Chapter 4. I Went to a Parts Shop Run by a Former Classmate
Chapter 4. I Went to a Parts Shop Run by a Former Classmate
“You’ve got the wrong person—”
“It’s been ten years, right? Since high school graduation? Man, you’re exactly the same—no, wait, why are you in such good shape now?”
He did not even listen to what I was saying and kept patting and prodding different parts of my body while he rambled on.
Just as I expected, Steven Hutchins was still exactly the same self-willed, overbearing guy he had always been.
“So, what brings you here?”
Steven asked, staring straight at my face.
There were two intentions behind his question.
One was what business I had in this “hometown” town.
The other was why someone like me, who did not fit the place at all, had come to a specialty auto shop like this.
Even back in high school, Steven used to say like a catchphrase that he was going to take over his father’s parts shop one day.
He loved cars—especially Fords—so much that he would go on and on about them whenever he had the chance, but I never joined in on those conversations.
At the time, my head was already full of brutally practical concerns like whether I would come up short on food money that month.
“I’m looking for parts to go with a 302 engine.”
“Huh...? Wait, what did you just say? By 302, you mean a Ford small-block?”
A strange expression crossed his face. It looked as though it had brightened, and stiffened, at the same time.
“Yeah. Carburetor, flexplate, the whole ignition setup, and everything else. Why, you don’t have them?”
“No, we obviously have all the parts, but... Jason, do you actually know what you need?”
Steven openly folded his arms and leaned his face in close.
But when I did not answer and simply looked him straight in the eyes,
“Whew...”
he let out a long sigh, scratched the back of his head hard, and finally started moving his large frame.
“Then let me ask you this. What kind of carburetor are you looking for? 450 CFM? 600 CFM?”
Only then did I finally speak in a low voice.
“600 CFM. Vacuum secondary four-barrel. A Holley 4160 will do. Electric choke.”
The hand rummaging through the shelf stopped in an instant.
“I-Is that so? Then what about the flexplate?”
“A 28-ounce imbalance. I’m using it with a C4 transmission, so 157 teeth.”
His eyebrows shot upward so far it looked like they might disappear off his forehead.
“R-Right... Then what about the ignition system? Well, obviously you’re looking for MSD, right?”
Steven looked as though he were trying hard to stay calm, but...
You were always the type whose face gave everything away.
“Hah, Steven. Why do you keep wasting my time? A Motorcraft distributor and a Blue Spark coil will be more than enough.”
At my answer, Steven’s crossed arms dropped limply to his sides. At the same time, his jaw fell open as well.
“You... are you really that nerd Jason? How does a guy like you, who never even cared about cars, know all this...?”
It was not as though I had ever studied especially hard, yet here he was calling me Nerd Jason. Then again, in his eyes, anyone who stayed quiet in class was probably a nerd.
And it was not that I had been uninterested in cars—I had simply never had the room in my life to dig deeply into them.
“Whew. I don’t have time, so hurry up and get the parts together.”
“Ah, right. Okay. But just in case, what kind of car are you planning to install that 302 into...?”
“A 1967 Ford Mustang GT.”
“Ghk—!”
Maybe that last line was the finishing blow, because he froze in place like someone having a heart attack.
“That’ll be $1,550 altogether. Don’t expect me to cut you a deal just because we were classmates.”
Steven said it while tapping away at the calculator.
“I wasn’t expecting that in the first place. Here, check it.”
He counted the bundle of cash I handed him once or twice, then—
“...This is the cash discount.”
He held out a fifty-dollar bill.
“Yeah, thanks.”
I stuffed the bill back into my pocket and immediately turned around and walked out the shop door.
The parts I had bought were already loaded into the truck.
That was thanks to Steven’s father.
“So your name was Jason? Steven said you were his old classmate? A ’67 Mustang, huh—just what I’d expect from a friend of my son’s!”
No, sir, we may be classmates, but we were definitely not friends.
“Thank you.”
Still, since he had loaded the parts for me, I gave him a suitably polite thanks and quickly climbed into the driver’s seat.
Vrrr, rattle rattle rattle—
Just as I started the engine and was about to pull out, Steven came running out of the shop.
“Hey, Jason! About that Mustang you said you’re building—when it’s all finished, do you think I could come see it sometime?”
