Gary

My mechanic, Gary, died.

He worked at a place that him and his brother owned and it was down the street from the first house I lived in and close to my dad's second house. My dad's been taking his cars there at least as long as I've been alive. My dad just stopped by for gas and ended up talking to his brother about him for an hour.

He was always really nice and easy going. My sister and I had beat up old cars so we were there a lot. He'd let us just pick the cars up when we needed them and my dad would be back to pay him later. They were a do-able walk from the house, or sometimes they'd drive over and pick us up and then we'd drive them back when we needed to pick up a car.

I don't really think I'm doing him justice here yet. This sounds corny nostalgic but Gary was half of the best small but great business that makes you feel like family that I've known. My dad didn't even know he had cancer until three weeks ago, he'd just kept working. I feel really bad for his brother, too. I guess normally you'd go back to work to forget about stuff or try to carry on with your life or whatever but they shared the place.

I think my car that I totalled in 2004 is still behind the shop. Maybe part of why this is more upsetting than one would think is because it was my first car and he was my first mechanic. I was an adult and I could drive and he was the man who was going to help me along with that, my trusty friend who would take care of my baby.

I don't know exactly. It was always good to see him, even if I haven't had a real reason to for the past four years. Gary was really nice and I miss him.