Ever Since You Walked Into My Life

I stood on the patio, half smoked Newport dangling between my two fingers. I'd watch the smoke. See it twist and curl in a foreign breeze. It was nice, tranquil, the day so far. I found myself in deep thought, like most days anymore. But it was a good process. No worries, no sad, put-you-down emotions or ideas. It was something I could deal with. And I rather enjoyed it. I could see the driveway from my spot on the patio. See the Chevelle almost sparkling in the morning sun.

A '67 Chevelle. Once a piece of shit beater that always seemed to break down at the worst possible time. Now, however, it was beautiful. Kind of elegant, in a weird way. Still stock, with the exception of a few minor things, and it ran better than when I had first purchased the car in '99. All because of the gentle care of Norman. And all at once, as I flicked the butt of my cigarette, it hit me. It was that silly little thing called symbolism that seemed to ring a bell.

That was my car, inside and out. But in a weird, unrealistic way, it was also a part of me. We were both so run down and broken. Unreliable and damaged. Willing to quit in the worst of times. The shittier the day, the shittier we ran and functioned. But then Norman came into the picture, wrench and silly personality blazing behind him like a bad comic book hero. But he was sweet, boyish, a little different than I was used to. And that was okay.

He worked hard. Fought tooth and nail to make things work. He suffered through my outrageous attitude, my insatiable insecurity, and my demons. And if it weren't for him, for the saint like patience he was blessed with, Sammi and I would be living completely different lives. It never would have been this good. In the end, I found Norman breaking down walls with his proverbial sledge hammer and reconstructing them from the ground, up. And boy, was he good at it.

We're brand new, now, my car and I. It was a new beginning for the both of us. He took my engine, my heart roughly by the horns and through a few runs of trial and error, revved them back to life. We could finally show our true colours, whether it be gun metal grey or a bubbly personality. We just had to hang on a little bit longer. And in the long run, we managed. We came out on top for once in our lives. And I could live with that. Finally.

I smiled, then. A wide, shit eating grin at my silly recognition. Two thick arms suddenly wrapped around my waist, a familiar head of hair resting on my shoulder, "Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah," I breathed easily, slipped my hands together with Norman's, "just thinking,"

He chucked quietly, "What about?"

I gave a healthy sigh, smiled out to the Chevelle as if we had an inaudible understanding, "Life,"

I could feel the muscles in his jaw contract. He was smiling, "Is that a good thing?"

"It's a great thing," I turned in his arms and hugged him tightly.

"I love you, Rascal," he spoke softly.

"Love you too. And Norman," I looked into those beautiful sky blue eyes, found a meaningful smile, "thanks for changing my oil."