“What? Uh, sure. I don’t mind if it’s just to take a look.”
“Okay. I’ll be looking forward to it. Huh...? Wait, why is your truck a Chevy instead of a Ford—”
Vroooom—
There was no reason for me to stick around and listen to the rest of that, so I quickly put my foot down on the accelerator.
I caught a glimpse of him scratching his head in the side mirror, but that was none of my concern.
Still, I got everything for a better price than I expected.
With that, I had finished preparing all the parts and supplies needed for the engine install.
The only issue was that the online order would take at least two days to arrive, so until then I had some unexpected free time.
Since I’ve come all the way back here for the first time in ten years, maybe I should go there while I’m at it.
Calming my growling stomach, I turned the truck’s steering wheel down a familiar route.
A little while later, after passing Broadway and gradually slowing down, I spotted a stainless-steel sign gleaming in the sunlight.
[Little Anthony’s Diner.]
[Little Anthony’s Diner.]
Yep. It’s still here.
Unlike before, the sign had been repainted, and the neon beside the window had grown even flashier.
But even now, ten years later, it was still operating in the same place under the same name.
When I opened the door and stepped inside, 1980s rock and roll was pouring from the speakers.
The music... is exactly the same.
And at that moment, the diner’s owner, Mike—who had been faithful to the same taste in music for decades—came out of the kitchen and met my eyes.
“No way...”
Mike took off his apron and walked toward me.
“Jason? Is that really you?”
Smiling, I nodded.
“It’s been a long time, Mike.”
Mike grabbed my shoulders with both hands.
“A long time? Good lord! Who would’ve thought little Jason would come back all grown into such a fine young man?”
Mike’s eyes went wide as he looked me up and down from every angle.
Then again, it was only natural for him to be shocked. The Jason he remembered had always been a quiet, skinny, gloomy kid.
“So, your usual seat?”
“My God, you still remember something like that, Mike?”
Did time really stop for this man or something? His taste in music was still the same, and looking closer, it did not even seem like he had aged all that much.
“Of course I remember. And you’re going to order the Anthony Burger, aren’t you? Right?”
“Uh, yeah. But this time I’ll order the real combo.”
At my words, Mike let out a small laugh.
I did not know how he had figured out my circumstances back then, but even when I ordered just the burger by itself, Mike had always added fries and a drink for me.
“Then I’ll make the burger a double.”
“No, really, you don’t have to do that anymore—”
“One Double Anthony! Fries crispy!”
Without even listening to me finish, Mike gave my back a shove and shouted toward the kitchen.
“Sit down and behave! Now that you’ve gotten bigger, you need to eat that much more!”
While the food was being prepared, I sat in the seat I had always used—my designated seat, in other words, the corner window seat farthest from everyone else—and looked outside.
Countless cars sped by in both directions on the road.
Where are they all going like that? Those people all have lives of their own, and families to return to, don’t they? Compared to them, I...
The thoughts I had used to have as a child suddenly resurfaced exactly as they had been, as though copied and pasted.
The kind of bleak thoughts that were no help to anyone.
“Here you go, Double Anthony Burger. Combo!”
Just then, the burger arrived and cut through my thoughts.
Two thick beef patties, fresh off the grill and still steaming.
Yellow cheddar cheese melting over the top, with pickles, onions, tomatoes, and the diner’s signature sauce piled on generously...
What I had only pictured in my head for ten years was now actually sitting in front of me.
I can’t believe I’m eating this burger again.
Unable to hold back any longer, I quickly picked it up and took a huge bite.
Savory juices burst out at once, and the rich scent of melted cheese filled my mouth.
“Well?”
Mike was standing there looking down at me with eager anticipation in his eyes.
“Whew... It’s exactly the same as before. You too, Mike. And this burger too.”
“I can take that as meaning it’s still the best, right?”
“Of course.”
There was no lie in what I said.
I had wandered all over the American Southwest for three years after leaving the Navy SEALs, but I had never found a burger that suited my taste as perfectly as this one.
(Translator’s Note:The Navy SEALs are a U.S. Navy special operations force.)
So it’s not like there was nothing I missed after all.
