Aravella Celestine Dwayne's Point of View
It almost felt like the whole world was on me. There seemed to be enough stress piled upon me from dealing with the many exams, research deadlines, and countless assignments daily. To top it all off, my mom decreed that I could not skip my piano lesson, claiming it was as important to her as my schoolwork. I sighed, sandwich and energy drink in hand, checking out, already dreading the commute to the Star Building.
I rode the bus, resting my forehead on the cold glass to get a momentary respite from the heat while thinking how I was to survive another long day. Uncompleted tasks cluttered my brain: surveys, interviews, and reports. What made it all worse was that Dania had to work with another group for this project. Her usual energy and jokes had made things seem much more in balance.
When I entered the Star Building, my body felt weighed down by exhaustion. I shuffled toward the elevator, the echoes of my footsteps starkly silent in the deserted hallways. As the doors shut beside me, a figure stood next to me, as worn out as I, with an oddly amusing grin spreading across his face-it was Apollo.
He looked at me and chuckled softly. "So, you're not the only one running late today, huh?
I gave him a weak, tired smile. "Not quite the punctual star student you had envisioned?"
He chuckled, and the sound was like a warm breeze after a hot, long day. He wore a navy jacket, the school emblem stitched into the sleeve, and his bag slung over his shoulder was as heavy as mine felt.
"I thought you'd already be here," Apollo teased, tipping his head slightly.
I sighed dramatically. "Ironically, no. I'm drowning in work-exams, assignments, interviews, and reporting. Life's coming at me from all angles."
Apollo gave me a sympathetic smile. "Sounds rough. You look like you haven't rested at all."
"That obvious?" I asked, pulling my hoodie tighter around me.
"Yeah," he replied, his tone softer now. "Hey, why don't we skip the lesson for today? You seem exhausted."
And thus, speaking of nothing at all, I blinked, caught of guard by the suggestion. "But… won't that mess up the schedule? My mom—"
Apollo waved his hand over my concern. "We can make it up later. What you need right now is food, not another class. How about we grab dinner first? I know a decent spot nearby."
For the first time all day, I giggled, small but real. "You know what? That sounds perfect."
The elevator dinged, and we stepped out into cool night air. Apollo readjusted his bag on his shoulder and looked at me, grinning easily. "There's a ramen place around the corner. Trust me-it'll change your life."
"Ramen? Now you're speaking my language," I said with a teasing grin, following him down the sidewalk.
As we walked along, the weight of the day slowly began to lift off. Apollo kept talking about little things: classes, funny moments with his students, and of course, the recent jazz playlist obsession that I absolutely must hear. For once, my brain wasn't clogged by deadlines and responsibilities.
We found the shop tucked away on a quiet street. It is small, but warm in lighting and filled with the great smell of broth hanging in the air. We sat in a booth and Apollo ordered for us after promising me I'd like the spicy miso.
"So," he said, leaning back in his seat as we waited for our food, "tell me something not related to school. What do you do when you're not buried under assignments?"
I thought for a moment. "Does sleeping count?"
He laughed, and the sound was infectious, making me laugh too. "That's fair. But seriously, there's got to be something else."
"Okay," I said. "I really like to draw.just doodles if I can find the time anymore lately."
"Seriously? That's really great," Apollo said, sounding really interested. "You should show me some of your stuff sometime."
"Maybe," I said, feeling a little self-conscious and pleased at the same time.
Now, finally the food was brought to us: steaming bowls of ramen, complete with all the usual toppings: soft-boiled eggs, slices of pork, loads of noodles. The first sip of that broth was a balm to my weary soul.
"This is amazing," I said between bites.
"Told you," Apollo replied with a wink.
We discussed everything and nothing: favorite books, the strange traits of our teachers, and even the most ridiculous memories of our childhood. All the exhaustion that had been sapping out my energy throughout the day seemed forgotten.
As we finished our meal, Apollo leaned back and looked at me with a pleased smile on his face. "See? Sometimes, all you need is a little break."
I nodded, realizing he was right. "Thanks for this, Apollo," I said. "I really needed it."
"Oh, anytime," he said sincerely. "We're not just piano teacher and student, you know. Friends look out for each other."
That simple statement warmed me more than the ramen ever could.
Now, we walked out of the shop. The night was a lighter affair somehow. I had the feeling that the burdens I was carrying were not as heavy as they seemed to be. Apollo took me to the stop to ensure I boarded the bus in safe weather.
"Take it easy, okay?" he yelled as I boarded it.
"I will," I said with a smile.
As the bus drove away, I leaned back into my seat, hoping to experience something that I hadn't felt for a while: peace.
________
The sun was setting with orange and pink tones over the cracked pavement. Shadows stretched along the ground of this familiar house of broken dreams: rusty signs, oil stains on the driveway, and the faint smell of gasoline which normally hovered in the air. My heart was filled with frustration and worry. I hadn't been back since Ben texted me saying there were problems with my car-the old one my grandfather had given to me. It was more than a car-it was a portion of him, and the very thought of losing that remembrance was unbearable.
