This Journal Belongs to Ratchet (16 page)

After the whole thing with Hunter, I rode my bike to the library by myself. I was afraid he might show up there even though I'd made it pretty clear he wasn't welcome, but he didn't.

I sat at one of the reference tables with all the stuff the librarian had found for me about Herman Moss. There was lots of stuff because Mr. Moss has been an important person in Blainesfield a long time ago. He had been born and raised here and had planned on staying, but one article I found told about how his college sweetheart Anita Welch broke his heart, so he'd left town to seek his fortune somewhere else. He never ended up getting married or having a family, so he spent all his money buying land and building parks. When he died, he donated all his land, and because he loved trees so much, he made the condition that all his land could never be developed for anything other than parks. Dad had told me this part. He had even been able to find all the paperwork in all the other counties where Mr. Moss had donated land, but because Dad couldn't find the paperwork documenting his wishes for Moss Tree Park, the mayor and the city council could decide what to do with the land.

I stared at all the books, pamphlets, and newspaper articles spread out all over the table. Why had I thought I'd be able to find anything when Dad hadn't been able to? Dad never left a stone unturned. If there was something to find, Dad would've found it.

Dad and Herman Moss were actually a lot alike
—
lovers of trees and unlucky in love.

I looked back at the article about Herman Moss's college sweetheart. I wondered why Anita Welch had decided not to marry Mr. Moss.

Anita Welch. That name sounded familiar, but I didn't know why.

I cleaned up the library table and thanked the librarian. I rode home on my bike wondering if the Good Lord wanted us to love each other, why didn't he make it easier to do, or at least make it hurt less when you
did
love someone but they didn't love you back?

I need a new word

For “sad.”

One that means

Not

Having

The

Energy

To

Write

A

Sentence.

One that means

All the things you thought you knew

Aren't true

And now you're empty inside.

One that means

Your most important person

Misunderstood

What you did.

And now you're left alone.

This morning

Dad needed a new word

For “angry”

When he found me in my room

With the letters from The Box.

“What do you think you're doing?!”

“Did I teach you to be a sneak?!”

“I hope you're happy now!”

And he grabbed the letters

Right out of my hands.

Did he really think I was happy now?

The tires squealed

Louder than the fan belt

When Dad and the Vegetable Rabbit left.

I stayed,

Frozen with regret,

The smell of fried chicken

And Dad's angry words

Hanging in the air.

My memories

Ripped

Out of my heart,

Twisted

By a tornado of truth.

Myself,

All alone.

Dad came back.

Later.

He took The Box

Stuffed the letters

Back inside.

Locked it.

And then

Wrapped black electrical tape

Around and around the box

Until it looked like a zebra.

He didn't say a word

Until later when we were working

On a fuel filter in a Ford
—

Dad was working one-handed

And telling me what to do.

“It wasn't you,”

He said.

“It was me.

She left because of me,”

Is all he said.

And I understood.

Both of us

Needed a new word

For “hurt.”

A Question Answer Poem

When we finish the fuel filter

We wash our hands

Side by side

In the laundry tubs

Like we do every day

Trying to wash away

All the grease and grime.

But the question I ask

Is tougher than

The toughest grease.

“How come she didn't take me with her?”

And the answer I get

Can NEVER be washed away

No matter how hard I scrub.

“Because I wouldn't let her.”

REVISION

Subject:
Ratchet

Project Description:
Turn my old, recycled, freakish, friendless, homeschooled, motherless life into something new.

Revised Project Goals:

1.
Make a friend.
Forgive the friend I have.

o Use magazine makeover tips to improve my look.

o Sign up for “Get Charmed” class at the rec center.

o Cross my fingers and hope to make a friend.

2.
Be more like Mom.
Be more like Dad.

o Ask Dad questions about Mom.

o Search for things that are Mom's to help me remember her.

o Try to be like Mom.

Outcome
:
To be an ordinary girl who fits in
—
hopefully one with a friend.
The New Me.

The note I found taped to our front door:

I don't know

If it was Hunter's apology

Or knowing the truth

About why Mom didn't take me with her,

But I was sitting in my room,

My insides

Feeling not quite so heavy,

Looking at Hunter's note

And the letter about my essay,

Thinking about Moss Tree Park,

When it all becomes clear
—

Anita Welch was A. W.

And Herman Moss was H. M.,

And their initials were carved

Into the tree at Moss Tree Park

And more importantly,

A. W. is Anita Welch Wilkerson

Whose name is at the bottom

Of my essay letter.

A judge for the contest.

Which means she was still alive.

Which means she might have a clue.

The clue we need to prove Herman Moss's wishes

Are really deeper than the roots of the trees

At Moss Tree Park.

I accepted Hunter's apology by asking him to go to Moss Tree Park to see the initials in the tree. And sure enough, they were there just as I'd remembered them.

