by Tully, Alex
Lorene got off the bus and started walking home. Another week was done and it had been an eventful one. Bea’s news about the boy was a surprise. She wasn’t sure what was going to come of it, but it would be interesting when Mr. and Mrs. Stewart found out. Lorene had a feeling that a garbage picker from Westwood would not be the Stewart’s first choice of an ideal boyfriend for their only daughter.
She opened the front door of her colonial on Revere Road. Although she was technically in Cleveland city limits, she lived in one of the nicer areas on the East side. They were close to two prominent universities as well as the museums and the orchestra hall.
She hoped Reggie was home. She needed to let off some steam and he was a good sounding board. He always listened and acted interested, even when she knew he wasn’t. “Hey honey!” She hung her jacket on a hook by the door and went into the kitchen. She always brought home the leftovers for Reggie. It was close to eight o’clock, but he didn’t mind a late dinner.
“I’m on the porch!” Reggie yelled from the back of the house.
Lorene joined Reggie on the porch, sitting on a wicker chair and putting her feet up on the ottoman. “What a week.”
Reggie was hunched over his work table. “Yeah? What’s happening over in rich-man’s land?” he asked, paintbrush in hand.
Reggie collected model trains. In the evenings he would spend hours on the three-season porch working on his hobby. In the corner of the porch, sat a large display table with a replica countryside on top. A myriad of railroad tracks crossed over mountains and through tunnels. All of his train cars were Lionel, and they all were made prior to 1960. Depending on their condition, he could spend days on one car, sometimes even months.
“Oh, I’m just a little worried about Bea, that’s all.”
“Okay…” He dipped his paintbrush into some red paint. “Tell me about it.”
“You’re going to think I’m over-reacting, but I just have a really bad feeling about something. See, she met this boy, and she was so excited about it. I can tell she really likes him.”
“Well that doesn’t sound so bad. She’s like seventeen isn’t she? This is the time she’s going to start dating and all that.”
Lorene got up and walked back into the kitchen. “I know. But let me tell you how they met. You’ll love this.” She took out a frying pan to warm up the shrimp stir-fry. “She’s going to school in the morning, pulling out the driveway, and she sees this kid getting up off the ground.” She peeked around the corner into the porch. “Are you listening to me?”
Reggie stopped painting, “Yes, I heard you Lorene.”
“Well, get this. Bea sees that his arm is bleeding badly. Blood all over the kid’s sweatshirt. Apparently, he had been attacked by a raccoon. Can you believe that?”
Reggie looked up, a big smile on his face, “Are you kidding me?”
“I swear,” she put her hands up in the air. “And guess why he got attacked by that raccoon?”
“I know you’re going to tell me,” Reggie chuckled.
“He was hiding in some bushes at the end of the Stewart’s driveway. And you may ask, ‘Why was he hiding in the bushes Lorene?’ And I would tell you, because he was garbage-picking!”
Reggie shook his head, “Oh no.”
Lorene went on, “I know! Can you just see Bill Stewart’s face? ‘Hey daddy, I’d like you to meet my new boyfriend. I met him while he was picking through our garbage.’ Oh, it’s just too much Reggie.”
“Well you know what they say…”
“To each his own,” Lorene replied. “To each his own.”
CHAPTER 8
Today was Saturday and that meant Trevor could spend the whole day in the Box. He got a shower and then headed downstairs. Uncle Gary was sitting at the kitchen table drinking his coffee, probably nursing another hangover. “Hey, you pick up anything good lately?” he asked.
Trevor took a can of pop out of the fridge. “Uh, not really…but Frank told me about this house where this rich lady lived. She had to move into a nursing home and I guess they’re cleaning out her house. Getting rid of good stuff every week. It’s in Lowell and I think trash day is Tuesday.”
“Shit, Frank doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. You better get on it. It’s been a while since you brought me anything worth a damn.”
