Summer Sanctuary (5 page)

“Which way are you facing?” Dinah asked.

“What do you mean which way am I facing?” I thought she was just messing with me.

“I mean are you throwing the ball in the same direction the train's moving or do you have your back to the front of the train, throwing it back to me?” Dinah asked. She was serious, and suddenly it dawned on me what she meant.

“Let's say I'm facing the front of the train and throwing the ball in the same direction that the train's moving,” I said.

“Okay, then I can see that the ball would be traveling 100 miles per hour,” Dinah conceded.

“So how fast something is traveling is relative to how fast the things around it are traveling. And that's true for everything except light. Light always travels at 300,000 kilometers per second. If the train was traveling at 100,000 kilometers per second and had a light on the front of it, the light would still only travel at 300,000 kilometers per second. If you were on another train traveling toward the light at 100,000 kilometers per second and the train with the light wasn't moving, the light would still travel toward you at 300,000 kilometers per second.”

“Well, that seems a little weird,” Dinah said. “So what's time dilation?”

“Time dilation is how time slows down the faster you move. So if you were in a rocket zooming by earth, you wouldn't age as fast as I would here on earth,” I explained.

“And that's what you're trying to prove?” Dinah asked, looking at me like my hair suddenly poofed up like Einstein's.

“No, Einstein already proved all that. I'm trying to prove that the Bible told us this way before Einstein figured it out,” I said. My palms were getting sweaty. I suddenly wondered if quoting Bible verses to Dinah was such a great idea.

“You mean like Einstein's Theory of Relativity is written in the Bible?” Dinah asked.

“Not all spelled out exactly, but when I was reading all the stuff Einstein proved, I kept thinking of two things I'd read in the Bible—that God is light, and that 1,000 years on earth is like a single day to God. So I want to do the math to see if the time dilation traveling at the speed of light would be like one day equals 1,000 years.”

“So is that like algebra, or geometry, or what?” Dinah wanted to know.

“That's what I'm trying to figure out. I thought that I just needed to look up how long a light year is and then compare the number of seconds in a thousand light years to the number of seconds in a single day on
earth. Only a light year is how far light travels in a year. Distance, not time. Now I'm stuck.”

“You just need to take a break,” Dinah suggested. “Did you bring your lunch again?”

I suddenly realized that I was starving. “It's in my backpack,” I told her.

“So what are you waiting for?” asked Dinah, swinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“You go ahead. I need to stack up these books and let Mrs. Cleary know that I'll be back after lunch to use them again. I'll meet you by the maple tree.”

Dinah was already out the door by the time I finished stacking up my books. Mrs. Cleary was sitting behind the reference desk reading an
Oprah
magazine. “Mrs. Cleary?” I said, not waiting for her to look up. “Those are my books on the table over there, and I'll be back to use them again after lunch.”

“That's fine, Matthew.” She peered up at me over the dark black rim of her reading glasses. “We'll just let them be until you return.”

D
INAH HAD SETTLED
in under the tree and was digging stuff out of her backpack when I arrived. “What have you got?” I asked.

She held out a dented canister of Pringles and a glass jar of green olives with no label. “Chips and olives. How about you?”

I sat down beside her. “I don't know. Let me see what Mom packed today.” I pulled out my sack lunch and discovered another turkey and Swiss sandwich, a huge golden delicious apple, and some baby carrots in a baggie. “Want half a turkey and Swiss sandwich?” I offered.

“Sure,” Dinah said. I bit into the apple, keeping my eyes on the sandwich in her hand while she chewed and swallowed her first bite.

“Does it have mayonnaise?” I asked, still chomping on my apple.

“Mustard,” she replied. “And it tastes great!”

“I'll trade you the whole thing for some of your chips,” I bargained.

“Are you sure?” Dinah asked. “You can have as many of my chips and olives as you want anyway.”

“I don't know why Mom has to put mustard on sandwiches in the summer when she knows I like mayonnaise.” I was looking for a little sympathy, but Dinah just tilted her head at me and smiled.

“Why don't you pack your own lunch if you don't like your mom's sandwiches?” Dinah asked.

Yeah, why don't I
? Truth was, it had never occurred to me to pack my own lunch. Mom always packed sack lunches for us, and we just grabbed them out of the fridge on our way out the door. “Maybe you're right,” I said. “And if I pack my own lunch, I can bring enough stuff for both of us.” It was such a good idea; I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it before.

Dinah just smiled as she polished off the sandwich. She was eating normally this time, not like when she pulled my sandwich out of the trash. “Want some olives?” she asked, handing me the jar.

“I only like the red stuffing,” I said as I inspected the jar, wondering if she got it from a trash can, too. It looked like it had never been opened.

“That's okay,” Dinah said. “You eat the pimento, and I'll eat the olive.” She didn't have to offer twice. Mom always let me have any extra pimentos floating in the jar, but she'd have a cow if she caught me picking the pimentos out of the olives. I popped open the jar and fished out an olive. I couldn't decide the best way to get the pimento out, though. “Just suck it out. I don't care,” laughed Dinah. I sucked out the pimento and handed the empty olive to her. She popped it right in her mouth. We got a rhythm going and emptied the jar in no time.

As we finished the rest of our lunch, I finally worked up the nerve to ask her about the food. “So where'd you get the chips and olives?”

“They were okay, weren't they?” she asked looking down at the empty olive jar.

