The Mapmaker and the Ghost(5)
On the Tuesday after her long, drawn-out grounding, she found herself at the end of her driveway, looking around with an exhilarating sense of freedom. Her green Backpack of Adventure, which now, needless to say, also contained a cell phone programmed to call her house and 911 with the touch of a button, hung heavy on her back with the promise of great things.
In between scheming about how to get on her mother’s best side, Goldenrod had spent a great deal of time mapping out her mapping intentions. She had decided that she would start, like Lewis and Clark, in the west (past the science museum), then east (past Joseph McKinney’s house), south (past the park playground), and, finally, north to Pilmilton Woods.
She had carefully filled the first page in her gridded notebook with the five essential parts of the map. She had come up with a legend—a set of symbols—which included representations of trees, bushes, fences, dogs, litter, no-parking signs, sprinklers, wading pools, and pretty much anything else you would expect to see in your standard suburban town. There was a compass rose that pointed out north, south, east, and west. There was a scale to indicate distance. There was a title on top (Town of Pilmilton) and, of course, there were the grid lines themselves. Everything was ready. All that was missing was the map.
That first day, Goldenrod walked straight to the strip mall that housed the science museum, the nail salon, the vitamin shop, and the doctor’s office. She strode right up to the very edge of the museum’s large gray building and squinted at a bench that was only a few feet away. Yesterday, she would not have been allowed to sit on this bench. But today … ah, today, Goldenrod looked out at the scene in front of her and with a finger erased the imaginary fiery red line that her mother had once made for her right past that museum. Then, with a thrill that she could feel even in her elbows, she hopped right over that line and sat down on the bench.
She allowed herself one moment to take it all in. It was another beautiful day, and the sun gleamed off the few cars that were in the strip mall’s small parking lot. Tied to a fire hydrant a few feet away was a small, gray, yapping dog. A boy in black leaned against the front of the doctor’s office, and an old security guard squinted out at him from the front of the museum.
She had to admit, she felt just a little bit more grown up sitting on this bench all by herself. With a smile, Goldenrod started to rummage around in her backpack. She had work to do.
She took out her graph paper, a sharpened pencil, and her measuring tape. She decided that the park bench was as good a place as any to start, so she drew the tiny symbol she had come up with for it. Then she set about measuring the bench itself. She was able to hook one end of the measuring tape underneath the seat and pull the tape out to the other end. But unfortunately, measuring from the bench to the tree all by herself proved to be much more difficult. Whereas Lewis had Clark, however, Goldenrod at least had duct tape. Mentally making a note to thank her father, she secured one end of the measuring tape and managed to jot down the accurate length that she needed.
As she worked, she suddenly got the feeling that she was being watched. When she glanced up to confirm her suspicions, she took a closer look at the boy in black. She was surprised she hadn’t recognized him earlier. The boy wasn’t leaning against the front of the doctor’s office so much as he was curving into it, and there was only one person—probably in the entire world—who could stand that way.
His name was Drew Henderson. He was two years older than Goldenrod, and he must have spent the thirteen years of his existence perfecting the worst posture imaginable. In fact, he slouched so much that his back formed an almost perfect C when he was standing in his neutral position. Goldenrod had often wished her mother could have gotten a look at Drew every time she told Goldenrod to “stand up straight.”
What was truly remarkable about Drew, however, was that he seemed to be able to control his claylike spine in a way most human beings certainly could not. His victory in the elementary school limbo competition a couple of years back was the stuff of legend.
Almost as if the universe was in tune with her thoughts, at that very moment a middle-aged man in a white coat came out of the doctor’s office. He stared wide-eyed at Drew and slowly started to circle him. Drew stopped watching Goldenrod and looked lazily at the doctor instead.
“Young man!” the doctor said briskly. “How are you doing that?”
“Doing what?” Drew asked in a slow drawl.
“Standing that way.”
Drew smirked and shrugged; only when he did so, he caused his whole spine to go up and down one vertebra at a time, almost like piano keys.
The doctor seemed beside himself with fascination. “You must understand, I’m a doctor, a chiropractor. I’ve spent years studying the human spine, and I have never, ever seen it manipulated in that way.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Tell me, my boy. Have you ever been studied?”
“Studied?”
“Yes,” the doctor said. “I feel like I could create a whole paper on you. Would you let me examine you?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Well … you’d be doing it in the name of science. Of progress. Of great possible medical breakthroughs.”
Drew hesitated for a moment. “Medical breakthroughs?”
“Colossal ones,” the doctor said.
“Nah,” Drew said. “Not interested.”