Uncle Gary didn’t like Frank, probably because Frank was a nice guy with a wife and a family. Trevor met Frank two years ago when he was out scouting the streets. He drove past a kid’s bike that looked salvageable, but by the time he turned around and parked the pickup, the garbage truck was there. One of the garbage men was getting ready to throw it in the truck when Trevor yelled from across the street, “Hey! Wait!”
Holding the bike up in a mid-throw stance, the garbage man halted and waited for him to cross. The man looked at him curiously, “Can I help you kid?”
Trevor knew he sounded pathetic but he didn’t care. He wanted that bike. “Don’t throw it away. Can I have it?”
The man looked at the bike’s cracked frame, “You sure you want it?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” The bike did look like a piece of crap, but Trevor was convinced he could fix it.
The garbage man shrugged his shoulders and tossed the bike to him, “Suit yourself.”
As Trevor turned to leave, a thought came to him. “Hey! Is this your route every Wednesday, at the same time?”
“Yeah pretty much. Why?”
Feeling like he had to prove something, Trevor said loudly, “Okay. I’ll be here next week with this bike, and it will look brand new!”
“Yeah, whatever kid.” The garbage man was shaking his head as he jumped on the back of the truck. “Got to go!”
Another idea immediately popped into Trevor’s head. It might be beneficial to have a friend in the garbage business. Maybe he could get an inside track to the good stuff. Maybe, they could even make some kind of deal. “Hey! What’s your name?” he yelled after the man.
“Frank!” the man yelled back as the truck drove away.
Trevor waved, “See you next week Frank!”
And it was right there, standing among a slew of empty garbage cans, where Trevor first had the idea about the Box. He could turn that old garage into a workshop. He could fix more than just appliances, and motors, and all the other junk Uncle Gary wanted. He could fix things like toys and furniture. He had a broken bike, a deadline, and most important, he had a purpose.
“Piss-ant, did you hear me?” Uncle Gary broke up his thoughts. “I said you need to do some laundry today. Don’t go hiding in that garage all day.”
The only thing Trevor hated more than cleaning up after that pig—which was disgusting enough—was doing his laundry. He would not wish that job on his worst enemy. In order to survive it, he had learned the art of breathing through the mouth perfectly.
“Yeah okay, I’ll get to it today,” and Trevor was out the back door.
When he got in the Box he immediately felt better. Home. He walked over to his work station and started setting up the table saw. Before he knew it, his thoughts turned to Bea. It had only been one day, but he really wanted to see her again. He couldn’t decide if he should call her now or wait until tonight. Would he seem too desperate? He decided to text her instead; it was easier.
Hey, what’s up Barbara?
It was only a few seconds and then he heard the ‘ding-dong’ alerting him of a new text message. Not much, u?
Just working in the Box, he typed.
Sounds fun. I’d luv 2 c it
Trevor panicked. Bea wanted to come to his house. She already knew he lived in Westwood with his white-trash uncle. He had told her the truth about that. Sooner or later, if things went the way he hoped, she would have to see where he lived.
Screw it. Do you want to come over? He hit ‘send’ and held his breath.
His phone lit up immediately. What’s your address? B there in 20
After giving her the address, he ran back int
o the house. Thankfully, Uncle Gary left in his truck, which probably meant he would be at the bar all day. Trevor brushed his teeth again and checked out his face in the mirror. No zits. He only got zits occasionally, and luckily none today. He had shaved this morning and no razor burn either—double bonus. His hair was probably a little long, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He reapplied his deodorant and checked his grey sweatshirt for stains—this was one of the few decent shirts he owned.
He ran back to the Box and tried to stay busy, but it was pretty much impossible. Ten minutes later he heard a car pull up into the gravel driveway. He was nervous as hell. His heart was racing and he had to keep wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans.
He could only imagine what Bea was thinking. Westwood must be like a foreign country to her. She was probably afraid to get out of the car.
Peeking out the side window, he could see Bea walking into the backyard. She was wearing jeans and a short white sweater. Unlike the bulky school uniform, this outfit showed off all of her curves. His heart lurched in his chest—what was happening to him?
