Be Yourself

“You have got to be kidding me.” The man snarls, but then pulls out his wallet. “What does a woman know of an engine anyways? Where’s Steven? I want a second opinion here, Missy.”

“Steven has taken the day off, sir. He’ll be back tomorrow.” Amalie shoots the man a glaring grin. “But trust me, my analysis is accurate. I know what I’m doing, and I know what’s wrong with your car.”

“Know what you are doing...” The man mumbles as he stomps out of the room. A woman knows what is wrong with my car! What nonsense!

She takes a deep breath, allowing her face to relax for a moment, before freely smiling again. Oh, men! Don't think a woman can actually, yes, do some things that they do.

She actually had nothing against men telling her that she shouldn't be a mechanic. Not everybody understood her passion. And so, she never cared when people tried to break her down. Her daddy said she could be one if she wanted to be...And she did.

She walks into the office, smiling as her eyes fall on Anthony. His head is rested on his arms, as he sleeps peacefully. Poor fellow...So much responsibility that he feels he should be taking on now.

She couldn't believe that it has been a week since Mr. Brown collapsed. It felt just like yesterday. Quite frankly, it felt like a bad dream. It felt as if he would walk in anytime now, and she would just make him his coffee. They would sit and chat for a bit, and she would tell him...Everything.

"Hey! Why didn't you wake me?" Anthony asks as he enters the workshop, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Oh, I thought you must be tired. Besides, I made you coffee. If the smell of that coffee wouldn't wake you up, I don't know what would've." She replies, her head still under the hood.

Anthony chuckles and takes a sip. Man...She's a blessing! I would have never considered a girl to be a good mechanic...But, more than that, Amalie still has a gentle soul and an optimistic personality. She just doesn't allow life to beat her down, and her job to roughen her up.

"There we go!" She emerges, her hair statically hanging in the air around her. He chuckles again. "What?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Smiling, he follows her as she goes to wash up. She quickly fixes her hair, and he frowns as he notices this.

Something has been off with Amalie. He has just come to realize it. She's still smiling and everything, yes...But she's just not her usual self. She's been keeping her hair in mint condition lately. Her eyes have been smiling less the past few days, even though her mouth hasn't. She hasn't been chirping as much; well, talking, singing, and laughing.

"So, how's Mr. Brown doing?" She asks, drying her hands on the stained towel again. She faces him, her eyes clouded with worry.

"The same...Still haven't woken up from the coma." Anthony frowns into his cup, and then glances up at her. "Amalie, what's wrong with you?" She swings around and stares at him, open-mouthed.

"What are you talking about?" He places the cup down and folds his arms.

"Everything. You haven't been your usual self the past...three days. You don't laugh as much, talk as much, sing as much...And you are continually fixing your hair. It drives me crazy." Self-consciously, she glides her hand down her ponytail.

"Is there something wrong with fixing my hair?" He sighs and comes to stand in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"No...There isn't...But it's annoying. You never cared about your hair before. And I liked that. A girl who was happy with who she is and how she looked. She realized what the job called for, and she didn't care if she couldn't titivate herself. So, what's going on?" She sighs, and steps out from under his hands. "Amalie?"

"Can we talk about this over some coffee?"

Anthony sits down on the edge of the desk, allowing Amalie to have the chair. She drops into the chair, which results in some coffee spilling over onto her overalls.

"Okay, let's hear it..."

"Well...Do you know my story, Anthony?" She asks softly. He shakes his head 'no', and she continues, "My parents were people of two different opinions. Mom was a dainty lady who fell in love with a mechanic. My dad. They tried for years to have kids. I was the only one they ever had. Dad raised me as a son and daughter. He taught me how to dance, but also how to fix a car. He encouraged me to be gentle, but to live with passion. He encouraged me to run as if nobody is around, but to have grace when the situation required it." She takes a sip.

"Mom was different. She believed that I should be a lady, and only a lady. She and Dad had many arguments about the matter...She then filed for a divorce and sole custody. She got her divorce...but Dad got the custody. I will never forget Mom's fury...Her words...She cut herself off, and I never heard from her again..."

"Go on..." He encourages her softly. She suddenly looks up at him and smiles wearily.

"Dad died last year...It was very hard on me...But, I went on...And then, Mom called me three days ago...She wants to meet up with me..."

"But, that's wonderful news! Why are you sad about it?" He asks, placing his cup on the table and reaching for her hand.

"Because I told Mom what I had done with my life, and she was silent on the other side..." She gives him her hand and he squeezes it. "She said she wanted to come visit me...She didn't say when...And I want her to be proud of me!" A tear trickles down her cheek. "Even if I'm something that she never wanted me to be!"

"Oh, Amalie..." Still holding her hand, he drops down to his knees next to the chair. "Look at me, girl." She slowly turns her head, and her sad eyes gaze into his sympathetic ones. "You are worth being proud of! Your father has raised you well, and there are millions of parents out there who would be proud to call you their daughter. But...they don't have that right. Only your Mom has. And I'm sure that when she comes here, she will be very proud of you. Especially," he reaches out his free hand and pats her hair, "if you are yourself. Don't fix yourself, be yourself." He winks, drops her hand, and rises to his full height. "There we go. One messy-haired, stained-hands, blossoming girl. A lady in heart and a treasure for her employer." She giggles.

"Who, you or Mr. Brown?" She quickly wipes the tears away with the back of her hand as she stands up.

"Well...I'm just taking care of things until Gramps comes back. But, you're still a treasure for me as well! As long as," and he jokingly glares at her, "you are yourself! No one else! And don't you dare fix your hair now. Or you, Miss Du Bois, will be without a job."

"Anthony!"