Nelly's Legs
When I speak of “my vulcanizer”, I am referring to the three people who are now dedicated to Nelly’s legs. Nelly, my dear comrade as I have come to realize, is my precious Toyota Corolla who has been through thick and thin with me. For almost 12 years, we have walked many miles together. Towards good and bad and better things, away from bad and good and worse things. Frantically, and slowly in these directions, she has always been. There is nothing that babe has not seen with me, and yet, she remains. Not in the same way that the Lord has remained with me, but close enough. What a friend I have in Jesus, and what interesting friendship I have found with Nelly.
My vulcanizer is one middle aged man, and his two adolescent sons whose average age cannot be more than 10 years. All three of them are stationed on the narrow street just before mine, under a makeshift shed with stacked tires and an old engine announcing their presence and service. I find the location interesting. By traffic rules, one should not be stopping abruptly on this main street to get their tires fixed. The intent of the city planner, I believe, is for cars to continue to move, making no halts or stops. Yet, my vulcanizer, is convinced that all movements eventually come to a halt and that when they do, they will be there waiting. And they are right, because it is their shed that I bring Nelly to, not another.
In all my times there, the man has never smiled. He faces his duties with a dedication that is evident not just in his work, but also on his visage. When I take Nelly to him, the routine is straightforward; he squats, stares at each tire, and tells me to steer the wheel in different directions as he searches for the problem. “This way, Madam”, and I follow. He stands up, walks to the other side to repeat it with the other tires. From Nelly’s legs, he can tell where she’s been and what the problem is. He can also tell what she needs. And so as He gives instructions during this search, I obey. At the end of the exchange, he tells me the cost for the service, I make my payment and say thank you, with Nelly and I walking away.
On my most recent visit there, only the two young boys were at the shed. I was worried and desperate. Would these young boys be able to cater to Nelly? The time was 1 in the afternoon, and beads of sweat welled on my powdered sizeable forehead, as I panicked over being late to a function I promised to be punctual to. But because with desperation comes a ridiculous kind of faith, I submitted Nelly’s legs to these two young boys.
I sat in the car and watched them keenly. First, out of fear and then, amusement. The older one stooped low to the tire to look at Nelly’s legs, and yelled at me for each one; “Madam, turn it. No, no, that way, this way.” For each tire inspected, he yelled, still in the stooped position, the state of the tires. “This one, there is nail in it….This one needs alignment.” The younger one, wide eyed with joy full in them, echoed everything his brother said almost immediately. He’d repeat it until I assented with an okay. On and on like that till they went round the four tires. I was running out of time but these boys doted on Nelly’s legs in their own ways. I couldn’t help but smile through it all.
I paid attention to the boys. The older one first. He had the stern look of his father. That rapt attention in his father’s eyes, I saw it in his. To him, tires were a thing to give full devotion to, and not a thing to be toyed with. They were something to be respected and he respected it well. The younger one didn’t quite have that. What he had in abundance instead, was his effervescence. That surge of energy to announce the maladies of Nelly’s legs amused me. I started to think of how much they resembled their father physically, and how much they differed from one another. Did the older one have this same dedication to other endeavours or was this just for tires? Would the younger one grow out of his effervescence? Did he have other pursuits that he exhibited this same energy for? Which of them was their father more like in his youth? Which of these traits would truly stick and form the core parts of their identities? Which ones would they walk away from and which ones would remain?
Eventually, all the yelling stopped and Nelly’s legs were fixed. I paid for my service and bid them goodbye as I drove to my event. As I drove off, burgeoning respect for the boys for the work they had done, floored me. It was remarkable how their very different attitudes of devotion to tires were quite palpable. I started to think of the same things that had had my devotion at one point in time, but no longer did. Old traits and hobbies, old dreams and relationships. All of them I had given a serious and eager dedication to. Whether I had walked away from them or the world had taken away from me, I was not sure. What I became sure of was a sudden grief for these losses and a wonder for if I could find my way back to them. I was not sure. I still am not.
Nelly’s legs have not been touched since then and so we will be at my vulcanizer soon. I hope to see the brothers again. It’d be nice to watch their devotion in the moment, and their ignorance that what they have now towards these tires, they might not always have. Legs will move. Theirs, mine, and Nelly’s. Towards good and bad and better things, away from bad and good and worse things. But now, in this moment, in this halt, I intend to enjoy with them fully, where they are until they move. I intend to enjoy fully, where I am until we (Nelly’s legs and I), move.