Broken Wiper Blades

The gas station smelled like old hot dogs and cold rain. Gerry stood by the sugar packets, his fingers twitching. He was eleven, but he felt a hundred. Tyler stood by the door, tapping his phone against his palm. Tyler was nineteen and wore a jacket that looked like it cost more than Gerry’s house. He called himself a 'Growth Architect.' Gerry just called him the guy who paid for the gas.

"Look at him, Gerry," Tyler whispered. He didn't look at Gerry. He looked at a man in a thick wool coat standing by the coffee pots. The man had a white cane leaning against the counter. "That’s a variable. You want to be a leader? You have to control the variables."

"He’s just getting a drink, Tyler," Gerry said. His jaw was so tight it hurt to speak. He could feel a headache starting behind his left eye. It felt like a tiny hammer hitting a tiny nail.

"Go take it," Tyler said. His voice was flat. "He hasn't paid yet. It’s not his yet. It’s just sitting there. Take it and walk out. See if he notices. See if you have the guts to disrupt the flow."

"That’s just mean," Gerry said.

"No, it’s data," Tyler snapped. "Hurry up. The car is running."

Gerry’s stomach felt like it was full of wet sand. He walked over. The man in the wool coat was reaching for a lid. Gerry reached out, his hand trembling, and grabbed the hot paper cup. He turned and walked fast. He didn't look back. He heard the man say, "Oh?" in a confused, soft voice. That 'oh' felt like a punch to Gerry’s chest.

Outside, the spring air was biting. It wasn't the nice spring from books with flowers and bunnies. It was the prairie spring where the ground was a soup of brown mud and the sky was the color of a dirty sidewalk. Gerry hopped into the passenger seat of the rusted sedan. Tyler jumped in the driver’s side, laughing.

"Look at you! You’re shaking!" Tyler yelled, pulling the car onto the highway. "That’s the rush, kid. That’s the feeling of taking what you want."

"I don't even like coffee," Gerry said. He stared at the cup. There was a blue straw sticking out of it. He felt like he was going to throw up.

"Throw it out the window then. It’s about the act, not the bean," Tyler said. He started talking about 'branding' again. He talked about how the world was divided into people who watched things happen and people who made things happen. Gerry watched the windshield. Small drops of ice were starting to hit the glass.

"Can we just go to the seminar?" Gerry asked. "My mom thinks we’re at the library."

"The library is a graveyard for minds," Tyler said. "The real learning is out here. On the road. In the grind."

The wind started to howl. It pushed against the side of the car, making it wiggle. The freezing rain turned into a thick sheet of grey. Tyler turned on the wipers. They went thwack-thwack for three turns, and then there was a loud snap.

The driver’s side wiper flew off the car like a plastic bird. It vanished into the grey mist.

"Are you kidding me?" Tyler yelled. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. The glass immediately began to blur. The ice built up in seconds. Tyler couldn't see a thing. "Gerry! I can't see!"

"Pull over!" Gerry shouted.

"No! We’re behind schedule. Time is equity!" Tyler rolled down his window. The freezing wind blasted into the car, bringing a spray of ice. He leaned his head out the window, squinting into the storm. "Roll yours down! Tell me if I’m hitting the shoulder!"

Gerry rolled his window down. The cold was a physical weight. It slapped his face and turned his ears into ice cubes. He stuck his head out. The road was a dark ribbon surrounded by white-grey nothing.

"You’re too far left!" Gerry screamed over the wind.

"I got it! I got it!" Tyler shouted back. His hair was already wet and flattened against his head. He looked ridiculous, but he was still trying to look cool. "This is a test, Gerry! The universe is testing our resolve!"

Gerry didn't think it was the universe. He thought it was a cheap car and a bad idea. He looked at the steering wheel. Tyler’s hands were white. Gerry looked at the ditch to the right. It was deep and filled with slushy water. If they just turned the wheel a little bit, the car would slide into the mud. The engine would stop. Tyler would have to stop talking about 'equity' and 'hustle.' They would just be two cold people in a ditch.

Gerry’s hand hovered near the wheel. He thought about the man at the gas station. He thought about the 'oh' he had heard. He looked at Tyler’s face. Tyler looked like he was enjoying the struggle. He looked like he thought he was in a movie.

"There’s a light!" Tyler yelled. "Diner ahead! We’ll stop and pivot. A pivot is just a fancy word for a win you haven't had yet!"

They pulled into the parking lot of a place called Marge’s. The sign was missing the 'M' and the 'e.' It just said 'arg.' Gerry thought that was exactly how he felt.

Inside, the diner was warm and smelled like fried onions. There was only one other person there—a large man in a camouflage jacket sitting at the counter. Tyler marched in like he owned the place. He didn't even wipe his boots. He left brown, muddy footprints all over the linoleum.

"Sit down, protege," Tyler said, sliding into a booth. "Watch how I handle this. We need a new wiper, and we need it for free."

"Tyler, please," Gerry whispered. "Let’s just buy one. I have five dollars."

"Five dollars is seed money," Tyler said. "You don't spend seed money on maintenance."

The man at the counter turned around. He had a very red face and very small eyes. "You the ones in that junker with no wipers?"