He swallowed hard, opened the door and walked out. “Hey, did you find it okay?” He tried to sound casual.
She was about to answer him when Jip ran to her at full speed and began jumping up.
“Jip! Get down! Jip…down!” he yelled at the dog.
Bea didn’t seem to mind. She bent down and started petting Jip on the head. “Oh he’s so cute…he’s adorable. I always wanted a dog, but my parents would never allow it.” Jip immediately rolled over onto his back hoping for a belly-scratch. Thank God for Jip; he totally broke the ice.
“That name’s kind of different. Where’d you get the name Jip?” she asked.
He could feel his face flushing, “Well, it’s kind of dumb…”
She looked up at him smiling, “So, I want to hear it.”
“Okay.” He noticed big dimples in her cheeks. “You sure?”
She nodded again showing her perfect white smile.
“Okay. Here goes. Well, Abraham Lincoln had a dog named Jip. The story is that soldiers found him in confederate territory and he was almost frozen to death. The soldiers gave the dog to the president.” Trevor kneeled down and started scratching Jip behind the ears. “And Mr.T found this guy in his backyard almost frozen to death, so I thought the name fit.” God, he sounded lame.
“I think it definitely fits. Who’s Mr.T?” she asked.
Trevor must not have mentioned his seventy year old best friend, “Oh, that’s Mr.Tyminski. He lives next door. We hang out a lot. He’s a real good guy.” Then he added, “And he’s like seventy.”
“Really?” He could hear the surprise in her voice.
He avoided her eyes, “I know it seems weird, but he’s really cool. Kind of like a grandpa I never had. You’d like him.”
When he finally had the courage to look at her, she seemed to be studying him. “How do you know this stuff? I mean, like about Abraham Lincoln’s dog?”
Trevor shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know. I read a lot?”
“Well, do I get to see inside the Box?” she asked, looking over his shoulder at the garage. No one other than Mr.T had ever set foot inside the Box.
“Yeah come on in,” he said as he got up. Holding out his hand, he helped her to her feet. He led her to the Box, not letting go of her hand.
When Trevor opened the door, he could hear Bea suck in her breath. He caught a sideways glance at her face. She was holding her hand up over her mouth and her eyes were wide, “Holy crap!”
She was definitely surprised.
CHAPTER 9
Tom didn’t recognize the car in the driveway or the girl that wandered into the Box with Trevor. So the kid had finally met a friend his own age, and a pretty girl at that. He hoped this was a sign of more good things to come. The kid needed to start opening up to people, preferably people not on social security. Maybe the sessions with Dr. Fisher were making a difference.
When Trevor first gave Tom a tour of the Box and showed him all of the projects he was working on, Tom was truly impressed. Here was a kid who had been to hell and back, and he still wanted to do something productive with his time.
One day Trevor had asked him for help with an air-conditioning unit. After researching on the internet, the kid still couldn’t figure out which fuse to replace. Spending over forty years as an electrician, Tom knew everything there was to know about fuses, and they fixed it together. Things were going so well, Tom thought it was a good time to bring up an idea he had been tossing around in his mind for a while. He asked Trevor if he had ever thought about going to a doctor.
“What do you mean? I’m perfectly healthy. I think you should worry about your own old ass.” The kid didn’t understand that Tom was suggesting a therapist.
“No, I mean a doctor that can help with your problems.”
When the realization hit, Trevor got ticked off. “What, you think I need a shrink? You think I’m crazy?”
Tom held up his hands, “No, no…nothing like that. It’s just sometimes it’s good to talk to someone about things. Someone objective, someone that doesn’t judge you. You just get some things off your chest you know. I’ve been to one before. It helps.”
“Well no thanks Mr.T,” he said. “Not interested.”
“Okay,” Tom didn’t want to give up. “But you like making deals right? You have a pretty good deal with that garbage man, what’s his name, Frank?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
Tom chose his words carefully. “Well I was thinking. You could really use some new tools and stuff to fix up the place. And I would be willing to help you buy that stuff if you do something for me.”
