Longevity- the Wardens of Time

by Caleb Smith

  “Is that part hard to remove?”

  “It will take a little bit of time, but nothing I haven’t done before.”

  “Ahh, OK.” He looked at her, unsure of himself.

  “Don’t worry buttercup. I’ll do most of the work. You just hand me the tools and get me what I need.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said, feeling a bit more sure of himself.

  “Come on.” Wendy got up from her work station and led the way out of the house, stopping to grab a wrench set and small toolbox. “Let’s throw this stuff in the Gator, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Gator?”

  “Yeah, we’re gonna take a ride in the Gator.”

  His eyes lit up thinking of the slithery green creature with prehistoric jaws. He had wrestled a few in his literary adventures, but he’d never ridden one. When he saw it, it was far different than what his imagination had conjured. Sure, it was green, but that was it. It was a machine with six tires, a small open front cab, with a utility bed behind the bench seats. It held two people comfortably and was the perfect utility buggy for scouring the junkyard and hauling away used vehicle parts.

  Wendy gassed the ATV, and as they rode around the junkyard, Noah started to get excited. The size of the place amazed him – it had looked much smaller from the back. But now he could see the great expanse of it filled with metal piles of junk, some dating back to the 1950s. Other areas of the yard were littered with crab apple trees.

  When they arrived at the old GMC pickup, extraction of the transfer case took hours. It was a rather heavy part, so he had to get under the truck with Wendy. When finished, the two were lying parallel in a greasy sweat.

  “OK,” Wendy said. “Let’s pick up and get this baby back to the house for cleaning and packaging.”

  It amazed Noah that there was a market for selling all this junk.

  They rode back to the house, and after the part was cleaned and packaged, Wendy opened a little wooden box in which she kept her money, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill and handing it to Noah. “For your efforts, of course.”

  Noah looked at the green paper bill in her hand and was grateful for the gesture, but his mind was set on something different. On their tour of the junkyard, he had noticed a section of old bikes. Most were rusted out, and many frames were scrapped and thrown into a huge pile. It was the biggest pile of bike scrap metal he had ever seen – not that he had ever seen anything like it before. It was more like a work of art to his creative, ever-dreaming eyes. Off to the side of the welded, hollow metal tubing, there had been a rusted, black BMX bike without handle grips on which was perched a perfectly fine black leather seat. Though it was rusty, he wanted it, if nothing more than to have a fighting chance traveling to and from school. He wasn’t sure how to approach the subject until she blurted out, “You gonna take this twenty before my arm falls asleep, or what?”

  “How much is that old, black BMX worth out in the junkyard?”

  “What old black BMX?” she asked with cutting eyes.

  “The bike that was sitting on the side of that giant pile of scrap metal.”

  She had to think about it for a minute and still was drawing a blank. “I’m not sure which one you’re talking about. Should we go take a look?”

  This excited Noah, and he jumped up. “Yeah, that would be outstanding!”

  He may have said it with a little too much enthusiasm – she gave him a queer look before moving.

  The Gator had them to the bike fossils in under three minutes. Noah quickly found what he was looking for. He jumped out and jogged towards the bike.

  “This is the one,” he said with a smile, smacking the seat with his hand to test its firmness.

  “This is the bike that you want in place of twenty dollars?

  “I mean, if you think it’s a fair deal?”

  She too, walked closer for a better look and got down on a knee and checked the bicycle out.

  “Well, it needs a chain; this one is rusted out beyond repair.”

  “Yeah. I saw that,” Noah replied with an unsure look. “You know where I can find one of those?”

  “I’m sure if we poke around this big pile we can find something to fit.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He was relieved to hear that she approved and was willing to help get the bike working.

  The two looked and pecked around, hopeful of recovering another chain.

