An Adventure Novel by:
Ryan S. Graybill
Author of Grace Leads Home
I started this story (my 2nd novel) a year ago and unfortunately haven't touched it since. *It is not edited, but I hope you enjoy! Feel free to comment! The image was taken the following website:
Rolen Sparks once again found himself standing, searching for something in his dad’s workshop. Searching for what? Rolen didn’t have a clue, but while other twelve-year-olds were at home watching movies, playing games or calling girls, he was completely aloof to why he wasn’t doing the same thing. Once his dad went missing three months ago, Rolen found himself wanting to be around anything and everything that was part of his dad. Sure he missed him, but refused to think he was dead like others believed, but that wasn’t the reason.
Whatever the reason, it was eating at his insides. Sleep in the last months came only by a complete shutdown of his body. Not once in that time had he actually done the normal nightly routine of human beings such as brushing teeth and using the toilet before pulling down the covers and sinking into a peaceful sleep. Sleep came at his desk, on the workshop floor and even in the backyard on occasion – unbeknownst to his mother.
His mother wasn’t too blame, not entirely anyway. Her life in the last three months was difficult. That was the word she had used on the phone and to the people that stopped by to visit and check up on them. Rolen’s mother had lost some of her motherly attentiveness due to the recent happenings, but she also knew that her son was more resilient and responsible than most adults.
Right now, Mrs. Sparks was inside watching, and most likely crying, to one of her favorite movies. Rolen could see the flashes of the television coming through the curtains and windows. He felt badly about not accepting her invitation to watch it together. Sitting still just wasn’t an option for him, but yet, here he was standing completely still…searching…for something.
The workshop was separated from the house. Built to resemble a small barn, it was Rolen’s dad’s most frequented place outside of the house. Other than the door, the window above the workbench was the only natural source of light. Dispersed throughout the table were the tools left behind by his dad which was peculiar. Rolen’s dad always made it a point to return all tools to their proper place before calling it a day. Drawers and bins were labeled – even the old card catalog drawers, used for screws and nails, were specifically marked by tying that specific screw or nail to the outside of the drawer.
Several tools lay about as if he had to leave in a hurry. Rolen tried to think back to where his dad was last before leaving. He had gone on one of his excursions and Rolen specifically remembered giving him a hug by the front door the moment he left. Smiling, his mother kissed him and said See you soon. So why the clutter?
Hanging by a nail above the window was an old umpire mask that he had never actually seen his dad wear, but it was always there, right beside his baseball glove for as long as he could remember. Currently the evening moon, a silver platter on the Milky Way’s dark tablecloth, cast a shadow on the Oliver tractor giving it a streaky racing stripe quality. The Oliver tractor was another artifact from his dad that was just always there – just another of the hundreds of things his dad would tinker with, but never seem to finish.
Rolen reached up and grabbed his dad’s mitt and found some oil next to a shelf full of cleaning products that his dad didn’t have the heart to say no to. Always a sucker for sales people. In a perhaps waning hopefulness that his dad would one day return, Rolen lathered the glove, found a baseball nearby, placed it inside and set the glove back on the shelf after burying his nose inside. The scent, dad always told him, was what Rolen’s head smelled like when he was born. Harry’s going to call one of his home runs someday. He told his wife while holding Rolen for the first time.