Can You Fix It

• Barbara Taylor, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2009

‘Can you fix it?’

‘It’s just a generator.’

‘A generator that hasn’t worked in about a hundred years.’

‘Don’t exaggerate.’

‘What makes you think I’m exaggerating?’ He was going to say something sarcastic about doubting she’d been alive for more than twenty years, let alone a hundred, but he stopped himself. He had only been there a few hours, and her attitude, that matched her scuffed work boots and spiky short hair, was already rubbing off on him.

It was time to break the silence by changing the subject. But as he was about to probe a bit deeper, asking her how she came to be alone in this place, and for that matter, how she had survived this long without a generator, something clicked within the big metal monster.

He smiled wryly, something clicking in him too, as he surveyed the generator- battered, but plenty of kick in it.

‘There.’ A tone of finality. A humming sound filled the room, and he looked back to her, almost smug. But not quite. He was too sincere to be smug.

‘Huh.’ It wasn’t quite the ‘thankyou’ he’d expected, but it was better than nothing. ‘I didn’t think that thing could be fixed.’ Why would she? It wasn’t as if she’d gotten the technical skills needed to survive. Not like he had. No one was even around to teach her, until now.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Maybe I won’t freeze to death this winter, after all.’ It was logical for her to think she might. Winters were brutal, and summers weren’t much better.

‘You mean we.’ A pause. The only sound that of the generator humming with new life. It echoed throughout the large room, bouncing off the only window.

‘What?’ She wasn’t confused. Not really.

‘I’m staying.’

‘Like hell you are.’

‘What if the generator breaks again? I’m not leaving you alone in this place. It’s freezing, and your only help is separated from you by a barren winter wasteland. No way.’

It was at least ten miles to his place. Maybe more. The only reason he was even in her shelter was because it wasn’t too much below freezing, and the blizzards hadn’t even reached the ruins yet.

He stood from the generator, a head or two taller than her. Her green eyes narrowed, hardened, she wasn’t helpless.

‘Let’s get one thing straight.’ With those words from her, he knew he’d won. ‘I don’t need you.’

A small smile. ‘So?’ He walked past her, away from the generator and into the main room. ‘I don’t need you, either.’