Twenty-One and Invincible

I walked into my grandparents’ house, exhausted from work. The sun was slowly lowering in the sky as the minute had on my watch ticked past seven. As soon as I passed the threshold, I kicked off my heels and ravished the feeling of being my original height again. I was looking forward to lying on the couch and grabbing a snack while watching television when my grandmother scurried into the room and poked me hard on the shoulder.

“Grandpa’s broken the lawn mower. You have to fix it.”

I groaned and rose to my feet. “I swear, this is the tenth time he’s broken it. What did he do this time?”

“He isn’t sure, but the stupid thing keeps puffing out black smoke,” my grandma explained. “Go on, help him fix it.”

Slipping on a pair of sneakers, I hobbled to the backyard where my grandfather stood with his arms proudly crossed over his chest. He wore his usual frown, glaring down at the machine that had somehow decided to break down while he was trying to finish completing his yard chores.

“Grandpa, be honest, what did you do?” I asked him as I gave the lawn mower the once-over.

“Nothing,” he stated. “I was putting some more oil in the motor and all of a sudden it starts making strange noises and nearly blows up in my face.”

I eyed him skeptically. “What kind of oil did you use? Because this lawn mower can only use a certain kind.”

“The finest ones, of course,” he scoffed. “Here, let me show you.” He retreated into the house for a few minutes. I watched him go, not entirely sure why he would be going into the house to look for motor oil. When he came out with a plastic tub of extra virgin olive oil, I nearly face-palmed right in front of him. But I loved my grandfather and didn’t want him to be embarrassed, so I decided to act like a diplomat.

“Grandpa, you can’t use that kind of oil in a motor. It just won’t work properly. I’ll bring this into the shop to get it fixed, but next time use the kind that I bought for you in the shed. Promise?”

I thought I saw him roll his eyes but he nodded anyway. “Alright.”

I pushed the lawn mower out to the front yard where I parked my SUV and wondered how I was going to get it to fit in the trunk. I lowered the second row of seats so that there was more room, but the lawn mower was too heavy for me to lift on my own. I couldn’t ask Grandpa for help since he threw out his back helping me lift it the last time, and Grandma had osteoporosis.

I stared down at the lawn mower as if it would telepathically lift itself high in the air and conveniently place itself in my car. When I finally blinked my eyes and nothing had changed, I faced my reality and decided to try lifting the damn thing on my own.

Before I could even lay a finger on it, a voice from across the street called out to me.

“Hey, do you need any help?”

My ears perked up and I turned. My eyes went wide and I’m sure I must have looked like a pug with my eyes bugging out of my head. Making his way across the street to where I was standing was none other than Patrick Kane.

Living in Chicago, and since my grandfather was a huge Blackhawks fan, it would have been difficult not to recognize him. With his mop of curly blond hair and that impish grin never leaving his face--to not recognize Number 88 would be to live under the world’s biggest rock.

I must have been staring. He waved a hand in front of my face. “You okay?”

I immediately snapped out of it, mentally cursing myself. He must have thought I was some sort of crazed fan, paralyzed by the fact that he was standing right in front of me in a pair of jeans and an American Eagle sweater. I didn’t want him to know that I was having an internal freak out. Somehow though, I think he knew.

“Um. Yes.”

He smirked. “So, do you need help lifting this?”

My face went red involuntarily. “Yes please.”

I was about to take the lawnmower’s handle and help him lift it, but he squatted down and lifted the entire thing up on his own and placed it with ease into the trunk of my car. If I wasn’t staring before, at this point, I absolutely was.

He dusted off his hands and then wiped them against the side of his jeans for good measure. Then he stuck one out to me. “I’m Patrick.”

I had to think really hard in order to remember my own name. “I’m Carmen,” I finally blurted out. “Sorry...it’s just...I know who you are.”

He laughed out loud, his head rolling back slightly. I was embarrassed. “I figured that out pretty quickly,” he noted. “Just wanted to say hi and help out. I just moved into the house across the street...as you can see.” He jerked his thumb backwards to the very nice two-story house that had been on sale for the longest time.

I nodded. “This is my house,” I said lamely, pointing behind me. “I live with my grandparents.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Patrick smiled. “Me and my grandpa are pretty much best friends. They live in Buffalo though, but I try to go and visit them whenever I can. My parents love having me home. I think they get bored without me, even if I do have three sisters.”

“It’s good that you’re so close with your family,” I said, genuinely meaning it. “I’d give anything to know my parents.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow at me. “You don’t know your parents?”

“Well,” I tensed, shifting my weight from one foot to another. “I don’t really want to bother one of the stars of the Chicago Blackhawks with my life story. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

“We’re neighbours now,” Patrick shrugged. “I want to get to know you. You know, in case I need to come over to borrow a cup of sugar or something.”

I giggled a little bit, biting the corner of my lip. I tucked my bangs behind my ear and put my hands in the pocket of my skinny jeans. “Maybe another day, then.”

“Sure,” Patrick nodded, still grinning. “I’m gonna head back. Be seein’ you, Carmen.”

“Bye, Patrick,” I waved as he crossed the street and disappeared into his house. I sighed loudly, feeling my heart rapidly pumping blood throughout my body. Most of it went to my face. I could feel the heat radiating from my cheeks. I closed the car’s trunk and headed back inside the house.

Grandma was setting up my spot at the dinner table. Her and Grandpa always ate early, around five-thirty so they could be in bed by nine-thirty. Grandma always had dinner ready for me when I came home from work around seven o’clock.

“That took a long time,” she noted. “Did you find out what happened with Grandpa and the lawnmower?”

“Yeah,” I answered, taking a bite of mashed potatoes. “Grandpa put olive oil in the motor.”

Grandma stifled a laugh as Grandpa came back into the house, pushing the screen door that led to the backyard aside so he could pass the threshold. He closed it shut and rolled his neck, trying to ease the stiffness he was feeling. Grandma shot me a knowing look. Neither of us were going to tease Grandpa about the olive oil. He was too proud of a man, too stalwart and headstrong. The blow to his ego would cause irreparable damage and we both knew it.

“We got new neighbours,” Grandpa mentioned gruffly, pouring himself a glass of water. “We ought to go say hello.”

“I’ll bake them an apple pie,” Grandma offered, wiping her hands on the apron that was tied around her waist. “Who knows, they might have a boy your age that you can be introduced to. It’d be nice to see you dating again.”

I didn’t say a word. I just kept on munching on my dinner, nodding absentmindedly at my grandparents’ comments. I didn't know how they would feel about Patrick Kane living across the way. In all honesty, I didn’t know how I felt about it either.