Men in the Family

FICTION Men in the Family Jason Schneider WE WERE ACROSS THE KENTUCKY LINE when Dad thought we had a flat. "You feel that?" he said to mom, who was riding inthe frontwithhim. "What?" she mumbled, almost asleep. "I think we got a flat," he said and drove on into the darkness for another twenty seconds, then yelled out, "Goddammit!" and pulled the station wagon to the side of the highway. I was sitting in the middle seat with Lissy, and Amanda was in the way-back with Suzie. Dad shook his head and stared out the windshield while the rest of us just stayed quiet. Then he said, "Let's go, Jeff," and started getting out of the car, and even though I didn't want to go out in the rain and help Dad change the tire, I knew he was mad as hell because we'd been on the road for eight hours already, and he'd be even madder if I didn't help. Also, I guess men have to do things like that, and Dad and me are the only men in the family. We crouched down by the back left tire and sure enough it was flat. We were right next to the road, which was silky with rain, and I could feel my hair getting wet. "This figures," Dad said through the splatter, "this goddamn figures." Then he didn't say anything for a minute but just stared at the tire and shook his head, and I wasn't sure what to do, because there's no telling what will happen when he's mad like that. "Well, let's get that spare out," he said, "and listen to everybody cry because they have to stand out in the rain." Suzie and Amanda whined when Dad told them that they had to get out, but Lissy was good. They huddled under a big green umbrella on the other side of the car, getting wet a little. Dad jacked up the whole back end, then took off the hubcap and started unscrewing the bolts. I held my wet palm out for him. "I just don't understand why this kind of thing always happens to us," he was saying. "We're never going on one of these trips again." He paused for a moment to loosen the last nut. "I don't even like Uncle Larry and Aunt Norma anyway. I couldn't give two shits about 'em." I laughed. I was only thirteen and I still thought it was funny to hear Dad say things like that—and he only did it when we were alone. He let the busted tire fall onto the wet pavement. "Seventy-nine dollars," he snarled. "Brand new and it's already torn." He picked up 72 the spare and positioned it on the knob, turning it a bit to the left, then to the right, so he could get the holes lined up. I leaned down and watched, and after about a minute he turned back so I could see the rain dripping off the tip of his pointy nose, and said, "You know what? The goddamn thing doesn't fit." "What?" "It doesn't fit," he said, then just gazed at me stupid-like. "Well, what are we going to do?" I asked. "I got no idea," he said, then started grinning like he was crazy or something. Right then Mom hollered out, "Honey, y'all about done there?" "Yeah, just hold on." "We're all getting wet out here," she said. "Hurry Daddy," Suzie called. We stared at the axle for a minute longer—it was just sticking out, waiting for a wheel to be put on—and Dad finally sighed, "Well, I guess we have to find a spare that fits, or else get somebody to patch this sucker up." "Yeah," I nodded, watching the water roll off his chin. "One of us is going to have to go find a filling station and the other is going to have to stay here with everybody. Or, maybe we ought to just leave the girls." He paused. "No, we can't do that. I guess I...