I stand in the doorway to the garage, a cup of steaming coffee between my chilled hands. The sun is barely up over the hills to the east and this November morning is crisp and brittle in forty degree weather. I'm wearing my wool pajamas with a winter coat from the local hunting store and work boots from Walter's closet.

Walter has shed his winter coat and is working in just his t-shirt and boxer shorts that he wore to bed last night. To top off his outfit are the pair of moccasins he's wearing to keep his feet free from chill and snow.

"You want some coffee, Walt?" I ask, leaning my head against the frame.

He narrows his eyes to look at the mug and his eyebrows tighten over his nose. "Maybe in a bit." He rubs his chin and rakes the other hand through his hair, leaving grease all over his head. "I think I figured out what's wrong with her." His mouth scrunches up and he leans forward, twisting at something with wrench and then prodding something else with a tool I can't even identify. "I'll have her runnin' in no time, you just watch."

I nod and take a sip from the cup, letting the hot liquid warm my entire body. I overturn a ten gallon bucket and sit on it to observe Walter as he fiddles with the engine of the 1957 Chevy Bel Aire. We received the car as a gift for Walter's twenty first birthday and since then, four years and counting, he's spent day and night with it to see if he can get it running. Leave it to his parents to give him a car that won't go anywhere, but know that he'll love it more than life.

Two months into Walter's endless engine work he told me that he felt like the creator Himself. when he worked on the car. "I'm bringing this car to life, Jules, bringing it to life. The only thing this car is depending on me for is to get the engine roaring and then it's off on a life of its own with me behind the wheel." He rests his elbows on the car and smooths a hand over the matador red surface. "I feel like God and if that ain't one of the highest things you're supposed to feel in life then I don't know a thing. It's like I'm taking on the world."

Because of that speech I supported him, even if I thought it was futile. If he felt that passionate about something, anything, I was behind him one hundred percent. I'm just glad it was cars and not drugs. God only knew that half of the people Walt and I had graduated with had become addicts and alcoholics. We were the lucky ones, drooling over cars instead of needles.

"Ok, Jules," he slams the hood down for the first time in months, white teeth appearing in his oil black mask, "let's start 'er up. This is the day. I feel it in my bones." He shivers his arms for effect and opens the driver's side door for me to get in and slide across the passenger seat. "This day is the best day of my life." He looks over at me and his face goes serious for a moment, "Completely tied with our weddin' day."

"Better be," I mutter as Walter puts the key in the ignition.

We look at each other for a moment. The awakening world beyond the garage seems to still as we take in a breath simultaneously. This is it. The moment Walt's been anticipating for four years. His dark eyes glimmer with hope and he smiles, I try to mirror the expression, but all I feel is anxiety. If this doesn't work he'll be crushed and it'll be another five years under the hood.

He turns the key and the engine sputters. Walter narrows his eyes and puckers his greased lips as he turns it back and then flips it again. This time the roar of the car coming to life knocks us both back against the seat.

After a second of shock, Walter lets out a laugh evil scientists would envy. "IT'S ALIVE!" he shouts, jumping up and down on the seat like he's just received a million dollar check. "It's going now, Baby! It's going now! Put your seatbelt on, we're takin' this beauty for a ride."

One tour around the country block we lived on and the car sputters in our driveway and dies. Walter leans back against the seat and sighs, running his hands over the steering wheel.

"Are you alright?" I ask, putting my hand on his shoulder.

He frowns, but smiles almost immediately. "Of course," he says, looking over at me, his blonde hair tumbling into his eyes like a child's would. "I guess that's it."

"What?"

"That's it. I got it running. It worked great, but..." he pats the steering wheel and shakes his head, "that's it. I tried my hardest. It just doesn't look like I'm gonna get this running."

"You wanna take it to a mechanic?"

Walter frowns. "No. If I can't do it, I don't want some other guy fresh out of school telling me what I'm doing wrong. I've been working on cars my entire life, they are my life, and if I can't get this to run then that's it. To the garage it goes. It was good while it lasted, though, huh?"

I nod and lay against him. His arm wraps around my waist and we sit there for the rest of the morning in complacent silence.