  “Look here! I think I found something,” Noah blurted. He was standing beside an enormous pile of bicycles, stacked in different shapes, sizes, ages, and colors – a magnificent sight hidden away in a lost corner of this city. This should be shown to everyone, Noah thought, as he climbed his way up a hill of bikes until he reached the one he had spotted from a distance. He braced his stance: every step he took was unstable. With what upper body strength he had, he pulled as hard as he could, but to no avail. He tried again and even leaned back a little bit, hanging off the pile of bike remnants. Wendy decided to lend a hand, and by the time she reached him, he was in a hot sweat.

  “Hold on; let me try.”

  Noah was glad to see help arrive. She grabbed one side of the bike, and he took the other.

  “Now, be careful when you pull. We’re in a bad spot and don’t want to fall back.”

  They both looked back behind and tried not to let the fear of a twelve-foot drop with puncturing metal interfere with the task at hand.

  “OK. Ready?” She asked.

  “Yup,” he replied

  “One…two…three.”

  They both pulled hard, and the bike slowly came out of the pile, catching other bikes along with it. After a few more careful pulls, they were able to free the rear tire. The bike looked like the one he wanted to fix. It actually even looked like it was in better shape, but it was royal blue. With an adjustable wrench in her pocket, Wendy rapidly removed the back tire from the bike and pulled the chain off. It was still blackened with old grease. She then threw the chain like a Frisbee on the ground near the bike.

  “All right now, be careful getting down.” She went first and crawled her way down a few feet before stopping again. Noah tried to follow her but really lacked the coordination.

  She reminded him to use his hands to make sure each step would hold. He took her advice and let his hands help him down off the scrap pile. It took a couple minutes, but they both made it down safely. They then made a mad dash for the bike, positioning the chain to slip around the sprockets. It was a little too big.

  “It’s kind of hanging loose,” Noah said.

  “No crap,” she replied, “But I can fix it.”

  “Really?” She may as well have just offered him candy.

  “Yeah, just knock out a couple links in that chain. Then put it back together.”

  She took the chain back off and pulled a small screwdriver out of her pocket, using it as a punch to slide out the key that held the chain together. She removed three links and then slid the chain together as a solid working unit. Placing it back on the rear sprocket, Wendy pedaled the tire around so the whole chain would catch the front sprocket to align the wheel movement. She managed to get the chain on the single-geared bike, although it set a little tight. But this would be to Noah’s advantage when it came to speed: tighter chain meant more torque.

  “We’ll take her to the garage and grease the chain up and then bring the air up in the tires for you.”

  “You mind if I ride it back to the garage?” Noah asked.

  “Not at all, but you have to beat me!” She squealed, running for the Gator.

  “Oh, OK.” He hopped on the bike and frantically worked the pedals of his new ride. It took a minute for the bike to speed up, but once it did, it was faster than Noah would ever have thought. The wind was behind his back, and he was now in the lead.

  As he made his way closer to the front gate, Noah could feel the Gator coming up on him – it moved fast at full tilt (after all, it was a horse-powered machine). It was as if he were a character in one
of his stories trying to escape an alligator in fast pursuit. The boy pedaled harder and his bike moved even faster. The gate was now in site and both bike and Gator were neck and neck. He looked over to Wendy, who also glanced back at him, and they both flew out of the junkyard with the transfer case tossing around in the back of the utility vehicle. Smoke from the dry dirt kicked up, following them into the yard and to the front of the auto garage. Both came to a slide, Noah squeezing his hand brake, and Wendy slamming her brake, pushing the six-wheeler sideways at a dramatic stop. Earl just so happened to be standing there with a customer.

  “What the hell do the two of you think you’re doing racing out of my yard like that? You’re going to get hurt!” He emphasized the last few words. The old fellow who was standing next to Earl didn’t look too impressed, and Josh stood behind in the garage, shaking his head and wiping his hands off with a towel.

  “What did I tell you about horsing around out here, Wendy?” Earl shook his head. “I’ll deal with you in a minute. In the meantime, go on inside and clean up the kitchen. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

  “OK,” she replied, hanging her head.