As soon as I told Hunter the whole story about A. W. he agreed that Anita Welch Wilkerson might have the clue we'd been looking for.

So we headed back to Hunter's house to use his computer to see if we could find out where Anita lived.

Sight

*
Hunter's sandy blond hair

*
Hunter's cute smile

*
Hunter's excited eyes

Sound

*
Computer keyboard clicking

*
Hunter's mom calling, “Do you kids want a snack?”

*
Hunter yelling, “Sure, Mom!”

*
Microwave beeping and then pop, pop, popping

Smell

*
Buttered popcorn

*
Lilac perfume when Hunter's mom brought us popcorn and lemonade

Touch

*
Hunter's mom's hand on my shoulder, when she said, “Hi, Ratchet!”

*
Cold, wet glass in one hand

*
Greasy, salty popcorn in the other

*
Hunter elbowing me when he found out that Anita Welch Wilkerson still lived nearby

Taste

*
Cool, sweet lemonade

*
Buttery, salty popcorn

But what looked, sounded, smelled, felt, and tasted the best?

Being friends with Hunter again.

Ms. Welch Wilkerson lived in a nursing home on the very edge of town, and we had to bike on the long gravel road out of town to get there. Halfway down the road, we saw a car off to the side of the road almost in the ditch. When we got closer to it, we realized it was Pretty Boy Eddie and his shiny, black town car. It looked like he had a flat tire.

We stopped next to where he knelt on his suit coat looking at the tire. It wasn't just flat; it was blown apart.

Hunter asked him what had happened.

Eddie J. looked startled to see us.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and said, “Don't know. Tire popped. I slammed on the brakes, and next thing I know I'm sliding sideways into this ditch. Like to scared the heck out of me.”

Hunter and I parked our bikes off the road.

I asked him if he had a spare.

Eddie J. said he'd just call a tow truck.

I told him calling a tow truck for a flat tire was like calling an ambulance for a paper cut.

Eddie J. laughed. “You're Lamar Vance's daughter, aren't you? I thought I recognized you.”

I wasn't surprised he recognized me. Dad saw Eddie J. at least once a week at some meeting, and he had seen Dad and me together around town plenty of times.

I told him I'd change the tire if he had a spare.

“What?” Hunter asked, sounding surprised.

I don't know if he was more surprised I was going to change a tire or that I was going to help Eddie J.

One thing Dad had taught me: “Ratchet, always use the smarts the Good Lord gave you to help people in trouble no matter who they are.”

I knew Dad would've changed a tire for Eddie J. even though the two of them didn't see eye to eye on just about anything. Dad would have used the time to lecture him about something while he was doing it, but he would've helped him for sure. I would change the tire and save the lecturing for Dad.

“Now where would that spare be? In the trunk?” Eddie J. asked.

I couldn't believe he didn't know where his spare was.

Eddie sat in the car and popped the trunk. I walked around to the back of the car to see what I could find. I found something all right. The trunk was full of papers. Eddie J.'s briefcase must have busted open when he slammed on the brakes and everything inside it had been scattered all over. I wondered if any of the papers had to do with Moss Tree Park. This could blow the case for Moss Tree Park wide open.

“Do I have a spare?” Eddie J. called from the driver's seat.

I knew if there was a spare it was underneath all the papers. I thought about looking through a few of them while I uncovered the jack, but before I had the guts to do anything, Eddie J. was standing right next to me.

“What the heck happened here?!” he yelled as he scrambled to collect the papers, shove them into a pile, and stuff them back into the briefcase.

As he did, I pretended I hadn't noticed the papers. I knew Eddie J. must've been flustered for a reason. He was usually as cool as a cucumber.

I lifted the compartment where the spare was and grabbed the jack. I headed around the side of the car so that Eddie J. wouldn't be suspicious about what I'd seen. I jacked up the car and waited for Eddie J. to finish organizing his stuff in the trunk. When I went back to the trunk for the spare, I noticed that Eddie J. was sweating worse than when we'd gotten there.

I wiggled the spare out of the trunk. Plunked it on the ground and rolled it to the side of the car. I used the tire iron to loosen the lug nuts on the blown tire and handed them to Hunter who wasn't doing anything but standing around with his hands in his pockets. Then I pulled off the tire and laid it on the ground. I slid the spare into place, twisted the lug nuts on loosely, and then tightened them up with the tire iron. After lowering the jack, I put it and the flat tire back in the trunk, which didn't have one single piece of paper left in it.

Eddie J. and Hunter both watched me like I was performing brain surgery. I was finished in less than ten minutes. Unlike Eddie J., I never broke a sweat.

Eddie J. thanked me and tried to give me some money, but I wouldn't take it. He drove off leaving a cloud of gravel. When the dust settled, there was a piece of paper lying in the grass. It must've dropped when Eddie J. shoved all his papers back into his briefcase. I picked it up knowing that it might be a piece of paper that wouldn't need to be recycled in order to save a tree.