Primer Bulb

The weed whacker wouldn’t start.

Jerry swore under his breath and dropped to his knees. He checked the fuel tank. Full.

Jerry pushed back his ballcap and scratched his head. He was not a handy man, he knew it. The weed whacker had worked just fine last time he pulled it out. Maybe three weeks ago? He had gotten lazy with the yard work recently.

Jerry found the primer bulb and pushed it a few times. Then he got hold of the starter cord and yanked. The weed whacker gurgled but didn’t turn over.

Had he just made it worse? Jerry wondered. He remembered hearing about how you should only push the primer bulb after putting in new gas. Something about flooding the engine.

He knew what his son would say. Just Google it, Dad. Watch a YouTube tutorial.

Jerry’s son was a great kid. Jerry wished he saw more of him.

He turned his attention back to the weed whacker. He checked the oil. Full.

What else is there? Jerry thought. He thought of his own father. He would have known what to do, Jerry knew.

Jerry’s mind drifted to his father’s auto-body shop. His father wiping oil onto his faded coveralls and lugging around a tire iron. His father offering him a job at the shop as a high-schooler.

Jerry hadn’t wanted to lay under cars and strain at wrenches. He had found work at the Tastee Freeze instead. He doled out cheeseburgers and fries and brought home milkshakes at the end of his shift. He never even learned how to change his own oil.

Jerry hated himself for that. He hated himself for a number of things.

Jerry thought of his father again. He was a slight man, with a hunch in his shoulders. Like he was carrying around some invisible weight. But he sure knew cars.

Jerry remembered one time he had seen an 18-wheeler sputter in to his father’s shop. Staggered in off the superway with smoke clouds billowing behind it. His father had fixed it up in under two hours and sent it on its way.

He had never loved his father more than in that moment.

The weed whacker was there in front of Jerry. Looming. He felt an urge to pick it up and dash it against the ground. Bash it into pieces so small they couldn’t be seen.

He wanted to leave no trace of his own impotence.

Just then, Jerry heard a car engine shut off and footsteps approaching. He looked up. His son was coming down the driveway.

Jerry stood up quickly. He felt a wild desire to throw himself between his son and the weed whacker, hide it from view. Instead he put out his hand.

“Hello, son. What a nice surprise. Wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

Jerry’s son smiled. “I was in the neighborhood, figured I’d see what the old man was up to.”

Jerry’s son had taken a new job in the city a couple months back. Senior manager of southeast enterprise accounts. Jerry never remembered exactly what that meant, but it didn’t matter.

His heart was a primer bulb flooding him with pride and love for his son.

“Whatcha working on?” Jerry’s son asked.

“Oh, nothing,” said Jerry. He didn’t want to talk about the weed whacker. He tried to change the subject. “Did you have a busy week?”

Jerry’s son glanced at the weed whacker. “That thing giving you trouble?”

Jerry could feel his face flushing. “Well, no, I mean, a bit. It was working great last time.” He felt he was shrinking down to cricket size. He thought of the futile scurry of insects as the inexorable weed whacker whir-string bore down on them. He was helpless before it.

Jerry’s son grinned. “I hate weed whackers. So temperamental. I finally gave up on yard work and hired a guy to do it. Grace craps on me about it, but I say, hey, that’s why I make money, to pay people to do the things I don’t want to do.”

He pulled out his iPhone. “Let’s see if we can figure this out, though. You know what they say about blind squirrels, huh?” He started typing into his phone.

In that moment Jerry knew there was some strange magic that existed in the spaces beyond him. Somewhere in his son’s phone and in his own father’s faded coveralls. He understood the barren fact that the magic had skipped a generation with him.

He hated himself for that too.

Jerry’s son looked up from his phone. “Ok, the gas and oil are good, right?”

“Yes,” said Jerry.

“Good,” said his son. “Next thing to try seems to be the spark plug. Let’s see where it should be.” He consulted the phone, found the spark plug, and removed it.

“Yep, pretty filthy,” Jerry’s son said. “You got a wire brush?”

“Um, I think so,” Jerry said. He walked over to the shed and grabbed a brush. He handed it to his son. He felt like a magician’s assistant. He knew he would never be able to comprehend how the rabbit appeared out of the hat.

“Perfect,” Jerry’s son said. He scrubbed the spark plug vigorously.

“That should do it,” Jerry’s son said. “Cross your fingers.” He inserted the spark plug back into the weed whacker and handed it to Jerry. “You do the honors.”

Jerry yanked the starter cord. The weed whacker roared to life, then settled into a steady hum.

Jerry’s son pumped his fist. “Great!” He held out his hand to Jerry for a high-five.

Jerry took the high-five and chuckled. “Son, you never cease to amaze me.”

Just then Jerry’s son’s phone rang. He said, “Hey babe. What’s up?” He said, “Right now? Wow.” He said, “Ok, be there in 30. Just leaving my dad’s place now.” He hung up.

He said, “Dad, I gotta run. Sorry. Grace had an interview come up out of the blue, so I need to watch the kid. She says hi, by the way.”

Jerry shook his head. “Hey, you’re a busy man,” he said. “It was sure great seeing you. Come back anytime.”

His son took a couple steps toward his car, then stopped. He looked at Jerry and cleared his throat.

“Dad?” he said. “I’m not sure if you knew this, but I’ve been seeing a counselor recently. No need to worry,” he added quickly as Jerry started to speak. “It’s like a tune-up for your mental.”

He shifted his weight. “Anyway, one thing my counselor has me working on is expressing emotions. She says it’s healthy to release them.”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m not great at this yet. What I’m trying to say is that after things happened with Mom, I know how much you blamed yourself.”

Jerry felt his own shoulders hunch. He thought of his teenaged self in that gaudy Tastee Freeze uniform handing out burgers and fries. He wondered if he had ever really taken that uniform off.

His son coughed. “But nobody’s perfect, right? Not Grandpa, not you, certainly not me. God knows that. But we try. And we work hard. What else can you do?”

He looked at the ground. “I’ll stop rambling now,” he said. “Just, everyone I know thinks you’re a good man, Dad. I hope you think that too.”

He took a step towards Jerry and started to raise his arms in an embrace. Then he awkwardly brought his left hand down and extended his right hand out to his father.

Jerry took his son’s hand and shook. Neither of them said a word. His son got back in his car and backed out of the driveway.

The weed whacker had been running the whole time. Jerry picked it up and got to work on his yard.