ZEDD By: Steven D. Forbes
Friday, January 16th, 2009Zedd. That’s what the car was named. No one knew why, but that’s what he was called. Zedd. He’d seen many a season, and by the initial look of him, he was out in them. But, not anymore. Fifty dollars and a tow later, Zedd came home with me.
I found him in a junkyard, needing major work not only to run, but to look decent, as well. His previous owner died, and left it to his son, who wanted nothing of the car. That was a shame, really. In top shape, the black ‘69 Chevy Nova would be a car that even Steve McQueen would have been proud to drive. Especially after I got through with him.
I worked on him nonstop for months, customizing him inside and out.
But, I didn’t slouch on my schoolwork. I couldn’t. I worked too hard for an academic scholarship, and was even asked to tutor someone. My worst enemy, TJ. The teachers knew we hated each other. They didn’t care.
So, I bore down and gave it a shot. I’d just have to learn to live with less sleep as I worked on Zedd. He would be street legal, but just barely. When I finally took him out, though, I found out just how careful I had to be with him.
I don’t know how it started. I don’t think there ever was an actual starting point for our mutual distaste. TJ was a jock in high school, able to get a full scholarship in either football or basketball. He had a few of the ladies, as well, until they realized what a dick he was. Word gets around fast in those circles.
TJ was jealous. I was suddenly cool. He might have been big man on campus, but I was the one with the power. He tortured me when he could, doing his best not only to put me down, but to push me around. And when he failed the test I was tutoring him for, which put his scholarship in jeopardy, he decided he was going to get even.
***
I remember the first time I took Zedd out for a spin. We zipped along the road, and took a turn I wasn’t prepared for. We slammed against the guardrail, and I screamed, never having felt pain along my side like that. Pulling off to the side, I eventually got out and inspected Zedd first.
He didn’t have a scratch on him. Not a nick. My eyes even played a trick on me, because a buffed pattern looked like a sly smile.
I pulled up my shirt, and it looked like I had been beaten and scraped with a rusted pipe. I barely made it home, and when I did, went straight to my room and slept for 24 hours.
The next day, I cut myself shaving, and noticed a scratch on Zedd when I did his daily walkaround. My nick was gone in five minutes. His scratch took 24 hours. I didn’t question. I’d never question.
***
TJ beat the hell out of Zedd, doing his best to wreck what had taken me months to restore. All over a lousy test. All because he’s a dick.
I felt every blow. It was like someone took a bat, and was beating me from the inside out. Ribs cracked, I couldn’t see out of one eye, a leg twisted unnaturally…We were a mess.
And now, TJ was going to be a mess.
***
“It was just a joke, man,” TJ screamed. He was bruised and a little bloodied, but better than that, he was terrified as he tried to skitter backwards on the asphalt like a crab. We hated each other for a long time, TJ and I, but now, it was going to end.
I got out. Hobbled, really. I coughed and spit, the hot copper taste in my mouth confirming what the wheezing rattle in my chest only hinted at. I didn’t need to see the blood to know it was there. It was as real as TJ.
Soon, that blood would be more alive than TJ.
What stopped him? Perhaps seeing Zedd recover from the beating he was given right in front of his eyes. I don’t know. All I know is that he was finally going to get what he deserved.
“Please,” he whimpered. “Please.”
“Exactly,” I replied.
Screeching tires filled the night air, and Zedd shot off like a rocket. His headlights were on, and never wavered from their target. Running over TJ would have been too good for him. Too fast. That’s not what Zedd did.
Zedd locked his tires right on top of TJ, forcing them to skid a few yards. He really didn’t have the breath to scream any more. The brake lights stayed on as the engine revved, the rear tires spinning over the pinned prick that was TJ. A spray of blood flew out from the tires as they spun, and as the life escaped him, my aches and pains went away. I could see out of my right eye again, and my breath held no hint of copper, my chest no longer wheezed.
I was whole.
Zedd turned around and came back to me, driver’s side door opening as he stopped.
“All we’ve got is each other,” I said as I got in, twisted leg straight again. “I’ll always have your back.”
The radio clicked on. As we drove off, the song “We Are The Champions” blared out from Zedd’s open windows.
___
© 2008 Steven D. Forbes
Steven Forbes is a comic book editor, writer, and columnist. His column, Bolts & Nuts, is updated every Tuesday at Project Fanboy
