“You’re right,” I say. “Our bathroom scale can’t determine anything less than a half pound so it’s no help.”
“But a food scale can. People on diets measure ounces of stuff. We’ll have to get one and figure out how to use it with these things.”
“I’ll start a list. So what’s next? Think we have enough to try your gizmo?”
“I think so. How are we going to get the bits out of the jar? And how can we keep them from floating away if the magnetic fields we’re setting up don’t hold them?”
“Well, we can scoop the bits out of the jar with the envelopes, like we’ve been doing. That’s worked okay so far.” I’m stumped by the second problem. I look around the room trying to find an answer but nothing is obvious. “You want something to drink?” I ask her, thinking we need a break.
“Yeah. Some ice water would be good. I get enough soda at work.”
“I’ll be right back then,” I say, and head down the stairs. As I walk out of the shed and into the cool evening air, I guess it’s about 8:15.
Summer is starting out pretty good. Here I am, on a Friday night, having a fun evening with a pretty girl up in the loft. I wonder if the other kids from school might be having parties or going to movies. I sense we are a little different, doing experiments and talking physics. Not your typical dating stuff but it’s fun to us.
I fill a couple of glasses with ice and water, and start for the door. “Tyler?” Mom calls. I detour around and stop at the doorway to the living room. Mom and Dad are snuggled on the couch together. I haven’t seen that for a long time and it makes me feel good.
“Yeah?” I answer with a smile. It’s almost embarrassing seeing them all romantic for a change.
“What are you two doing out there?” Mom asks.
“Not much,” I answer cautiously. I had not even thought about a cover story for Jennifer being over. I feel a small wave of panic.
“Uh huh,” Dad suggestively grunts.
“No. Really.” I search for words but only get more anxious. “We’re, um, working on a physics problem our teacher gave us to think about over the summer.” That part is the truth.
“Yep. That’s what I’d be doing with pretty girl on a Friday night,” Dad continues, squeezing Mom. “Just be careful, son. And think about your future.”
Mom slaps his thigh playfully and they share a quick kiss, pretty much ignoring my reaction. I turn and walk out the kitchen door. I suppose they are right to be a little suspicious. But I thought they trusted me more. Jen really is more of a friend; a very cute, smart, girl friend.
I push through the shed door and stop for a second to look around Gramps’ shop. He has a lot of stuff. Mom says he likes to save things because he always finds a use for them eventually. I spot an old plastic funnel. I walk over to inspect it more closely. It’s about eight inches at the wide part. Perfect! I clench both glasses of water in my left hand, holding them close to my body, and pick up the funnel to carry it upstairs.
Jennifer smiles as she looks up from where she is assembling the pieces from her wooden box. “Hey! What took so long?” she asks cheerfully. Then noticing the balancing act I have going on, she quickly comes over and takes the water glasses.
“Thanks,” I say quietly as we walk back over to the table. I set the funnel down and take a long sip from my glass. A furtive glance sees her do the same while looking straight at me.
“What’s wrong Ty? You seem a little bummed all of a sudden.”
“Nothing,” I lie. Then a second later, “My folks stopped me on my way back.”
“Yeah? What are they doing tonight?”
“Just sitting on the couch together, watching a movie.”
“That’s cute. I’m happy for them, a baby on the way and all. So what did they want?”
“They asked what we were doing up here.”
“So? What’d you tell them?”
“The only thing I could think of was to say we were working on a problem Mr. V. gave us to solve over the summer.”
“I don’t suppose they believed you did they?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. Dad just told me to be careful and to think about my future.”
“And that bummed you out? I wish my parents would pay that much attention to what I did.” She turns away and takes another sip of water. “Parents suck!” she blurts out suddenly, sounding angry and hurt.
I feel awkward and don’t know what to say. I set my water down and walk up next to her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “A couple more years, we’ll graduate and then we can do whatever we want.”
She wheels around and wipes away a tear that’s rolling down her cheek. “WE, Tyler?” she questions me. “WE get together and WE work on these little projects and WE hang out once in a while. But that’s all WE ever do.” Slowly she takes a step forward, puts her arms around my waist and lays her head on my shoulder. A tingly wave flows through my body as I wind my arms around to comfort her like a child is comforted by a parent. Her hair smells faintly of hamburgers and French Fries from the diner. “You’re so lucky,” she says in a lonely, quiet voice.
I still can’t think of anything to say. I guess I am lucky. And I’m sure there is somebody out there who has it better than me. And somebody who has it worse, too. It gets quiet in the loft as we lose ourselves in thought while sharing that unexpected embrace. It ends too quickly.
She walks over to where I had set the funnel down and picks it up. “I see you found an answer to the escaping bits.” Her voice is still sad and lonely. The fun, excitable Jennifer has disappeared.
“Maybe,” I reply, trying to regain the upbeat mood we had enjoyed earlier. “I thought we could attach this to the magnifying glass stand, upside down, over your gizmos. I’ll just tape another envelope over the spout end of the funnel.”
She shoots a lonely glance at me as soon as I say ‘we’. “That should work.” She sounds tired. “Thanks Tyler.”