My throat suddenly felt a little tight, so I took a long drink of the milkshake sitting beside me.
I can’t believe he even remembered the milkshake...
Back then, I had loved this stuff. These days, I preferred cola or Arizona Green Tea, but still.
Since the milkshake was here anyway, I decided to recreate the way I used to eat it.
I grabbed a handful of crispy fries, plunged them deep into the milkshake, and shoved them all into my mouth in one go.
Crunch, crunch—
So this is the kind of thing I used to like.
For a moment, I remembered how, as a kid, I had thought dipping fries in ketchup was heresy.
Looking back now, it was both cute and ridiculous.
Watching me fill my stomach in a daze, Mike smiled with satisfaction before speaking in a low voice.
“So, have you come back for good this time?”
“Well, that’s... honestly, I don’t really know. For now, I’m planning to stay here for a while, at least...”
At my hesitant answer, Mike gave a quiet chuckle.
“Yeah? Well, that’s life. Things never go exactly the way you want them to... Don’t get too impatient. Just try doing what you want to do. Jason, you can do anything.”
“Yeah... Thank you, Mike.”
Mike thumped my shoulder once more, then headed back into the kitchen.
I watched him bustling around in there and took another drink of my milkshake.
Come to think of it, the milkshake tastes a little different now.
I was sure it had been much sweeter back then.
Had even stubborn old Mike been changing with the times after all?
The newly redone sign, the neat uniforms, and the lighting that had been replaced with LEDs suddenly stood out to me all over again.
I can do anything, huh.
Without a word, I took another bite of the burger.
The burger still tasted exactly the same as it had ten years ago.
Some things had changed, and some had stayed the same. But one thing was certain: the person sitting here now was no longer the same gloomy boy I had been back then.
For the next two days, while waiting for the deliveries to arrive, I worked hard cleaning out the storage unit.
Of course, it was only a rental unit, and as far as I knew the contract was about to end, but I still wanted to work on the engine in as clean an environment as possible. I also needed to clear enough workspace.
“Cough, cough!”
I brushed away sand and dust that looked as though they had been accumulating for ages, and I thoroughly cleaned up the oil that had spilled here and there across the floor.
Now that June had begun, Arizona was entering full summer. It would soon be common for midday temperatures to climb above 104 degrees Fahrenheit, or 40 degrees Celsius.
On a windless afternoon, I kept wiping away the sweat pouring down like rain with my sleeve.
I did not dislike cleaning. Especially when it came to clearing out a cluttered mind, there was nothing better.
“Whew, that should be about good enough now.”
When I looked around, I saw a floor and workbench that were visibly cleaner than before.
And there, too, was the absurdly gorgeous Mustang, hopelessly out of place in a shabby spot like this.
No matter how many times I look at it, the body shape really is incredible.
The sharp yet flowing lines—something modern cars could never have because of changes in production methods and crash regulations—glinted in the sunlight.
Just as I was admiring the Mustang’s black body while sipping from a can of beer,
“Jason Guon? Unit Number 24?”
I heard someone at the entrance to the storage unit.
“Yes, that’s me.”
Not Guon—Kwon—but honestly, that was still a pretty decent attempt at the pronunciation.
The person calling my name was none other than the delivery driver.
He began unloading several boxes from the back of the truck.
Beep—beep—
After scanning the barcodes on each box,
“Sign here, please.”
he held out an electronic pad in a detached manner.
Scratch—
Just like him, I carelessly scrawled my name in a mechanical fashion, and that was the end of the delivery.
“Thank you.”
In response to my thanks, the driver just raised a hand, then quickly drove off and vanished from sight.
I immediately checked the number of boxes and the contents written on the outside, then carried the items into the storage unit one by one.
There were more small odds and ends than I had expected.
And finally—
“All right. Time to really get started.”
Every single part needed to transplant a heart into the Mustang had been perfectly assembled.
[302 Engine Installation will now begin.]
That familiar message window appeared in my head.
[Confirm that the torque converter is fully seated.]
▶ Warning: If the C4 torque converter is not fully inserted, the transmission pump will fail immediately.
I could understand the meaning of the manual and the exact action I needed to take with almost eerie immediacy.
Right, so I need to push it in until it clicks twice.
Click, click—