Cosmetically Yours

Rumble loved his car. I don’t know why. It was a banged up beater. A Dodge Dart well past the age of darting anywhere. Still, he washed it, petted it, polished it and praised it. Most days — since my car was really Gram’s car — Rumble drove me to college. He sometimes took my friends Carla and Susan as well. He provided me with a key to the trunk of his car so I could switch out books between classes, but he refused to supply me with a key to the door. He said he didn’t trust me — bad mistake. By not trusting me, he gave me permission to be untrustworthy. I mean, it wasn’t like I was going to disappoint him, right? Gaining access to Rumble’s car wasn’t all that hard. He was taking a mechanics course and I just went into the auto shop and lifted his keys from his workbench while he was under someone’s chassis.

Maybelline used to make — may still make for all I know — eyeshadow in a tube that went on like liquid, but dried to a powder. My friends and I always carried a half-dozen tubes of the stuff at any given time. I didn’t care for them much on my eyes, but they were wonderful for writing on mirrors — or car windows.

Carla, Susan and I often used the eyeshadow to write notes on Rumble’s car window, like: pick me up at the library, or don’t wait I have another ride home. Rumble was used to seeing them, and knew they wiped right off. On this particular day I used them all and decorated every window. However, this time I decorated them on the inside, and I drew hearts and flowers, advertised his nickname, and wrote notes in baby-talk. The work was slow and meticulous because I had to write everything backward, so it would show correctly through the window. When my masterpiece was complete, I moved his car and parked it square in front of the auto shop so all his friends could see it. Then I walked up the embankment and sat down behind some bushes to wait.

At lunch time the auto shop emptied. A few of Rumble’s classmates found the car first. They walked around it reading and laughing, then using his nickname, they called him out in baby talk. “Oh Rumblie, ud woo come here, pwease?” They were laughing hysterically, but fell quiet and backed away as he approached the car, his face darker than a thunder cloud.

Rumble jerked out his pocket handkerchief and took a swipe at the window. His baby name mocked him. Painted in lavendar and surrounded by little pink hearts, it remained. He took another swipe. No change. Not even a smudge. A few of his friends snickered. Someone taunted, “Whudssa matta, Rumblie?” He let out a snarl and scrubbed frantically. The writing stayed.

He thumped his fist against the top of the car and stomped back into the auto bay. Someone called, “Hey, Rumblie, doan go ‘way mad! Come back!”

Rumble stomped back out to his car, ignoring the continuing taunts. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in the car windows. I knew he wasn’t going to find his keys, they were in my pocket. I had forgotten to return them.

Rumble walked slowly around his car, then he stopped and turned his gaze to the people around him. “Did anyone see who did this?” He rumbled. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was definite menace in the words. With hasty, “no’s” his audience dispersed. Rumble stood in the parkinglot, his eyes scanning the vicinity and suddenly I realized he was looking for a suspect. I scooted hastily behind a tree. When I finally had the nerve to peek out again Rumble was gone, and if I didn’t hurry, I’d be late for English class.

At the end of the day I approached Rumble’s car just as casually and nonchalantly as I assumed an innocent person would. Rumble was leaning against it waiting for me. He held out his hand and rumbled, “My keys?”

I told him I didn’t have them. It was true. I didn’t. While Rumble was leaning on his car waiting for me I’d slipped into the auto shop and put them back on his work bench. Rumble said, “Somebody took them. It had to be you. ” He pointed at his windows, “I recognize the paint job.”

“Hey!” I said all innocent, “I’m not the only one who uses that stuff!”

His hand was still outstretched. “My keys?”

Pretending impatience, I raised my hands and said, “Search me. I haven’t got them.”

“Where are they?” He asked. Rumble’s voice is deep and low and, when he wants it to be, menacing. Luckily, I knew I was safe from any actual physical violence, so the threat was wasted on me.

“How should I know? They’re not my keys!” I acted all put out, then added graciously. “Do you want me to help you look for them?”

“I already looked.”

“Yeah,” I said, putting my books down on the trunk of the car. “Like you looked for your textbook I found on the foot of your bed right where you left it.”

He turned his gaze back toward the auto bay. “Okay,” he said, and we walked inside.

I returned his keys just a few inches away from where I’d found them. Behind a can of WD-40 instead of in front of it. I hung back and let Rumble find them. When he said, “But I looked here earlier.” I just said, “Right.”

We walked back to the car. I gathered my books from the top of the trunk and stashed them inside. Rumble jerked open the driver’s door and wiped his nickname from the window. He crawled all through the car, cleaning every window. I waited outside. Rumble is a gentleman. He always opened the car door for me, cousin or not, and I knew better then to open it myself, besides, it was still locked. Finally Rumble emerged from the driver’s door and looked across the top of the car at me. “Since you didn’t have the keys, I know who did this.”

“Oh?” I said, my voice may have been a little sharper than I intended.

“Hmm,” Rumble nodded. “Had to be Susan. I gave her my keys this morning because she said she’d lost something in the back seat. I hope she enjoys walking home tonight.”

Oh crap. I’d just gotten one of my friends in trouble. “Maybe she didn’t do it,” I said. “I mean, why would she?”

“You. Susan. Carla. ” Rumble held up a finger as he listed each name, then he went through them again, “Carla is in Cataldo. You say you didn’t do it. Susan had the keys.”

Technically, I never said I didn’t do it. I couldn’t admit that, though. I also couldn’t let Susan take the blame. “But I’m sure Susan didn’t do it!” I snapped.

Rumble smirked at me across the top of the car. “So am I. Now.” Then he dropped into the driver’s seat, shut the door and — just before he drove away — waved at me.