The Garage

           The icy wind collides with the warm skin of my 12-year-old face as I open the side door of our house. It’s a very cold winter day here in Marion. After closing the door, making sure it’s latched, I turn and direct my steps toward the garage, a wooden building with white paint chipping off the siding, that has been here as long as the old house itself. There are two halves to this garage: the half to the right holds the lawn mower, gardening equipment, and old Craftsman tools; to the left, a newly renovated room, with walls painted red and a stained concrete floor, made to be a multi-purpose room. Its purpose today: band rehearsal. I head through the smaller door to the left, and shut it quickly once I’m inside, making sure I keep the cold out. I walk to the far corner of the room and plug in a small portable heater, turning it to its highest setting. In only an hour, a brand new band, formed by several of my friends, will begin its first rehearsal. I have been looking forward to it all week, and I have no doubt that we will be a huge success.

            It has been slightly over two years since the failed attempt of forming a successful band, and the only conversation about the subject is about how crazy we were. Since then, the garage has been transformed from a “band studio” to a cool place for my friends, Cole and Tanner, and I to hang out. The summer heat is beating down on Cole and me as we make our way to the garage from a trip to our local dollar store, Family Dollar, where we have just discovered a new beverage that we just had to try: a Mexican Coca Cola. We run into the garage and shut the door quickly, trying to keep the cool air in, and the hot air out. I walk to the far corner of the room to the air conditioner window unit, pressing the arrow pointed down, dropping the air temperature to 66°. Reaching into the cabinet, I pull out a bottle opener, which I borrowed from the kitchen. I took the glass bottle in my hand, feeling the cool condensation on the smooth surface. As I opened the bottle, the crack and fizzzzz made our mouths water, longing to taste the refreshing beverage. We take a sip. At the same time, we both look at each other, wide-eyed and excited about, and know that we are thinking the same thing: “This is the greatest soda I’ve ever had!” 

            “These are incredible!” Cole exclaims, after taking another sip.

            “I would be up for one of these every day of the summer!” I respond.

            To that, he replies, “That sounds like a plan to me!”

            Cole, Tanner, and I walk in the garage and take a seat in lawn chairs set up to form a circle in the middle of the room. We look up at the shelf full of glass Coca Cola bottles, all of which had once been filled with delicious Mexican soda, all of which we drank.

            “There has to be at least a hundred bottles on that shelf!” Tanner says in awe.

            “Well in just a minute, there will be one hundred and three!” I reply. Today, not only do we have ice cold, refreshing Mexican Coca Colas, but we also have a side of Pixie Stix to accompany the soda. About twenty Pixie Stix later, we are all wired and high on sugar. As the conversation continues, I make a comment that Cole, for some reason, finds hilarious. So, laughing hysterically, he picks up the lawn chair next to him, and tosses it. After hanging in the air for what seems like an eternity, it collides with the wall, creating a decently sized hole in the sheetrock.

            “Cole! What the heck did you just do?”

            “I didn’t think it’d put a hole in the wall!” He argues. But the mood was too light for me to get too angry, and we had all had too many Pixie Stix, so we just continued to laugh.

            “Happy birthday, Wyly! You’re finally 15!” Tanner says, jokingly, as he walks through the door of the garage.

            “Thank ya, Tanner! Come on in! We’ve got some orange Crush in here if ya want some!”

            Tanner shuts the garage door, and takes a seat in the lawn chair.

            “Hey, Pip! How’s it going?” He says to our friend, Philip, whom he sits next to. He then looks across the circle saying, “It’s good to see you again, Natalie!”

            “Same to you, Tanner!” replies my girlfriend. It has been four months today that she and I have been together, and she has gotten to know my friends very well, and vice versa, which gladdens me.

            We continue to converse, and as we do, I take a second to look around at all my friends, Cole, Tanner, Pip, Natalie, Hailey, and Gabe, all having a good a good time listening to music and hanging out with each other in this garage. Even though it might not seem like much of a building, I realize now how much it means to me. The countless memories I have with my friends in this place are priceless, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. To put it simply: I love this place.

           

            My sister and I race each other out the side door, running toward the old run down garage.

            “I beat you!” I exclaim, like the 10 year old I am. I open the door, and we both walk in. My mother is up on a step-ladder, painting the higher parts of the wall, while my dad is on the floor nailing on the finishing piece of trim.

            “We’re not quite finished yet, kids. You’ll have to wait a few more days.” Dad says.

            “Awwwwww,” My sister and I say simultaneously. “Okay”

            “So what do y’all want to do with this room when it is finished?” Mom asks me.

            “I don’t know,” I say. “But I know I’m going to love this place!”