"It’s a vintage performance vehicle," Tyler said, flashing a fake smile. "And we’re looking for a local partner to assist with some logistical hurdles. In exchange, I can offer a shout-out on my platform. Five thousand followers. High engagement."

The man stared at Tyler. He looked at Tyler’s wet hair. Then he looked at Gerry. "You okay, kid? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"I’m fine," Gerry said. He felt the snap point. It was right there. His foot was tapping so hard it was making the table shake.

"He’s more than okay," Tyler said. "He’s learning the art of the deal. Now, about that wiper..."

"I saw you at the Shell station ten miles back," the man said. His voice was like gravel rubbing together. "I saw you make that boy take that man’s coffee. I was in the back getting oil."

The air in the diner got very still. The lady behind the counter stopped wiping a glass.

"It was a social experiment," Tyler said, his voice going up a notch. "It’s about human behavior. No harm done."

"The man you took that from? That’s my brother," the man said. He stood up. He was much taller than he looked while sitting. "He’s been blind since he was six. He likes his routine. He likes his coffee. You think it’s funny to mess with a man’s routine?"

Tyler’s smile didn't go away, but it got shaky. "It wasn't personal. It was content. We’re creators."

"You’re a brat," the man said. He walked toward the booth. "And the kid is coming with me to apologize. You? You’re leaving."

"Now hold on," Tyler said, standing up. He tried to look tough, but his jacket was wet and he was shivering. "We have a schedule. We’re expected at the Branding Summit in Fargo."

"The only thing you’re branding is your backside if you don't get out of here," the man said.

Tyler looked at Gerry. "Gerry, let’s go. This place is low-vibe anyway. We don't want to associate with this kind of energy."

Tyler turned to run, but he slipped on his own mud. He fell hard on his tailbone. The man didn't move. He just watched. Tyler scrambled up, his face red with shame, and bolted out the door into the freezing rain.

Gerry stayed in the booth. He looked at the man.

"I’m sorry," Gerry said. His voice was small. "I didn't want to do it."

"I know you didn't," the man said. He sat back down. "He’s a bad teacher, kid. You should find a better one."

"I don't think I want a teacher anymore," Gerry said.

He stood up. He felt a weird lightness in his chest. The hammer in his head stopped hitting the nail. He walked to the counter and put his five-dollar bill down.

"For the coffee," Gerry said.

"Keep it," the man said. "Buy yourself a sandwich. You’ve got a long walk."

"I’m not walking," Gerry said.

Gerry walked out of the diner. The wind was still cold, but it felt different now. It felt like a clean start. Tyler was sitting in the car, the engine running, the heater blasting. He was typing furiously on his phone.

"Can you believe that guy?" Tyler hissed as Gerry got in. "The audacity. That’s a classic gatekeeper mentality. He’s afraid of our potential. We’re getting out of here. We’ll drive slow. We’ll make it."

"I need to use the bathroom," Gerry said.

"Again? You just went at the gas station!" Tyler groaned. "Fine. Go. But hurry up. We’re losing the light."

Gerry got out. He walked toward the back of the diner where the rest rooms were. But he didn't go inside. He circled around the building and watched through the window. Tyler was still on his phone, probably making a video about 'haters' and 'overcoming obstacles.'

Tyler reached into the back seat to grab his bag. While he was distracted, Gerry ran to the car. He didn't get in. He reached through the open driver’s side window—the one Tyler had left down because of the ice—and grabbed Tyler’s phone and his fancy leather shoes that he’d kicked off to dry his socks.

"Hey!" Tyler yelled, but Gerry was already moving.

Gerry ran to the edge of the parking lot and tossed the phone and the shoes into the deep, slushy ditch. Then he ran back to the car, hopped into the driver's seat, and locked the doors.

Tyler was out of the car in a second, standing in his wet socks in the mud. "Gerry! What are you doing? Open the door! My phone! My shoes!"

"You said it’s about the act, Tyler!" Gerry shouted through the glass. "It’s a social experiment! I’m disrupting the flow!"

"It’s freezing!" Tyler screamed. He looked small now. He looked like a kid who didn't know anything at all. "Give me the car!"

Gerry didn't say anything. He had watched Tyler drive for six months. He knew how the shifter worked. He knew where the gas was. He put the car in reverse and backed up.

Tyler chased the car for a few feet, slipping in the mud, his socks turning black and soaked. "Gerry! Stop! I’m sorry!"

Gerry shifted into drive. He looked at Tyler in the rearview mirror. Tyler was standing in the middle of the empty, muddy lot, shivering, looking for his phone in the ditch.

Gerry drove. He drove slow because he couldn't see well, but he drove. He felt the steering wheel under his hands. It was sticky and old, but it was his. The prairie stretched out in front of him, vast and grey and full of possibilities. He wasn't going to Fargo. He was going home.

He reached into the cup holder and grabbed the coffee cup. He pulled out the blue straw and looked at it. It was just a piece of plastic. It didn't have any power. He tossed it onto the floor mat.

The heater started to kick in. Gerry realized he didn't know the way back perfectly, but he knew he could figure it out. He saw a sign for a crossroads a mile ahead.

He felt like he was finally waking up from a very long, very boring dream. The world was giant, and he was small, but he was the one behind the wheel.

He turned the corner, the tires crunching over the icy gravel, and looked for the sun.