While she completes her setup to test whether the gray bits can be contained within an EM field, I clamp and tape the funnel thinking about the nature of gravity. In class last year, I had read that gravity travels at the speed of light. The author had also said that gravitons, like photons - light particles - contain no mass and therefore, no charge. Of course, it didn’t explain why I didn’t fall down at the speed of light or why, if gravitons have no mass, a larger mass would attract a smaller one, like everything on Earth is held down. At some point I just figured the two differed somehow and gave up trying to understand it. At least until now.
It’s quite an array of coils; two sets of four in all. I watch as she finishes assembling the second set. The coils have been wound on some kind of metal bars which are bent in a quarter circle. If you took four of the bars, concave side in, they would probably complete a full circle. But Jen is arranging them concave side out with the upper and lower ends connected using a circular plastic bracket and a couple of screws. Each completed unit looked like one of those old wooden barrels turned inside out.
“Isn’t your field going to be thrown off by connecting all of the parts together like that?” I ask.
“As long as the insulation isn’t broken anywhere it shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll check that with the voltmeter I brought.”
I get the voltmeter from the box. I also spot another magnifying glass. “Cool,” I exclaim, picking it up with my other hand and going over to her. “I’m glad you brought this along.”
She finally smiles again as I hand her the voltmeter, saying, “Yeah. I thought it might come in handy.”
With the lead wires from the coils attached to the transformer, she plugs it in, turns the power on, and begins touching the voltmeter probes to several points on the brackets. “Looks good,” she declares as no voltage registers for either group of coils. “Now hand me those four wooden slats please Ty.”
Laying the coil units on their sides, she attaches the slats one by one, turning the assembly a quarter turn for each slat, spinning
screws into the pre-drilled holes. “Okay. That’s it.” She’s talking to herself with a quiet intensity. She sets the tower on its end so that one set of coils is now over the other. “What I’m hoping happens,” she begins, turning to me to explain, “is that the gray bits will float through the first set of coils and then be held in the space between the two.”
“What’s going to stop them there?” I ask, trying to understand the science.
“Well the tower is set up so that the positive fields of the upper and lower coils are towards the middle. I’m hoping the identical polarity will set up a void with no gravity that will contain the bits in the middle because there won’t be any gravitons for the bits to absorb or expel.”
I look at her quizzically, but it seems to make sense in that the positive forces would repel each other, likes magnets do, but since they can’t get away from each other some sort of empty area would exist in between. Even though we had sat through the same physics class in school, I have no idea where she gets these ideas. I’m in awe of her ability to think things through. “What do you want me to do?” I ask.
“Slide your funnel contraption over the top and get ready to catch any bits that might float through if this doesn’t work. And have your magnifying glass handy so you can watch what happens.”
A moment later we are set. She double-checks the connections of the leads from the coils to the transformer. She hesitates for a moment, probably reviewing a checklist in her mind, finding there is one more thing to do. “Hand me the compass that’s in the box. And the other magnifying glass, too.”
I hand her the compass and watch as she gingerly sets the dial on the transformer to its lowest power position. She holds the compass to each of the four coils for each of the two groups. I watch as the needle points toward each, moving around to verify the polarity. The two sets of coils closest to the center of the tower are confirmed as being the same. “Got some gray bits ready?” she asks, beginning to sound more like her usual self.
“Here you go.”
“I’m starting with just a little power,” she states double-checking the transformer control. Then, taking the envelope in her left hand, she slowly open the flap. With a magnifying glass in her right hand, she begins tapping the envelope to release some gray bits up into the center of the lower circle of coils. “Here we go,” she comments under her breath, adding, “You watch half-way up.”
I pick up my magnifying glass and set my gaze at the midway point between the two sets of coils. It feel like I shouldn’t blink for the next few minutes or I’ll miss something.
“There go two, three. Oops. Four altogether, I think.”
I watch carefully. I can feel my breathing slow just a little in anticipation. I wonder if it’s possible to blow the bits out of Jen’s contraption. I don’t want to find out. “I don’t see anything yet.”
“Did you miss them?” I hear her close the flap on the envelope before joining me in the watch.
“I don’t think so.”
“There they are! The field from the coils is definitely affecting them.” She is looking half way up the first set. “They are moving, very slowly though. It’s almost like they’re not sure they want to go anywhere.” I change position so I can see them too.
In another fifteen seconds, they are up to the point where we hope they will stop. And they do. We watch for another minute and they don’t move. We sit back and look at each other. “How long do you think they’ll stay there?” I ask.
“Who knows. I can’t say what effect the field is going to have on them. If it’s so easy to convert them, it may be just as easy for them to lose their ability to ascend. We’ve got a lot of testing to do.”
We both look again. They are still hovering. “I want to try a little more power,” she says, and reaches over to the transformer dial. “Tell me if you see anything change.”
I watch. “Nothing,” I report.
“Hmm.” She seems stumped.
“Do you think being able to change the power to each set of coils independently would make any difference?”
