Blown engines and cockroaches

When I was 16 years old I received my first car, a Ford Escort, from my Aunt Brenda or Uncle Morris. The details escapes me right now, and it is not really what I am writing about. Anyway, having a job and being the first driver among my friends meant I racked up the miles on this vehicle. What I didn't do was take care of it. When the engine got louder, I turned up the radio. When my Dad said I needed to change the oil, I did what 16 year olds do, and ignored him.

This came to an abrupt stop when a rod, having ceased from overheating and no oil, smashed a hole in the side of the engine block. This was both the expensive and stupid. It could have been easily avoided, but I would have missed out on one of the greatest memories of my grandfather.

He was a dry humored man, didn't talk much, but had an intellect and wit that if you were lucky you would catch. Seeing it was like catching the glimpse of mast of a ship in a storm. It was there and gone, leaving you wondering what had just happened.

He was also a talented mechanic. So, as a result of my poor decision making, he agreed to come out and help me replace the engine. It would be a several day process where we got to do a project together. I would learn from and about him and, while I didn't know I would catch a glimpse of the man lurking underneath.

He shared my love of coffee. So, we work and sip everyday when I got home from school and he was available. One day, a few days in, I thought it would be fun to give him a cup we had picked up on vacation with a cockroach in the bottom, proclaiming itself "For my best friend.".

I worked and waited. I knew with each swallow it would be the one to reveal the ceramic bug and I would see this unflappable man twitch, if just fir a second. Nothing. We continued working. Still nothing. I filled his cup thinking his eyesight must be going.

I was dying with anticipation, knowing we would share that laugh, but he never acknowledged that there was anything wrong with his cup. I was in a word, mystified. How could he miss it. The bug was huge.

He left when our work for the day was done. His cup empty and his silence kept.

A few days later, when it was time for us to work again, I asked if he would like some coffee. From underneath the car, I heard, "Yes, but I don't want the cup with the bug in it.". I remember time getting very slow in that moment. Had he really just said that? What does that mean? Had he known I was waiting for his reaction? I can imagine the smirk the must have graced his features as this simple matter of fact statement established who had gotten who.

Then the moment was gone and I went in the house to get his coffee. No bug cup.