A Vignette from the Roadhouse: A formative Experience for The Dobe
Story by ValerieElysee on SoFurry
A formative experience for The Dobe, leader of a group of queer bikers who hang out at a local roadhouse.
A Vignette from the Roadhouse
It was an age ago. Back when there were clubs everywhere in the territory.
The Dobe was looking at the craggy profile of an old wolf, kneeling by the side of Her tiny Dirtbike.
"Flathead" he said.
The dobe passed it to him.
"3/8" wrench."
The Dobe passed it to him.
The wolf grunted, and twisted the wrench, tightening a bolt in place.
"Needle nose pliers."
The Dobe passed it to him, the old wolf pinched a spring clip open, and moved it into place around a hose. finishing repairs.
"Now if you don't mind, I'm gon' hand you these tools and put them 'zactly wheres y'found em in my kit, y'understand?"
"Ye...yes Sir." She said, as the custom of the time dictated.
One by one, he passed her the tools, taking her time, carefully finding their home and replacing them just so in reverse order.
Needle nose pliers, 3/8" wrench... Flathead....
When she reached her hand back and instead of dropping it, the old canine pressed the tool into her open upturned handpaw, he spoke again as his weathered hand wrapped around hers.
"Hey. young'n."
She looked at him, for a moment, uneasy.
"Before you takin' off again' I want you to understand sumthin-"
Her ears laid back, and she put a bit of tension on the handhold, but his grip remained as hard as iron around her paw, the head of the screwdriver jutting out between their palms
"Y'see this? This is what fixed your bike. You get older, and you're gonna realize it's worth more than gold..."
"th..the flathead?" She asked, warily.
The old wolf guffawed, a deep belly laugh, slapping his thigh with his off hand, as he sat coss-legged on the ground. "No no no, kid! Reachin' out, and having someone reach back. That's what fixed yer lil scooter here. Wherever you go from here, I want you t'remember that. It only gets more precious the longer you live." he released his grasp, and the dobe looked down for a moment. and turned and put the flathead in the toolbox. and closed it, flipping the latches shut. The old wolf grunted and heaved himself up onto his feet, placing his hands on his lower back and leaning backward with a series of pops and cracks, and muffled gutteral noises.
"Now go on, don't let me catch you breaking down around here again, y'hear?"
"Y..Yessir. Thank you, sir!"
She mounted the little two-stroke and kicked it over a couple times before it's ratty little engine turned over, letting out it's metalic harsh clattering exhaust as she wrapped the throttle a couple times. The old wolf picked up his toolbox and started walking back towards the entrance to the building across the street, and she saw the patches on the back of his cutoff vest.
Things would change in the years afterwards.
But she remembered.