“Maybe. Yeah. We should probably try that next. I’ll have to get another transformer though.” She stops to reflect. “I’m just glad they didn’t die. That really would have ended our little summer project.” After a few moments in thought, she continues again. “Yeah. We’ll have to try a second transformer but I also want to see what happens with an AC current. We should try other variables too. Do you remember anything about phase modulation from first semester?” She stops to look at me. “I’m wondering, since these things seem to have a pulse, if we might be better able to control them by adjusting alternating current in different phases between the two sets of coils.”
“I... I don’t know, Jen,” I confess. “We could probably try a whole bunch of different things. Eventually we’ll find one that works. At least I hope so.”
She visibly relaxes after a few more minutes. “Well, that’s all we can do for now.” She takes one more look at the bits suspended between the two sets of coils. “At least we know they can be captured and keep their gravity defying properties.” She seems happy with this first test. “You watch up at the funnel now. I’m going to cut the power.”
I pick up the magnifying glass to watch. A few seconds later I spot the bits floating up into the funnel. I wait another minute before detaching the envelope. Peering inside with the glass I confirm they are there and then complete their trip by returning them to the jar.
Jen is busy taking her tower apart and putting the components back in the box.
“That was fun,” I say.
She smiles and looks up from what she is doing. “It begs a lot more questions to be asked than it solved.”
“Yeah, but what is Venturi always saying?”
“‘Every journey begins with a single step’,” we say in unison. It had almost turned into a class joke during the year. We chuckle at the memory.
She finishes packing up her wooden box and turns to go. “Until next time then...”
“And just when is that going to be?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to try and work some things out at home. I’ll let you know.”
I follow her down the stairs and out the door to her scooter where the box disappears into the trunk for the ride home.
It’s probably 10:30 by now. The moon is well into its transition to last quarter. The sky is clear and bright with stars. The night sounds of insects conversing can be heard through the sighs of a gentle breeze.
Jen begins putting her helmet on and stops. “Ty? About earlier, I’m sorry for dumping…”
“Jen,” I stop her, feeling awkward. “Don’t worry about it. In a way I’m kind of flattered that we’re good enough friends that you feel okay telling me stuff.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. If you ever need to talk to somebody, I’m here.” I wasn’t sure where that came from. But I know I like Jen and feel we’d gotten a little closer even though she really hadn’t told me much about what was going on at her house.
She smiles, finishes putting her helmet on and switches her key to run. “Thanks again, Ty.” She leans over and kisses my cheek, and before I can respond, opens the throttle to head down the drive.
With a smile, I watch her go.
Scavengers
“Are you sure it’s safe to use this thing?” I joke as Jared jumps into the driver’s seat of the old wrecker.
“Are you sure it works?” Willie asks, seriously admiring the old machine while making his way around, pulling the different levers as he goes.
Jared slides the well worn key into the ignition and twists it a quarter turn. Nothing happens. I glance at Willie who’s grinning.
“Pop the hood,” Willie suggests, walking around to the front, “and let’s have a look.”
I watch as Willie quickly checks several connections under the hood. “Isn’t she a beauty?” he comments gently. All I see is grease, dirt, and a worn out piece of history. But Wi
llie seems to know this machine. He gives the battery cables a little twist. “Try it now!” he calls to Jared.
The tired internal-combustion engine groans and coughs its way to life. A large cloud of blue-gray exhaust encases the truck for a minute as Jared revs the engine a few times to warm it up. It is easily louder than Gramps’ motorcycle.
Willie walks over to the driver’s window yelling, “Just a loose battery cable!” He pauses to rub some of the grime from his hands on a rag he has pulled from his shop coveralls. “And it seems to need a muffler and exhaust system, too.” He grins, knowing that those parts are expensive and hard to find, if they can be found at all.
“Well we’re not taking her to any antique truck shows,” Jared replies loudly, “so she’s just going have to live with what she’s got!”
I see a flicker of melancholy cross Willie’s face as Jared finishes his comment, and guess that if Willie could have his way, he’d restore the old wrecker and really enjoy taking it to shows. In his own way, Willie is a mechanical artisan. His work is his passion, not just a living. I have to admire that.
“Hop in boys!” Jared yells above the noise of the engine.
I climb into the back of the wrecker behind the passenger’s door as Willie gets on behind Jared. We easily find handholds on the frame of the defunct emergency lighting, feeling a jerk as Jared rams the transmission into gear. The cracked amber lights suddenly come on, one rotating, the other too worn out to join in. Jared lets out a whoop as the wrecker slowly begins to move.
I have no doubt about why the old truck is kept behind building ‘E’; it’s an eyesore. Though rust has been kind to the old metal, the paint is weathered and flaked off in many places. Other areas are smeared with dried up applications of aviation fluid and grease the old vehicle has been exposed to during its life as the launch facility’s utility vehicle.
In its last incarnation, the aged truck had been fitted with a second winch, a welder, and a generator to run other power tools. It could lift, cut, haul, and mend as it was called on to service or dismantle the various aircraft around the salvage yard. The tool cases still carry worn out drills, grinders, and saws of many sizes to meet the variety of needs. No doubt some of them will come in handy today.
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