Chapter 1
It’s
a cool, summer morning. We don’t get much of these here in Terry. It’s usually
so hot that even the mosquitoes slow down, resting their petite wings on the
trunk of my 100 year old oak tree. I stare off into the distance, letting the
wind catch my hair and gently lift it off of my face. My head is resting on the
worn ropes of my tree swing as I teeter forward, back, forward back. I am
overlooking the lake in our backyard. The pale blue morning sky is reflected in
its glassy surface. I am at peace here among the trees, the birds, the
stillness.
My
daddy hung this swing up for me when I was just a little girl. I remember the
day it happened- it was the best day of my life. We had just come home from
church when Daddy called up the stairs to me, “Hey, Ger, come on down. I wanna
show you something!” (Daddy started calling me Ger, short for Geraldine, when I
was four. It’s become my permanent nickname). As I ran down the stairs I saw
him gripping an old piece of wood and some rope. Daddy’s always up to something! I thought. We walked to the old oak
and stopped. Daddy climbed a ladder to reach one of protruding branches, where
he tied the ropes using one of the knots he learned back in his sailing days.
Then he strung the ropes through two holes at either end of the cedar plank. I
jumped for joy, gave Daddy a huge hug, and hopped onto the swing. I haven’t
left since.
I
don’t know how I could ever say goodbye to such a glorious place. As my
thoughts begin to wander, I am abruptly brought back to reality.
“Don’t
you get any ideas about being lazy today, Ger!” taunted the boy with sandy,
blonde hair, a faded red t-shirt and cutoff denim jeans. “Remember we’re going
to Ol’ Stevie Klein’s place to sort through all that junk in his garage. Gotta
be something valuable in there.”
Scotty
has been my best friend since, well, forever. Mama has a picture of the two of
us in diapers hanging on the fridge; mouths covered in tomato sauce, chubby
fingers gripping short strands of spaghetti. Even though it’s 10 years later,
we’re still pretty much the same. Scotty and I (and Maxie, his yellow lab) do
everything together. When school’s in we walk to Dogwood Elementary every
morning, swap lunches in the afternoon, and talk about grumpy Ms. Daniels and
how if she would just find a husband she wouldn’t be so miserable and, in turn,
wouldn’t make our lives so miserable
by assigning so much homework.
Now
that summer’s here, Scotty, Maxie and I stumble upon adventures as they come.
Today, Scotty wants to go to Stevie Klein’s house and “help him” clean out his
garage (and by “help” I mean try to find hidden treasures).
Stevie
and his wife, Bertha, are moving. They’ve lived in Terry for just about as long
as anybody. They got married here, raised their kids here, and even donated a
bench in park that has their names on it: This
Bench Donated By S & B Klein, 1995. How could anyone who built a life
in Terry just up and move? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for days. A
question I’ve been keeping to myself for what seems like an eternity.
“Helloooo?
Earth to Ger! Let’s get a move on! I don’t want to miss any of the good stuff.
I heard Bobby Denver and Tim Riley might show up and we don’t need them taking
what could be ours!” rambled Scotty.
“OK,
OK, I’m ready!” I exclaimed. “You know, Scott, sometimes I think Maxie here has
more patience than you.”
“Of
course he does! He’s a DOG, Ger. His entire life is spent waiting to see what
we do, so let’s entertain him by getting going!”
I
breathed a deep sigh as I slid off of the swing and my feet sunk into the warm,
soggy grass below. How many more times would I experience this feeling?
As
Scotty and I strolled down the cracked sidewalks, Maxie panting behind, I
struggled with myself. Should I tell him? How do I do it? When is the right
time? How will he react? Can this all just be one, big nightmare?
Sadly,
it was reality.
Chapter 2
As
soon as we reached the Klein’s house I knew we were in for trouble.
First,
they had all of the contents of their garage spread across the front lawn. And
not just lawnmowers and old paint cans from 1975. There were trophies from bowling
leagues (the kinds with gold figures of bowlers glued to the top) jutting out of
brown boxes. Framed posters of Charlie’s Angels and unicorns (probably left behind
by the Klein’s kids- Tam and Clyde) were leaning up against tree trunks. It was
all useless, but I’m sure it had meaning to Bertha and Stevie.
And,
of course, it had meaning to Scotty. He LOVES other people’s junk. He lives by
the motto, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure... and that other man is ME!”
I spotted him out of the corner of my eye, bottom in the air, leaning over an
old box of comic books.
The
other problem was INSIDE the garage. Bobby and Tim were here. To make a very, VERY
long story short: Bobby and Tim do not like Scotty and I. And we don’t like those
clowns either. They’re always teasing Scotty about having a girl for a best friend.
They make kissy faces when we walk into the cafeteria during school and call out
things like, “Hey Scotty Boy, shouldn’t you be wearing a pink shirt? I bet you’d
like that better wouldn’t you?” when they have their baseball league on Saturdays.
The last thing I wanted was for them to start bothering Scotty today. Especially
on a day when what I had to say was even more hurtful than their words.
“Hey
Ger, come check this out! I found a reallll
treasure in here!” Scotty shouted from the bottom of the box.
As
I walked over, I admired my best friend for his ability to see the beauty in,
well, everything.
“These
comics must be real old. Like, from the 80s! Look: Archie, Peanuts, they’re all here! Imagine how valuable they are? They’ll be great additions to my collection.”
“Uh,
Scotty? You don’t have a comic book collection,” I reminded him.
“Well,
right now I have more of a magazine collection. You know, my car magazines and
that one Uncle Pete gave me about traveling in Mississippi. Now I’ll have a whole
library to choose from! So awesome,” he gleamed.
“Yea,
right, a whole libr...”
Before
I could finish my sentence, Tim’s voice rang out over the yard.
“Here
to help, lovebirds? Or just shop around for your future love nest?”
“Aw,
Tim, leave us alone,” Scotty brushed off as he turned back to his newly prized
possessions.
“What
the matter, sweetie pie,” Bobby butted in, “afraid we may hurt your girlfriend’s
feelings?”
“Guys,”
I pleaded, “just go finish whatever it was you were doing before we got here. We’re
not in the mood for your idiotic comments today.”
“Oooo,
seems like you need your girl to stick up for you, Scotty Boy,” taunted Tim. “Whose
gonna fight your battles when she and her family move to Jackson, huh?”
It was at that moment that Tim Reilly, the most insignificant
person in my life, shared the most significant secret I had ever kept.