That old car was the link when my grandfather passed away last year. It reminded me of the long drive we could take together and the stories he used to tell during those road trips. So I knew I had to get it back no matter what.
As I pushed open the glass door, a bell above it jingled in greeting. Ben came up from under the hood of the car, wiping his grease-blackened hands on a rag. A change from surprise to slight guilt flashed upon his face as he recognized me.
"Ara! Long time no see." He tossed the rag onto a nearby toolbox then grinned at me, though I could tell he was nervous. "Didn't think you'd come back."
I folded my arms, taking a deep breath, and continued. "Yeah, well… I couldn't stay away. I need to know what happened to my car, Ben. You texted me, and I didn't come, but now I'm here. I need the truth."
Ben ruffled his messy hair with his hand and exhaled. "Look, Ara… I didn't want to tell you this over text. Things got complicated."
I narrowed my eyes. "Complicated? How?"
He nodded to the faded, worn sofa in the waiting area. I did not sit down. "Alright," he said with a sigh. "The thing is there was a mix up with the paperwork. I sent your car out to get a special part replaced—a rare one, for a model that old—but the towing company… well, they sent it to the wrong place."
I felt a lump form in my chest and constrict. "What do you mean, wrong place? Where is it now?"
Ben winced. "It ended up in a junkyard two towns over. I just learned last week, and I have been trying to get it back since then."
The air seemed to thicken around me. "A junkyard? Ben, that car is—was—my grandfather's. It is all I have left of him."
"Ah, yes, yes," Ben said swiftly, his voice laced with regret. "I have been working on it, Ara. I swear to God. I'll make this right."
 
I pressed my fingers against my temple, feelings of frustration biting to try to stay inside of me. "Do you even know if it's still there? Or did they already scrap it?"
Ben paused. That little hesitation sent my stomach plummeting. "I dialed this morning. They have not canceled it—yet. But they will in several days if no one claims it."
I swallowed hard, letting the full weight of the situation sink in. Time was running low.
"Look," Ben said, taking a step closer. "I'll help you. We'll go there first thing tomorrow and get your car back. I promise."
I deep in myself for to calm the storm within me. "No. We go now. I couldn't wait until tomorrow, Ben. It's too much a car to me."
He pauses, looks at me and a bit dips down his head as resignation sinks upon it, and said, "Okay. We go now. I'll get my truck."
As Ben walked off into the back to get his keys, my mind started spinning. I wasn't allowing that car to get torn apart-not after everything it represented. I owed that to myself; I owed it to my grandfather to bring it home.
Ben comes back, jingling his keys in his truck. "Ready?"
"Yeah," I replied, steady, although my heart pounded.
We piled into Ben's old truck, the engine roaring as we tore out of the parking lot and onto the highway. The drive seemed interminable, with the headlights slicing through the darkness ahead.
After a few minutes of silence, he turned to me, still focusing on the road ahead, "Tell me more about the car.".
I swivel to the window, replaying the scenes in my head. "It's a '75 Mustang," he explained. "My grandfather and I used to take it out on weekends-the two of us. That's where he taught me how to drive in that car. Every time I sit in it, it's like he's still here with me."
Ben nodded, looking like a patch of warmth just infiltrated into his cold demeanor. "I understand. We'll get it back, Ara. No way are we allowing them to scrap it."
We continued driving for a bit in silence, the road unwinding before us. Finally, we saw the junkyard in the distance, the bright casting of the streetlights under an eerie light on lines of abandoned cars left in one after another, like forgotten memories.
Ben parked the truck near the entrance and we stepped out. A gruff-looking man with a clipboard came over to us raising an eyebrow.
"Looking for something?" he asked, quite apparently not caring.
"Yeah," I said, moving forward. "A 1975 Mustang. It was sent over here by mistake."
The man stroked his chin and flicked through the sheets stuck to his clipboard. "Have a lot of Mustangs in here. What color?"
"Forest green," I responded immediately. "Tan leather seats."
He nodded slowly. "I remember that one. This way, please."
Ben and I exchanged one brief glance, and then followed behind the stranger through this rat-run maze of rusting vehicles. My heart was pounding with each step, anxiety clawing at me. We finally arrived at the back of the yard where my Mustang sat-but thank God-not dented to pieces, but dirty.
"There she is," he said, patting the hood. "Lucky you made it in time. She was on the list for tomorrow."
Relief flooded over me as I ran my hand along the hood. "Thanks," I whispered, more to my grandfather than to anyone else.
Ben clapped me on the back. "Told you we'd get her back."
The man signed a bit of paperwork, and it was done: I owned the car once more. Ben phoned a tow truck; as we waited for it to arrive, I sat behind the wheel, feeling the familiar aroma of old leather envelop me, the scent like hugs from my grandfather.
"She feels great to have her back, huh?" he said, slumped against the door.
"Yeah," I whispered softly, tracing the worn steering wheel with my fingers. "It feels right."
It was at this point that the tow truck arrived, and Ben gave me a reassuring smile. "Let's get her home."
And as the car was loaded onto the truck, I knew it wasn't just about a car—it's about holding on to things no matter what life forces itself upon you.