  Noah wasn’t quite sure what to do – follow her in or go home. Without giving it too much thought, he dropped the bike and followed her into the house. The first thing he noticed on the wall above the sink was the clock. It was 1:45 PM

  “Holy cow, Wendy! It’s already going on two o’clock. How long do you think it took us to recover that transfer case?”

  Wendy was now acting mopey and didn’t answer. She thoughtlessly began cleaning the pile of dishes stacked on the counter top in the aged, deep-trenched sink.

  “Need me to help you dry the dishes?” he asked.

  “I guess if you want to. There are some dry towels in the cabinet under the sink.”

  Noah quickly retrieved one and began drying a set of polished eating pottery. He was good at doing the dishes because he did them at home daily. His mother rarely had time for anything besides work, so Noah happily accepted the fact that the dishes were his duty. He caught up to Wendy’s washing rate and stacked the dry plates to the left, slowly building a little city while Shadow, the family cat, looked on. Shadow was very curious and friskily found his way to the counter top among the ever-growing towers of plates, bowls, saucers, glasses, pots, pans, and silverware. Lots and lots of silverware!

  “Get down!” Wendy yelled, her hands submersed in soapy water.

  Shadow meowed back, as if to stand his ground.

  “Come here, boy,” Noah said gently. He slowly scooped up the black cat and held him tenderly in his arms. “Hey friend. How are you today?” Noah gently placed the cat on the floor. He would have liked to spend more time with his new animal friend, but that would have to wait. He went back to drying the last few pans, and then the silverware. Handful after handful. His imagination kicked in. The silverware became a found treasure, pulled up out of the ocean water, and he had to keep up and dry the treasure, freeing it of salty slime. Each utensil was a priceless gold coin that needed to gleam so that the captain would be pleased. He forgot where he was for a few seconds, as Wendy quietly handed him the rest of the rinsed-clean silverware. She pulled the plug in the sink to let the water drain and took off her rubber gloves. She moved by Noah, brushing across his arm and shoulder as she opened the upper cupboards to put plates and glasses away. Noah felt a little weird about being that close to a girl his age. He was very shy when it came to that. He slung the towel over his shoulder and moved away for a moment to check Wendy out. He studied her from behind as she worked putting plates away on shelves. It dawned on Noah that Wendy reminded him of his mother. He didn’t know why, but looking at her in a sexual manner didn’t seem right. Wendy felt more like a sister to him than anything else. That was the most he could ponder before Earl came blowing through the kitchen door.

  He pulled in with a head of steam, but his temper was quickly diffused when he saw that all the dishes were clean and put away.

  Wendy coldly remarked, “You’re welcome,” to clear the air.

  “That doesn’t dismiss the fact that you came speeding and skidding into the front yard. Now look, I don’t mind you two working or doing what you’re doing out there, but you have to obey my rules.” His voice softened as he finished off the sentence. “You get it, Wendy. This is our family business and we’re new in town. We need for people to like us around here, and we can’t be acting like a bunch of lawless yahoos. It’s not good for business, and I don’t want to lose this place. Do you?”

  She took a moment to react to the mild scolding and replied, “No, I suppose not.”

  Noah stood, unsure of himself.

  “Right. Noah, you don’t want to see us lose this place, do you?”

  Without thinking, he gave his best answer. “No, I don’t, Sir, because then you might have to move, and I would lose my only friend.”

  The man instantly felt sorry for the young boy, but Wendy smiled, feeling reassured.

  “Well, hey! I’m your friend too – put it there.” Earl extended a hardened fist. Noah was confused by the gesture, but Wendy helped him out by reaching over to fist-bump her father’s rock. Noah caught on quickly and repeated the process. Apparently, the common hand shake did not apply in this house, Noah thought. But the hidden reason behind Earl Sherman’s fist bump was to show admiration and friendship without spreading oil and grease all over his friends’ hands.

