This Journal Belongs to Ratchet (7 page)

Today the phone rang while Dad and I were flushing the transmission on a Ford. I turned down the radio and answered it.

It was Community Service Officer Jenkins looking for Dad.

All I could think was, this was it! He was calling to ask Dad's size for the bright orange vest.

When Dad scooted out from under the minivan on the creeper he was lying on, I think he already knew who it was. He reached for the phone without even getting up.

I could tell from the look on his face, it wasn't good news.

So when he handed the phone back to me, I asked what Officer Jenkins said.

That's when Dad went into one of his usual rants. “What do you think he said? They found another teacher for the go-cart class, and now I'm gonna be working pollution pickup on the side of the road.

“If people didn't treat the Good Lord's green grass like it was the inside of a garbage can, there wouldn't even be any trash to pick up. I'm sure Pretty Boy Eddie's got something to do with this new ‘community service assignment,' and as usual, he's got everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. Those crazies down at the sheriff's office have the backbone of a jellyfish. They're wasting more time worrying about punishing someone like me when I'm trying to educate the community about the ludicrous...”

Dad slid the creeper and himself back under the Ford and kept talking, but I couldn't hear him until he rolled out again and said, “You know what, Ratchet?”

I knew whatever he was going to say I had heard at least a dozen times before, but I still said, “What?”

“Those idiots would spend their time rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. They don't even have the sense to use the brains the Good Lord gave them.”

I was right. I had heard it all before. More than a dozen times. Probably more like a million.

“They want me to pick up garbage on the highway? I'll pick up garbage on the highway, but if they think that's going to stop me from fighting the crimes those fools at city hall commit every day when they allow developers to build schools and city buildings with windows facing the east and west, they're on a quick trip to crazy. How energy inefficient are they trying to be? And now disgracing a good man like Herman Moss to build another strip mall, just so some fools can sell more plastic garbage. They really make me sick,” he added before he slid back under the car.

Then he slid back out again. “And you mark my words, Ratchet, you can be sure that crooked excuse for a man Eddie J. is planning to somehow line his pockets with green from this whole strip mall deal, and I'll be doggoned if I'm going to let him tear down the riches the Good Lord gave this town to make himself a wealthy man.”

All this stuff matters to Dad, but the only thing that matters to me is that he's going to be wearing an orange vest and picking up trash on the side of the highway in broad daylight where everyone will be able to see him.

The Only Thing Worse

The only thing worse

Than my life before,

Is my life now.

Because

Garbage smells worse

Than oil and grease.

Orange vests look worse

Than mechanic's clothes.

And a community service criminal

Is even more fun to tease

Than a crazy mechanic.

The Only Thing Worse
2

The only thing worse

Than Dad's crazy, embarrassing

Save-the-environment stunts

Is Dad just home from picking up trash.

Because he's

Dirty

Smelly

Sunburned

And I know he'd never admit it

But I can tell.

He's humiliated.

And even though

I hate being embarrassed,

Having Dad be embarrassed

Is even worse.

I biked to the Gas Gulp Mini-Mart today for a frozen drink and ran into Hunter, Evan, and a few other boys from the go-cart class.

“So how's the jailbird doing?” Evan yelled when he saw me.

The other boys laughed. I wasn't surprised that outside of class I was back to being noticed for all the wrong reasons.

I ignored them and went inside to get my drink.

By the time I came out, the cover girls had shown up. They must've already been learning a lot at the rec center because they looked more like Charlize than the last time I'd seen them. And whatever she was teaching them was working because the boys were definitely noticing them.

When Evan saw me, he said, “We'll be sure to throw our candy wrappers on the ground so your dad doesn't run out of things to pick up while he's working the chain gang.”

Their laughter made me wish I'd never been noticed by anyone for anything at all.

I pedaled my bike hard and fast toward home wishing...

Wishing...

Wishing

I

Knew

What

To

Wish

For.

Dad always says

If the Good Lord wanted us to do this...

If the Good Lord wanted us to do that...

What I wonder is

Does the Good Lord

Care about us

As much as he cares about

The trees

And the grass

And the decisions made

At the city council meetings?

And if he does,

Wouldn't he have made it harder

For someone's feelings to get hurt?

The next day I biked to Mama Mack's, the burger place in town, to get some dinner for Dad and me. The sky was getting dark, and I could smell rain, so I hurried. As bad luck would have it, when I got there, Hunter, Evan, and the group were outside. They were all crowded around one of their bikes. I hurried inside but not quick enough. I knew Hunter spotted me.

I ordered right away, paid, and headed back out to my bike with my food. Just as I put my bag into the milk crate on the back of my bike, there was a huge crack of thunder. The ground shook, and the restaurant windows rattled.

“Holy cow!” one of the boys said.

