WIP - Jerry

         Every weekday evening when his watch’s second hand struck twelve at 5:00pm, Jerry turned the key in his Sable’s ignition and counted the seconds before the engine turned over. This always took an average of three seconds. Every once in a while he’d be pleasantly surprised when it turned over in only one and a half seconds. There was one time it took a total of seven seconds, though, and that meant car trouble wasn’t far off. Jerry made a mental note to remember that he’d need to take the car by Mike’s place tomorrow after work.
Mike was a great friend. Mechanic by day, mechanic by night too. But he always made a point of not charging his friends any more than would be necessary to fix the problem at hand. If you knew Mike, you had special access to his expertise after hours. The man had never married, and cars were all he’d ever known. That’s what he did day and night.

         Jerry, on the other hand, was an accountant. That had always been the safest career path that he could think of. His mom did it. His grandfather and grandmother did it. Why shouldn’t he? Still, he often thought about what else he could have done in life. He never met his father, but when his mother told him that his dad was 6’5” and 300 lbs., Jerry had a hunch that he might have been an athletic guy at the very least. Jerry came out to a respectable 6’2” and 250 lbs, whatever respectable meant. In his family, respectable meant choosing a good, stable job and showing up to work each day. Didn’t matter what you looked like or where you came from. Do what you have to do, and do what you want on your own time. Worked for everyone else, why would it work for him?

         That’s what was bothering him so much. Jerry had begun to feel a great sense of dissatisfaction with his life. Nearing 40, he’d been assured by his therapist that this was a reasonable thought to have at his age, and he need not dwell on the fact too much. Perhaps he could pick up a hobby, find something to distract him from the cares of everyday life. He pulled his car into the driveway of his childhood home. He was still living with his mother at his age, but that was because he was still single, he reasoned. His paternal grandfather and grandmother were with them too. He greeted them all as per the usual, took a glass out of the cabinet by the fridge and poured himself a small bit of whiskey. Somehow the topic in his head made it out of his mouth, probably aided by the whiskey. He hadn't intended to for it to happen, but this led his grandfather, always the skeptic, to tell him that he could have gotten the therapists' advice from him for free.

         “I don’t know why you’re spending $150 of your hard earned money to tell some other guy your problems, only for him to give you advice that I’ve been giving you for years, Jerry.”
         “It helps, Pop.” Said Jerry. “I don’t know why, but it helps to talk to someone.”
         “That’s why I’ve been trying to get you married all this time,” his mother chimed in. “You’re almost 40 and not once have you been on a date with a nice girl.”
         “With his size and looks it should have been easy!” said Pop. Pop was always a little jealous. The man never broke 5’8” and had a scar on his face from Vietnam. Jerry wished he wasn’t so hard on himself. His grandfather was a brave man who, in Jerry’s mind, did something he would have never been able to do himself.
         “Looks and height have little to do with it past the first date, Pop. Trust me. The ladies want a guy who can carry a conversation too. I’ve never been good in that area.”
         “Nonsense.” Nana found her way into the conversation while sitting in her chair in the living room, reading a magazine with a small glass of bourbon on the coffee table to her right. She didn’t bother to look up at anyone while talking, but she had the kind of presence which made it clear she was always listening. “You and I talk about everything all the time. Just pretend the ladies are like me.”
Jerry didn’t find that too helpful. He knew what she meant by it, but his head filled with images of gray hair, sagging breasts, and being offered milk and cookies. Actually, that last part wasn’t so bad. But no, that didn’t help.
         “I appreciate you guys trying to help,” he said. “I’ll be fine. For now, I’m gonna meet up with Mike at the bar tonight. He wanted to ask about the Sable.”
         “Well, that’s a relief,” said his mother. “Going to spend your time with another chronically single guy with one true love in his life; cars.” She said this while taking the glass of bourbon from the coffee table. Nana didn’t seem like she was done with it, but it hadn’t moved for a good ten minutes, which meant it was fair game for the sink. Nana didn’t blink an eye.