Chapter 7: We Took An Uber

Freddy and I walked back to the car where it was parked at the side of the petrol station. I pressed the clicker and listened for the satisfying clunk as the car unlocked itself.

I’d been feeling something dribble down my calf and into my sock. I looked down and saw a big wet patch on my skirt. My leg was wet as well.

“Well shit. I just washed my skirt this morning and now it’s got piss on it. That little punk is lucky I didn’t notice before I let him go.” I don’t know who I was talking to, maybe the universe.

I was furious. I unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it. Then I opened the car door and threw the skirt onto the floor in the well of the passenger side. Freddy was watching all of this with a look on his face that was halfway between shock and amazement. I ignored him for the moment. I had something more important to deal with.

I went around to the back of the car and popped up the hatch. Inside, stuff was piled to just below the ceiling of the car. I wanted a towel, but I couldn’t see one. I did see a plastic bag full of t-shirts. I grabbed a purple shirt and used it to wipe down my leg. In doing so, I saw that the bottom hem of my windcheater was also wet. I whipped that off as well, leaving me standing there in my undies and my crop top and holding the purple shirt and my windcheater. The crop top only had broad straps over my shoulders. so I was showing a lot of skin. Not that I cared. I was too mad at the little punk for pissing on me to care about a little thing like how much skin I was showing.

My undies were grey and conservative, so it wasn’t like you’re probably thinking. But they were undies and not shorts, so maybe it was like you were thinking. I couldn’t afford those expensive undies that are little more than two little triangles held together by string. If I’d been wearing something like that I would’ve been really putting on a real show.

Freddy had watched all of that with wide eyes. Now I walked back to him and looked him up and down. He had smears of wet, smelly mud from his shoes, up his legs, over both parts of his basketball uniform, up his arms, across his face and in his hair.

“What are we going to do about you? I don’t think Jenny would want you spreading all of that shit-smelling mud on the insides of her car.”

Freddy looked down at himself and looked like he was about to burst into tears again. I frowned. I’d just been thinking out loud. I wasn’t trying to make him cry. I’m so not used to dealing with kids.

“Okay, take your shoes and socks off. I’ll be back in a second.”

As I turned around, I could see the petrol station attendant staring out of the window at me. Maybe he thought I was putting on a show for him. I showed him my middle finger and he moved away from the window. I went back to the back of the car and grabbed the plastic bag with the shirts. I still had the purple shirt, but I’d used it to wipe piss off my leg, so I grabbed a second one. This one looked like a rainbow. Then I tipped out the rest of the shirts and shoved them loosely into gaps among the piles of stuff. I closed the hatch and went back to Freddy. I held out the empty plastic bag.

“In!” Freddy dutifully dropped his muddy shoes and socks into the bag.

I gestured at Freddy’s basketball uniform and held out the bag. “Those, too.”

“What?”

I glared at him. “They’re covered in mud. It stinks. Get them off.”

He didn’t move. I upped the level of my glare and spoke slowly and with menace. “Start with your top. Take it off.”

He cowered and started taking his top off. He said “Ow,” a couple of times as he moved his right arm out through the armhole. He dropped the top into the bag and hesitated. The skin on his chest was so white that it almost glowed in the semi-darkness. The places on his face and arms that were muddy showed up in stark contrast

“Hold on,” I said.

I put most of the stuff in my hands down on the ground, except for the purple shirt. Carefully choosing a part of the shirt that I didn’t use to wipe the piss off my legs, I wiped the side of his face. I managed to get most of the mud off, but there were still a few smears. The basketball top was sleeveless, so he’d got mud on his arms as well. I found another bit of clean shirt and wiped his arms.

When I got to his right arm, I was a bit more careful as I cleaned.

“Where does it hurt?” He pointed at the top of the muscles on the back of his arm, whatever they’re called. I lifted his arm up to shoulder height. “Does this hurt?” He nodded. “A bit.”

I felt around his shoulder but that seemed to be okay. I pressed around near the bruise to the point where I could feel the bone in his arm. He winced a bit but he wasn’t screaming in pain, so I figured nothing was broken.

“Do you think you need to go to the hospital?”

He bit his lip and shook his head.

“That’s good. That would’ve been a whole added complication that I don’t need.”