Chapter 2: A Fateful Encounter

Right after he had registered who had run into him, the mechanic had put down his bag and started to inspect the wound. It looked like a flathead screwdriver jutted out of the bag and he figured that's what got him, since there was a little bit of his blood on the tip. For a couple beats, Dillon glared at the mechanic as he looked at his elbow, not entirely sure what he should do. His brain was in chaos. 'What the fuck is he doin' here? Can't I catch one single break?' He thought. To think that early that morning he felt like something good might happen. He knew he shouldn't have trusted his gut. Dillon lost his patience at that point. 

  "Really, dude? What's so urgent you gotta floor it down the hall at mach speed?" He pulled his arm away from the mechanic. "Yo, do somethin' with that damn screwdriver, too."

  "I uh, I'm really sorry, man. I uhm have to attend to somethin' in the school's body shop. You good, well… aside from that?" He nodded towards his elbow.

  Dillon couldn't compute. This guy's voice was so smooth and it made him not able to think enough to answer his question. He had a very mild southern drawl and man, those eyes! After a second Dillon snapped back to the moment.

  "Uhh... y-yea I'm good. I'll deal with it later. Just slow down and don't have a screwdriver bayonet stickin' outta yer bag next time, yea?" Dillon said shortly. He needed out of this nightmare yesterday. The mechanic looked at him and gestured to him to follow. 

  "Nah, follow me, I got stuff to take care of it. It'll only take a sec, c'mon," The mechanic said over his shoulder as he picked up his tool bag.

  "I-I uh, what? O-ok, I'll uh, catch you's guys tommorow, a'ight?" Dillon shook their hands and turned around to follow the mechanic. 

  Dillon was a nervous wreck. Why did he listen to the mechanic and follow? He would have to keep it short so he didn't miss his bus, but mostly for his own sanity. He felt incredibly awkward with the man he'd undressed with his eyes for days right in front of him. What should he say? Nothing came to mind. His stomach twisted in knots and his heart thumped loudly in his ears. The temperature of his face had creeped up the more he thought about the man in front of him. As they neared the body shop, Dillon mentally steeled himself. He would act natural. Just like he talked to his classmates.

  They finally reached the body shop and Dillon followed the mechanic inside. They passed the classroom area of the shop, and went through the door to the shop area. The auto shops were opened to the public, like the restaurant. People brought in cars for the students to work on for just the cost of materials. Occasionally someone would rent out or borrow one of the work stations, of which there were six. Dillon had only been in one of the shops a couple times, so he begrudgingly admitted that it was cool to see what the body shop looked like. He'd always wanted to try a paint spray gun, ever since he helped his grandfather reface a kitchen last summer. The strong paint fumes that permeated the whole shop smelled awesome. Weirdly, Dillon had always loved the smell of things like that. He was jolted from the maze of thoughts in his head again when the mechanic spoke. 

  "Here ya' go, yer kit equipped to deal with yer basic lethal injuries," the mechanic said and slid a first aid kit to him across a metal work table. It looked like he had taken stock of everything in the cabinets since all the doors were opened.

  "Uh, t-thanks," Dillon stuttered and looked from the case to the blood on his elbow. 

  He unzipped the case and pulled out a large band aid, some alcohol wipes, antibiotic ointment, and gauze. Since Dillon was a type-one diabetic, he had to clean wounds well to prevent infections. Diabetics had slightly weaker immune systems and healed slower, so the earlier it was cleaned up the better. The alcohol burned like hell, but it cleaned up the blood well. After he put a thin layer of antibiotic ointment, he placed the bandage on. 

  "No worries, it ain't mine anyway. You got a name, kid?" He asked casually. "I'm Tony. Tony Gerace. What class you take here?"

  "D-Dillon Vera. Nice to meet you," he replied as they shook hands. "I'm in the culinary arts program a ways down the hall." 

  "Nice handshake, man. You got a firm grip. Tells one a lot about a guy. So you work in the restaurant?"

  "Yea, and in the bakery too sometimes. It's pretty cool, anything culinary is kinda my passion. S-so why are you here? You takin' classes here, too?" Dillon asked, brow furrowed.

  "Oh nah, nah I'm just rentin' one of these here stations to fix my Harley. There's no room for 'er at the shop I work at. This school has some pretty damn fine equipment, huh?"

  "Haha, you think this is fine, check out the kitchens. We got a giant walk-in rotating oven, and the whole wing is like a five-star restaurant's kitchen. They really do go all out," Dillon said as he looked around the shop.

  "Sorry to interrupt, but it's been botherin' me. Do I know you from somewhere? I'm pretty sure I do."

  "Uhh... I kinda feel the same. You said you work at a body shop? Where at?" Dillon asked as he crossed his arms and leaned on the metal table.

  Of course, Dillon knew where Tony worked. He just didn't want to admit it. Then Tony might think he was a stalker. Dillon did pass by the shop everyday after all, and he knew of Tony's existence much more than he did of Dillon's. Even worse was the realization that since the ice was broken now, he may have to talk to Tony again at some point. 

  "The one on Main Str- That's it! You're that kid I almost hit turnin' in one day!" A smile lit up Tony's face. "Yea, that was the Cadillac job! So you live close by, huh? I see you walkin' to yer bus stop sometimes." 

  "Y-yea, over on Chestnut Street. Y-You just work in the area?" Dillon fumbled out. The smile that Tony just flashed had made his brain short circuit. 

  "Oh damn, yer pretty close! Nah I'm local, too. I moved to Arch Street a year or so ago from Pittsburgh. It ain't bad here. Good business," he explained. 