“What? Like go to a shrink? What does that do for you Mr.T? Deals go both ways. Frank gives me tips—I give him something I fixed up. That’s how it works.”
Trevor started looking through his screwdriver drawer. “Did you see the tiny Phillips head screwdriver?” He wouldn’t look Tom in the eye. “Besides, I’m sure you just have tons of money to be throwing around. Tools aren’t cheap.”
“Here.” The screwdriver was sitting on the work table, right under the kid’s nose. “I have enough money kid. What do I spend it on anyway—heating bills and TV dinners? I have some extra.”
Tom thought of Trevor like his own grandson. The kid was family to him, and Tom worried about him. After everything he had been through, what the kid needed most was professional help. There was too much he was hiding under the surface, and if he didn’t talk to someone about it, who knows what would happen.
Trevor began twisting the screwdriver faster, still avoiding Tom’s eyes. “Can there be some conditions?”
Tom laughed under a sigh of relief, “Absolutely. Name them.”
The kid insisted on picking his own doctor. Tom thought he could probably arrange that without a problem. He also insisted everything that happened behind closed doors stayed there—he didn’t want a million questions. Of course Tom respected that.
Then Tom laid out his one and only condition. Trevor had to go to the Beaumont Center because that was the best. “When you get done with a session, you get a Home Depot gift card,” he told the kid.
“How much?” Trevor asked immediately.
“Now you sound like a teenager!” Tom laughed. “Don’t worry kid. You won’t be disappointed.”
And the kid hadn’t been. Trevor worked his butt off with every penny he got, and turned the Box into a workshop any man would envy.
Tom grabbed his spring jacket and headed out the door. The kid wasn’t the only one with a hot date today. He had called Sorak’s diner to ask Carol if she would be working this afternoon. She sounded happy to hear from him. He was actually a little excited to see her—and to get those noodles.
***
Trevor had to admit, from the outside the Box looked like nothing more than a run-down garage. He wanted it that way; he didn’t need his uncle snooping around. But thanks to M
r.T, the inside had been completely gutted and renovated. And it was spotless.
Steel-topped cabinets lined one wall. On top of the cabinets were shelves that held clear plastic containers. They were filled with every type of hardware imaginable and everything was neatly labeled. Paint cans were packed under the cabinets in color-coordinated sections.
Along a second wall was a large workstation with overhead pendant lights. Mr.T had to help him with the wiring on those. The station had saws, drills, and various other tools, all hung in orderly rows on the pegboard behind it.
The third wall, directly across from them, was what Trevor was most proud of. The Wall of Garbage. The entire wall was covered in photographs from floor to ceiling. It looked like a giant piece of abstract art. It was filled with hundreds of before-and-after shots of everything Trevor had ever garbage-picked and fixed up. A stove, a wheelbarrow, a clock, a stroller…something filled every conceivable space on the wall. All of the items looked like junk in the ‘before’ and brand new in the ‘after’.
“You did all this?” Bea’s eyes were riveted to the wall, her voice quiet.
Trevor felt his face flushing, again. “Yeah, this is what I was telling you about. It all came out of the garbage-picking.”
She hurried over to the wall. “This is incredible! So do you sell all this stuff?”
He joined her at the wall and caught a glimpse of the bike he had given Frank. “Actually, I don’t sell it. I have to give a lot of it to my uncle. He was the one who kind of made me go garbage-picking in the first place. He has a mechanics shop in town—don’t ask.”
He paused, feeling a little embarrassed, although he wasn’t sure why, “And the rest I usually give away to people.”
Bea looked at him like he was crazy, “What? You give it away? Like donate it?”
He laughed, “Yeah. I’m on a first name basis with the volunteers at the Goodwill and Salvation Army stores.”
“Seriously?” She was quiet for a minute, studying the wall. “You do realize you could get some serious money for this stuff. You know, sell it on EBay or something.”