Yesterday I went to the post office. It cost $300. This is what I did: drive down a gravel road when I could have gone a little farther around on a paved road. Something big and sharp stuck in the tire. I looked out when I stopped to check after the tire pressure sensor light came on, and the air was hissing out pretty quickly. I got out to look, and the big sharp thing was sticking out. Well, no arguing with that. The tire was- 
  “Gotta flat tire?” yelled a guy driving a brown Ford pickup. Yes, most definitely. No getting around that. 
  He pulled over and hopped out. He squinted at my tire through his rimless glasses. I showed him the sharp thing. After talking to Peter and finding out he wouldn’t be able to help me, I popped the trunk so the man could investigate the spare tire situation. The sweat was already beading on his freckled bald head as he got out the jack and wrench.
  “M’ name’s Billy,” he said, starting to take off lug nuts. “Taught school for years an’ now I’m retired. Was headin up to do some work on m’ rental house. Well, I kin do this for ya an then go back up t’ house an git cleaned up if I need to.” I looked at his athletic shorts and pink breast cancer shirt. The shorts were full of paint stains and didn’t look all that cleaned up to start with, but good for changing a tire, I guessed. I told him how when I was younger, I’d tried to convince my dad to teach me how to change a tire. He’d said he’d only been able to get the lug nuts off by jumping on the tire wrench last time he’d tried to change a tire on my car, and plus, if someone saw me standing by the road looking helpless- 
  “They’d stop an hep ya,” said Billy. “Yeah, stan there lookin hepless and somebody’ll stop an hep ya.” 
  Another brown pickup pulled off the road. A bearish bearded face leaned out the open window. Billy indicated he had it all under control, but the other man parked his pickup anyway. Billy scrambled out from under the car and went to shake hands. Apparently, they’d known each other years ago, grown up in the same neighborhood. Randy, as the second guy turned out to be, informed me they hadn’t seen each other for probably thirty years. He heaved himself down to work on the tire too. They asked after each other’s mamas and daddys. Billy said he was sorry to hear bout Randy’s mama passing. 
  “Thanks,” said Randy, working the handle on the jack. 
  They were almost ready to take the tire off when the jack slipped and the car settled back down to it’s original position.
  “That ain’t good,” said Billy.
  “Naw, that ain’t good,” agreed Randy.
  Billy bustled to his Ford and went home to get a better jack. Randy advised me to put in my park brake, which I had done. He fished a T-post out of his pickup bed and wedged it behind a wheel for good measure. Then he started working on getting the car jacked up again so Billy would have room to slide the bigger one underneath. As he worked, he told me how he’d just been on his way up to see his mom. He was retired now, and had moved back into the area after working for years in the Metroplex. 
  “It seems like a lot of locals do that,” I said. “Grow up here and go work in Dallas, then eventually they always come back home.”
  Randy was puffing a little. His big hands steadily turned the handle. “Yeah,” he said. He asked me if I lived in Maxey. Funny how certain areas around here become pretty well known as Mennonite communities. Randy probably didn’t know the difference between Holdeman Mennonites and German Mennonites, so I didn’t bother enlightening him. I said I lived in Tigertown.
  “I hadn’t been up in Tigertown f’r years,” he said, breathing harder. I hoped the heat wasn’t getting too much for him. I felt perspiration running down my back, and I was just standing there. 
  And then Billy was back with his jack. They got the spare on, and Randy clambered up. 
  “Kin you make it up?” asked Billy, sticking out his hand. 
  “Yeah I’ll make it up,” said Randy, gaining his feet. “Gettin older ain’t no joke, but I ain’t found a way around it yet!” They both laughed heartily. 
  Not knowing what else to do, I held out my hand.
“Thanks a lot,” I said.
   Randy shook a little gingerly, like he knew his hand was terribly dirty but didn’t have much option.
   Billy said, “Well, I’m semi-clean!” and shook too. He helped me load the baby stroller in the backseat. 
  Then we all went our separate ways, to mamas place and rent houses and the post office.
  And I thanked the Lord for Texas neighbors, who wear boots and suspenders and call you ma’am and change your tire when you haven’t even been parked long enough to wonder what you’re going to do. For all the Billys and Randys out there who stop what they’re doing just to assist the person who’s standing out there looking helpless. Y’all make this world a definitely better place.

Katie Friesen