  Something clicked in Dillon's brain when he heard 'Pittsburgh'. Tony did not just say Pittsburgh. He forgot about the awkwardness of that conversation instantly, because this bastard did not just say Pittsburgh. Why is he here? 'Oh, hell no.' He thought. Out of nowhere, the Eagles fan in him took the wheel, and he was in the presence of a sworn enemy. 

  "Pittsburgh? Damn it, are you a Steelers fan?" Dillon snarled. He loved his football. 

  "Ahahahah! Got a ride or die here, I see! Naw the Steelers are trash. Just like yer Eagles. I rep the Titans, bitch!" 

  "TENNESSEE?! Ohhh a travesty! They have no defense! No defense, no team! You're on the Eagles' holy grounds! Get thee behind me, satan!" Dillon ranted and crossed his fingers and took a step back in mock horror.

  "Hehehehe HAHAHAHAAAHAHA! You got some fire, Dillon! Yer interesting, kid! I like you!" Tony smiled brightly. 

  Dillon wasn't sure where his whole performance came from. Was he that much of a sports fanatic that it actually possessed him? Dillon cracked a smile when he saw Tony's. He'd count his obsession with sports as a plus. After all that, he felt himself loosen up and relax a bit around Tony. He was really easy to talk to, and seemed like a really cool guy. Just then, Dillon looked down and saw his Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt, and smiled.

  "Yo, I'm an Avenged Sevenfold fan, too! 'Flash of the Blades' is my favourite! You hear the latest album? I wish I could go to a concert! The live performances I've seen on YouTube look dope as hell!" Dillon rambled on excitedly. 

  "You too? Yea, they're pretty sweet, I went to a concert in 2008 with a couple people. They go wild! Their merch is bomb too. Hella comfy," Tony said with a smug expression as he picked up his spray gun. "Yo, follow me."

  Dillon gave him a quizzical glance, and followed behind as they walked up to what looked like a giant glass box. An oven, maybe? They walked up the ramp that the cars would use to access it, and Tony grabbed a couple disposable face masks from a dispenser next to the door. Tony inserted his visitor pass into the card slot, and the door buzzed then opened with a click.

  It was just large enough for one car. Dillon saw up close what the whole thing looked like. It was definitely an oven of some sort, since there were some kind of special elements(lights?) that lined the floor and the ceiling, and ran up and down the walls. The floor was some kind of chain link metal grate. It looked like there were drains at certain intervals under the grate. Maybe to clean up paint overspray and spills? It looked and smelled as if there had been paint in the room recently. 

  Around the room, there were several panels that appeared to belong to a motorcycle on tarp covered metal tables. They were all a matte grey-white colour and very smooth. As Tony put down his spray gun and moved one of the tables over to give them more room, Dillon saw his hands and arms had the same grey-white paint flecked on them. Tony must have just recently sprayed them. He was sort of bummed he didn't get to watch him do it. Regardless, he was happy he saw the school's body shop, and got to see their futuristic giant glass paint oven thing.

  "You're wonderin' what this room is. It's nothin' fancy, even if it might look it. It's just a UV paint curing oven. Some paints will only harden and cure properly when exposed to high enough levels of UV light," Tony explained as he disassembled his spray gun and wiped the paint off each component. When he was done he put the parts in a bucket of lacquer thinner to soak. Dillon looked around at all the panels, then looked over to Tony. 

  "So these are yers? That's pretty cool. Does your job have an oven like this?"

  "We have a makeshift one with a UV lighting system we put together ourselves. It does the job nicely, but when we have a special project that we absolutely can't fuck up, we bring it here," Tony said as he motioned to the floor. "And yes, these are the panels to my '93 Harley Ironhead Sportster. Her name's Harley. She got a bit scuffed up when I backed up into a damn Honda. That's ok, though. I've been itchin' for a reason to do a redesign."

  "Oh so yer refinishin'! What colour did you choose?" Dillon grinned.

  "Actually, I'm planning to do some custom art on 'er. I know the background color will be metallic ocean blue. Tony looked at him and gave him a sheepish grin. "That's kinda why I ran into you in the hall. I needed to get to my spray gun to clean it before the firin' pin got all jammed up with old primer.

  You know what yer talkin' about. It's good you got a gig you enjoy like I do. If only you had the sense to not have sharp metal objects protruding from yer bag!"

  "Hey, I said I was sorry! Don't be a bitch about it, hahaha, I gave you medical attention, didn't I?!"

  "By medical attention you mean me cleanin' and bandagin' myself, right? Heheh." Dillon smirked.

  "I'll rephrase; I air-dropped unto you life-savin' aid! Be grateful, brat!"

  "Life-saving aid? Where has your screwdriver been?! Do I have some disease of the blood I should be concerned about now? And you did not just call me 'brat'! How old are you even, brat?" Dillon laughed.

  "There might be a speck or two of tetanus, but that's it. It's rude to talk about someone's age! I'm twenty as of a couple weeks ago. I assume your age is 'twerp'?"

  "I'm sixteen, hoe! Fuck outta here with yo 'brat' shit when you's a brat yerself!" he rebutted.

  "I am a grown ass adult that graduated highschool!"

  "Dont get cocky! Haha, you still got another year 'till you can even legally drink!"

  "Why does that matter when I can illegally drink? I'm close enough to twenty-one," Tony grumbled.

  The more and more they talked, the more and more comfortable Dillon found himself around him. His stomach would still twist when Tony flashed him smiles, and that was triggered any time he looked at the muscles in his arms and his ass. His hair and those stunning eyes didn't help, either. However, Dillon really liked Tony as a person. Surely he could control that enough so that they could be friends? They had excellent back and forth, combined with a good number of things in common. It made for natural, enjoyable conversation. Dillon would force that into submission for the sake of a shiny new friendship. Without a doubt, he could use more of those.