  Earl fired up the grill at five o’clock after spending a ten-hour-day in the garage with Josh. Noah had spent the day tooling around the house and property with Wendy, and Earl had insisted that he stay for something to eat. He knew Noah’s mother worked a lot, so he was happy to feed the boy some dinner. After the hungry four had gotten their fill of burgers and dogs, Wendy and Noah once again did the dishes. This time there weren’t as many, so it didn’t take nearly as long. By the time they were finished, it was just past 6:30. Noah gazed at the falling sun and decided it was best for him to head home, before his mother returned from work. Naturally, Earl offered the young boy a ride, but Noah refused, thinking only of his new bike. The kids had explained the bike transaction to Earl over dinner, and the hardworking father was in favor of what had taken place. He knew the bike would be good for the boy and help him get around easier.

  Noah waved goodbye once more and set off down the street in the direction of his home, which was the first-floor apartment in a building that housed three units. Riding his bike at a relatively fast speed, he took streets that he wouldn’t have chosen on foot. His house was a five-minute car ride, so he figured it would be ten minutes on a bike, but he didn’t think the ten minutes would last a lifetime.

  While riding down the street he saw two cyclists race around him on decked-out ten-speed bikes. He watched them push on till out of sight. He was simply enjoying his ride back on the rediscovered BMX, complete with mags on the back on which someone could stand. Off in his own little world, it was as if a car had hit him when he heard the words spew out from behind him.

  “Look, the little wimp has a new bike!”

  He peered behind, and sure enough, two enemies were heading toward him. He didn’t give them a chance to get close because he started to pedal for his life; the punks were always up for a good chase. Noah took off, his tight chain allowing an aggressive start. All three boys raced, street after street, Noah in the lead, while the cretins yelled disheartening words in an attempt to slow his retreat. Finally, their mountain bike gears allowed them to slowly gain on Noah, and they approached him on either side, trying to sandwich him. Noah, the smarter of the three, pulled back on his brakes, and then darted through someone’s backyard, catching a flimsy tree limb across the chest. By the time the two corrected their angles, Noah was nowhere to be found, but they knew the general direction in which he was headed, so they followed their guts. Noah was pedaling as fast as he could, now in the opposite direction.

  “You follow him, and I’ll cut him off on the next street ove
r,” Mike Nason gasped.

  When he reached the end of the street, Noah took a left to head back to his house but noticed the smaller of the two bullies following him. As soon as he crossed the length of the street that ran parallel, he saw Nason flying toward him, moving even faster. Noah had no choice but to go straight, which would lead him down a hill into the downtown district on Main Street. The cars and traffic were becoming evident, posing as obstacles for the retreating boy. As he flew down Main Street, cutting off people who were walking and window shopping, he lost all sense of direction, growing unsure where to turn next.

  He wasn’t entirely familiar with the downtown area – it wasn’t big by any means, but he just had not spent any time navigating it and was unsure of the layout. The enemy was once again gaining, as he had to slow down for the crowds walking and traffic moving about. He came to a street cutting across Main and took it, which led him right. In that moment, he saw a small storefront next to a café and dress store whose sign read “The Book Shop.” Without another thought, he redirected his bike toward the small shop that silently invited him into haven. He jumped off, rested his bike on the brick wall outside the store’s window, and flew through the door in a panic, the other boys approaching. He looked for anyone in the store who might be able to help him, and when he saw no one, he ducked under a counter and hid. Not long after, the front door swung open with force and slammed into the stop located on the wall behind it. Out of nowhere, a stern voice boomed from the center of the shop, “If it is trouble you two young men seek, I assure you, you will not find it here; we don’t allow it!”

  Noah could not see clearly from his hidden position, but the moment of awkward silence revealed that Mike Nason and Joe Dwyer had not planned for this scenario.

  “Yeah. We were just looking for our friend, mister; we saw him come in here. His bike is right outside.”

  “A ‘friend’ you call him?” The man chuckled as if he wanted the whole world to hear from a mountain top.

  The boys were now growing nervous, unused to being contested.

  “Yes, he is our friend.” Mike was sticking to his story.