“Sorry, Evan, we're out of here!” another boy said, getting on his bike.

The sky got darker and the wind picked up, but the rain still didn't come. All the boys except Evan and Hunter rode away.

As I hopped on my bike, I realized that one of their bikes had a chain off the gear. Hunter and Evan were trying to put it back on with their fingers, but they were trying not to get their hands greasy. They were acting like the chain was a poisonous snake, and they were afraid to touch it. It looked like they had a better chance of getting struck by lightning than they had of getting that chain back on.

Another bolt of lightning and crack of thunder made us all jump. That's when I saw Hunter glance at me. I hopped off my bike and walked over.

I told them if they could find a stick, I could fix it.

“Yeah, right,” Evan said.

Hunter looked around and grabbed a nearby stick on the ground under a bush and handed it to me. I put the stick inside the loop of the chain.

I told them to hold up the seat and get the rear wheel off the ground.

Evan did, and I pushed the pedal forward slowly, while I guided the chain back onto the gear with the stick. It clicked right into place.

Hunter smiled at me but didn't say anything.

Evan just said, “Hot dog! Let's go!” and hopped on his bike.

“Aren't you even going to say thanks?” Hunter asked.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Evan said over his shoulder. “Surprised you didn't get your hands greasy. Oh, yeah, they already are greasy, never mind!” Evan yelled as he pedaled away.

Hunter didn't even turn around.

Directions for Removing Grease and Grime from Hands after Working in the Garage

1.
Soak a rag in gasoline. Rub the rag over your hands, front and back. Caution: all your cuts and hangnails will hurt like crazy.

2.
Take a palm full of Goop and rub front and back of hands, smoothing it all over.

3.
Wash hands in laundry tub with Lava.

4.
Repeat step three with Zest.

5.
Wash hands again in kitchen sink with lemon-scented dish soap.

Note: If you follow these steps, your hands will technically be clean, but they won't look or feel like it. There will still be dirt and grime in most of the creases and crevices of your hands. They will smell like Goop, which smells like evergreen-scented car air freshener and oil mixed together. They will feel like sandpaper.

Most likely, and most importantly, a boy would not ever want to hold one of these hands.

I'm practically inside the huge cupboard under the sink in the laundry room looking for the hand lotion. I know it's in here in a big, ugly, green bottle. Dad said he saw it not too long ago. I'm thinking if my hands can't look good, maybe they can at least smell a little better than they do right now.

I'm wondering to myself: Where is that lotion? Why is there so much junk under here? And what is that weird smell?

Just when I'm ready to give up on having soft skin and sweet-smelling hands, I see something. The box. The one with the cardboard and tape melted together. The one Dad never opens. The one that I hope holds clues about Mom. And I feel like things seem softer and smell sweeter than they have in a long time.

I almost don't hear Dad yell from the garage, “Did you find it?”

His voice reminds me that my hands still smell bad and look even worse. But I'm hoping that what's inside the box will smooth out a lot more than rough skin.

“Not yet!” I yell back, answering my own question of when will I get to see what's inside the box.

As soon as Dad is gone again, my “not yet” will be now.

One day a raccoon named Ratchet went to the rec center where her father RD once taught a class. She went to pick up some tools her father had left there. She was surprised when she arrived at her father's old classroom to find all his raccoon students there. They were being taught by Evan's older brother, Steve.

Evan was the class troublemaker. He was always getting into trouble in the neighborhood knocking down garbage cans and sneaking into people's garages. His older brother, Steve, who went to raccoon junior college, was an even bigger troublemaker. He had been in so much trouble that once he had been caught in a trap and taken out to the country. He had somehow made his way back home by hiding in the back of a fruit delivery truck.

The students in RD's class were trying to put together go-cart engines, but there was no way these go-carts were going anywhere. At least not unless someone helped the boys figure out how to turn their piles of engine parts into working engines. But their new teacher, Steve, was too busy talking and showing off to the cute college-age girl raccoon across the hall who was teaching younger girl raccoons how to brush and fluff their fur and wave their tails a certain way to impress the boy raccoons.

When the boys saw Ratchet, their faces lit up with excitement.

“Look, you guys,” a boy raccoon named Hunter said. “Ratchet's here!”

Ratchet felt unusually glad to be noticed, but her gladness changed instantly when the troublemaker Evan said, “Aren't you supposed to be out on the highway somewhere holding a trash bag?”

Ratchet grabbed the torque wrench and spark plug gauge she came for and headed for the door.

“Wait!” the other raccoons cried after her. “Stay here and help us!”

“Let her go,” Evan said. “She's probably got to go wash her dad's orange vest or something.”

“No, we need her,” someone said. “C'mon back, Ratchet!”

But Ratchet left, never looked back, and smiled all the way home.

The moral: There's nothing like the satisfaction of being needed.