That’s why when I found the letter on the counter under the sugar bowl, I knew Dad had stretched the truth again.
Dear Mr. Vance,
Due to recent circumstances and the fact that you are unable to fulfill your hours of community service, the county has changed your sentence to a monetary fine of $5,000. You will be given thirty days to remit payment to the county clerk’s office in the form of cash or check.
Sincerely,
Officer Jenkins,
Community Service
Now I understood why it was “just time” to get rid of the Mustang, and the heaviness that pressed down on me every day just got heavier. This was all my fault. Dad couldn’t pick up garbage because of his hand, and his hand had been hurt because of me.
Dad already lost Mom.
He was losing the park.
And now because of me he was losing the Mustang.
WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
Today I had a great idea. Hunter and I could go to the library and find out more about Herman Moss. If we could find a way to prove he never wanted Moss Tree Park developed, we could save the park.
Dad had already searched for this at the library, but maybe there was something he missed, and maybe Hunter and I could find it.
Then we’d be able to save the park for Dad, and my heaviness might get a little bit lighter.
If only there had been a way to save Mom.
WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
There was a letter on the kitchen table. Dad must’ve left it there while I was in the shower. It was a stamped letter addressed to me, which meant it came in the mail. How could that be? Who would write me a letter? I turned it over and read the return address on the flap of the envelope. The Blainesfield Beacon. The newspaper? Why would I get a letter from the newspaper?
I opened it and read:
Dear Rachel Vance,
We are pleased to inform you that your essay, "Save Moss Tree Park," is in our top ten for the Fifth Annual Essay Contest. All of our entries were outstanding this year, so your place in the top ten is quite an accomplishment
Our judges are working now to make their final decision, and the first-place essay will be published in the Community Corner section of The Blainesfield Beacon next week.
Thank you for entering and congratulations on being one of our finalists!
Sincerely,
Martin Pardell
Martin Pardell, Editor
Maggie Verla
Maggie Verla, Essay Judge
Owen Nelder
Owen Nelder, Essay Judge
Anita Welch Wilkerson
Anita Wilkerson, Essay Judge
WRITING EXERCISE: Freewriting
An essay about a crazy guy and his daughter defending a park that’s going to be developed? Why would Hunter think it was a good idea to have this published in The Blainesfield Beacon? Just to make sure everyone sees Dad’s latest failure? Dad was already enough of a joke in this town. And now my essay would make it worse. Did we really need this?
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a conversation poem.
Writing Format—CONVERSATION POEM: A poem based on a conversation between two people.
“Forget it,”
Is what I said when Hunter came over to go to the library with me.
“How could you?!”
Is what I asked when I showed him the letter from The Blainesfield Beacon.
“Good-bye,”
Is what I said after he finished trying to explain why he had done it.
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
If having a friend means
Having someone butt into your life
And take your stuff
And do something with it
You never wanted them to do
Without even telling you,
I guess it's a good thing
I’ve never had a friend.
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
Mom left
And didn’t tell me.
Dad knew the truth
And didn’t tell me.
Hunter did something
Behind my back
And didn’t tell me.
The mayor and Eddie J. have probably done something
Behind everyone’s back
And didn’t tell anyone.
Stretching the truth is one thing.
Twisting and tangling it up
Until it turns into something that
Hurts people
Can be called
Lying, deceiving, and dishonest.
But no matter what you call it,
It all feels the same.
Like a big, fat slap in the face.
WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
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?
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
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
&nbs
p; 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.”
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
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.”
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a proposal for an upcoming project.
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:
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
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.
WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
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.
WRITING EXERCISE: Use a sensory chart to record the details of a scene.
Writing Format—SENSORY CHART: Use the five senses to organize the sensory details of a scene.
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.
WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
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 co
uldn’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.
This Journal Belongs to Ratchet Page 10
