ever loving anyone else. Then I say, All right, bub, let’s fix that car. ”
    He pauses for a moment while he ignites cigarette number four.
    â€œSo what was wrong with it?” Randal asks. “Why was it rattling?”
    â€œThe check valve was loose.”
    â€œThat’s all?” I say.
    He nods. “And then when I fix it—this is great—when I fix it he says to me, Let’s take her out for a spin! I look at him and say, Bub, you’re crazy. You don’t know Franky — he’ll whup me harder than my wife whups me for forgetting the fish for Chu Xi.
    â€œAnd you know what he told me? He told me, Franky’s not here .”
    â€œSo what happened?” I ask.
    â€œI went, damn it!” He shouts and slams an open palm against the desk and laughs hugely, raucously. “I went, goddamn it! And Franky—the sonofabitch he never knew it! Your ye ye helped me find fish for ChuXi. He drove me to the best place to get fish in the Bronx and the whole time I’m saying, Bub, you’re crazy! ”
    Outside, beyond the door of the meat locker, there is haggling and yelling and a sort of general pandemonium that leaves Yip unfazed.
    â€œWe drove every weekend after that. We drove to Brooklyn, and Queens. We drove to Long Island, all the way to Montauk. We saw things that were so beautiful you couldn’t help but cry. We drove south—to Philadelphia. Farther.”
    â€œTo Baltimore?” Randal asks.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œTo Washington, D.C.?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œTo Richmond?”
    â€œYes! Yes, yes, yes! To all of those places!” He pauses then, reaching for his fifth cigarette, but he stops himself. “And that’s why I cried all that blood when I found out he was sick.
    â€œHe called me a year ago, you know,” he says, “before he took off for San Francisco. Your ye ye called me two days before he left and said, Yip, you need to come and pick her up . I told him, Bub, you’re crazy. We’re driving her to Boston. But he just said, Come pick her