Chapter 4: Chapter 4

At home I had a small metal box I had bought

with my allowance back in middle school, and whenever I found

something Mr. Pierce had left behind at my home, I scooped it up

before my mother could clear it away and hoarded it in my little

box. Every time I came over to Mikey’s, I did the same thing—before

heading inside, I always took a moment to glance over the

workbenches for something small, something Mr. Pierce wouldn’t

miss, something I could hold and know he, too, had held it before

me. Something to remind me of him when I left for school.

Hands in my pockets, I strolled around the

back of the garage, looking over the array of items spread out like

a metallic smorgasbord before me. Nails—I had those, bent ones Mr.

Pierce had pried out, useless and thrown away. When I pressed them

to my nose, I swore the coppery smell clinging to them was the same

musk that must have wafted from Mr. Pierce before he showered after