
Changin’ a Tire by Hayley Shucker
Mama rouses me in bed before the sun is awake. She has on her yellow knit sweater, her favorite yellow silk scarf, and tight jeans. Her finger presses against her smiling ruby lips. “Don’t wake your father,” she whispers.
I stay in my unicorn footie jammies with the rainbow mane. That’s a horse’s hair. I grab Lulu, my stuffed rabbit with the missing eye, and roll out of bed, sleep wanting to overcome me.
Mama carries me downstairs where my big sister Katie leans against the broken banister next to two large suitcases. She wears her tattered black hoodie, ripped jean shorts, and fishnets. Dad calls fishnets sexy. I want a pair. Mama says enjoy being six.
Suddenly, I’m put down. My legs wobble. Katie snags my wrist, tugs me to the front door. I’d really like a bowl of Lucky Charms, but I follow her.
Mama yanks the door open. Squeak.
Katie pushes me outside. Dark. Chilly. “Get in the car, Milli Vanilli.”
I don’t understand why she calls me that.
They haul the old suitcases into the trunk. I hop over cracks in the concrete.
“What about school?” I ask as Mama loads me into my car seat.
“No school today.” She clicks me in. Safe and sound.
I point to our beige house. “What about—”
“Shut up,” Katie says as she climbs into the passenger side.
As we pull out of the driveway, Lulu waves goodbye. No one turns on the radio.
“Wanna play I, Spy?” I poke Katie.
She flinches. “Nothing good to see in this town.” Fifteen means she won’t play games with me anymore. Katie tells me to grow up, and Mama tells me to not grow up.
I don’t know who to listen to.
Last night’s stars play in the sky out way past their bedtime.
“Where are we going?” Lulu dances on my legs.
“Away.” Katie pulls up her black hood.
Ruby lips smile at me in the rearview mirror. “On vacation.” A purple patch on her collarbone peeks out from under her scarf. Mama is so beautiful, but sometimes she gets bruises. Klutz. That’s what Dad calls her. She thinks they make her less beautiful, so she covers them with makeup or scarves. “Go back to sleep, sugar.”
I lean back with Lulu and close my eyes, letting the car rock me to sleep.
A loud pop shakes me awake. The empty road stretches out far ahead of us. We pull into the dirt. Prickly pear cactuses and aloe vera plants grow by clumps of dried grass.
“I’ll need help.” Mama steps out of the car.
Katie obeys, slamming the door behind her.
I unclick myself and follow with Lulu.
The sun isn’t shy anymore. Hot dirt steams through the base of my jammies. I dance around to keep my soles from getting burned.
The back right tire has a flat bottom.
“Shit,” Mama says, hands on her hips. She opens the trunk, and they pull out the suitcases, Dad’s tools, his dirty blue flannel shirt.
Mama sees me dancing. “Millie, you have to pee-pee?”
“My feet are hot.”
Katie throws the dirty flannel on the blistering ground. “Stand on that.”
I do. Much cooler.
Katie heaves out another tire. “Got the spare.”
“Millie, want to help?” Mama asks. I nod. She points to the metal tubes on the flat tire. “Take these off.” She places a long, bent wrench in my hand and shows me how to loosen the tubes. Lug nuts. “Don’t lose any.”
“Daddy usually does this.” Some lug nuts are stiff. I push with my whole body.
“He ain’t here,” Katie says. She places a long metal diamond under the car.
I set down a lug nut by Lulu to watch. Good bunny. “We could call him.”
“No.” Katie snaps a green rubber band around her wrist. She doesn’t like Dad anymore. Maybe because she doesn’t like playing games. Dad invents lots of games.
“We can do this ourselves.” Mama rustles my hair.
When Lulu has all the lug nuts, Katie pumps the stick on the diamond. The car inches off the ground. Mama removes the flat tire. Katie puts on the spare.
I replace the lug nuts. Mama teaches me to tighten them evenly. I’m a big girl.
Katie twists her spine. Little snaps sing out. She touches her toes. The black hoodie rides up. Her belly puffs over her jeans a little. She cries over it some nights.
“Where are we going?”
Mama wipes her greasy hands on Dad’s flannel. “First, we need to stop by the doctor. Katie hasn’t been feeling well.” She lowers the car back to the ground.
I frown at Katie. “Do you want Lulu?” I hold out my bunny.
Katie shakes her head. “Don’t worry about me, kid. I ain’t contagious.” She hugs me. Her touch startles me because it is the first hug in a long time. Months. I squeeze her hard.
“Afterwards, we’ll visit Auntie Sue. Katie will need to rest.” Mama kisses Katie’s forehead.
“Is Daddy meeting us there?”
Katie snaps the green rubber band.
“Your father’s not coming. Girls’ trip.” Mama tosses the flannel in the dirt by the busted tire. She covers the rubber band on Katie’s wrist.
“Girls’ trip!” I do a cartwheel.
A sharp pain in my left palm sends me tumbling. Blood runs down my wrist as tears run down my cheeks. Dusty red stains my white sleeve. Mama rushes over and inspects the damage. She breaks off an aloe vera leaf nearby and slathers warm goo on the cut. My palm looks like strawberry jelly.
Mama removes her scarf, her bruise visible, and tightly wraps up my hand. Kiss. Her thumb cleans my tears. All better.
We pile back in the car, and Katie flips on the radio. “Chiquitita” comes in staticky through the worn-out speakers. She squeezes Mama’s hand as we drive down the empty road, singing along to ABBA.
Hayley Shucker is pursuing her MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence. She’s had a short story published in StoryLine Coastline’s “arts and letters” online magazine, a creative non-fiction essay published in Adanna Literary Journal, and sold a poem to Tree-Free Greeting. She’s a lover of musical theater, cats, and baking.
1 December 2023
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