“They were great. I was just wondering, I mean …” I almost wished I hadn't asked, but I really did want to know. I figured she either had to buy them, or steal them, or pull them out of a trash can, but who throws away unopened jars and cans of perfectly good food?
Nobody I know. I wasn't sure what I wanted the answer to be.

“Do you really want to know?” Dinah asked.

I started stuffing the trash into my lunch sack. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I really do.”

Dinah took a deep breath. “I've been checking out the dumpsters behind the grocery store after dark. You wouldn't believe the stuff they throw out. Perfectly good food. Just because the container it's in doesn't look perfect anymore. Or because it expired today, like the minute the clock strikes midnight it'll turn bad.”

I studied Dinah's hands as she talked. So that's how they got so beat up. Digging through dumpsters.

“I stay away from meat and dairy stuff that can go bad just because it's been sitting too long in a hot dumpster, but all of the stuff in cans and jars is good food going to waste.”

“The chips and olives were good,” I had to admit. “So I guess that explains the can opener.”

“Yep,” Dinah nodded. She stretched her body out in the grass and propped her head up on her elbow. I settled in myself, using my backpack as a pillow.

“So what's the best thing you've found in a can?” I asked.

“Definitely the meat. Like chicken and tuna,” Dinah said. “When I walked out of the church with that can opener, I sat right down and ate three cans of tuna.”

“Good protein,” I told her. Mom was always carrying on about growing boys needing lots of protein. I figured growing girls did, too.

“So what's the worst thing you've tried?” I felt like some kind of quiz show host asking question after question, working my way up to the million-dollar question.

“Mystery meat,” Dinah said trying to sound serious. “I had one can without a label and when I opened it, I couldn't tell if it was some kind of hash or dog food. It smelled a lot like the Alpo the lady down the street used to feed her dog.”

“Tell me you didn't eat the dog food!” I barked, and then howled like a wolf.

“I didn't eat the dog food,” Dinah mimicked. “I dumped it out in the woods for the squirrels and coons.” I wasn't sure how a raccoon sounded, so I did my best squirrel act. “So what are you now, a dog with rabies?” Dinah scrambled up the tree to escape.

So much for my squirrel
. “I'm a hunting dog!” I cried. “And I just treed my first coon!” I'd never been hunting,
but I read a book once about how they use dogs to chase raccoons up a tree after dark. The coon's eyes would shine orange in the night, and then they'd shoot them right between the eyes. I always thought it would be cool to have a coon skin hat, but I was pretty sure my parents wouldn't think so.

Next thing I knew, Dinah jumped out of the tree and tackled me. I tried to wrestle her down, but she had me pinned. “Okay, okay,” I hollered. “You win!” Dinah laughed and let me go. As she walked back to her backpack, I asked, “Got your blues harp with you?”

“I do,” Dinah nodded.

“Will you play something for me?” Yesterday, every song we played was something I knew. I wondered what kind of music she liked.

“Sure,” Dinah said, digging around in her backpack for the harmonica. She pulled out the sleek black case with orange “C” stickers on at least three sides. She lifted the top of the case open and gently turned it over, laying the silver harmonica on the palm of her hand. It looked even shinier today than it did in the church yesterday. The harmonica fit perfectly in the crook of her left hand with two fingers on top and her thumb beneath. She cupped her right hand around the
other end and began playing the sweetest melody I'd ever heard—sad but hopeful notes pouring out of the harmonica all together.

“So what's it called?” I asked when she finished playing.

“
Blowin' in the Wind
,” she replied as she tapped the harmonica on her shorts, wiped it clean with her t-shirt, and carefully placed it back in the case. “Ready to hit the books?”

A
S
I
SLOWLY
burrowed back into my stack of books, Dinah settled in on the opposite end of the table with a large book entitled
Blues Harp
. I started thinking of ways I might be able to put a time value on the speed of light. Time/Distance. Apples/Oranges. My mind was mush. I spent the next hour scanning the index of each book trying to think of a new angle.

Suddenly, a wad of paper hit my head and dropped on the table in front of me. I unwadded the paper to find a scribbled poem.

Food for Thot

As I sit in the library

Pondering intensely on the subject of Life

I realize

If Edgar Allen Poe

Had been named Allen Edgar Poe

We could call him “ALPO”

For short

I laughed. Feeling inspired, I drew a can with the word “ALPO” on it, a circle around it, and a line through it. I wadded it back up and flung it at Dinah, who was hiding behind the
Blues Harp
book. Bull's-eye!

As she was smoothing out my return message, I was thinking about her light toss versus my direct shot. An idea started to form about how to turn the measure of light years into a time measurement.
Light travels at 300,000 kilometers per second. Maybe I could calculate out how fast the earth is traveling through space, and then calculate how long it would take to travel 300,000 kilometers at that speed. Then convert the seconds into days and years to see if the ratio is the same as one day to 1,000 years. Brilliant!
I scribbled this brainstorm down in my notebook, so that I'd have it clear in my mind to start fresh tomorrow. As I was writing, Dinah came around behind me and said softly, “Meet you back by the tree.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “Just let me figure out what to do with all these books.”

I stacked the books up—an even dozen. I had our family library card, but there was no way I wanted to haul them all home on my bike. But I didn't want them reshelved, either. I'd have to write down all the titles to
be able to find them tomorrow and hope nobody else checked them out. I went over to talk to Mrs. Cleary.

Mrs. Cleary was checking out a bunch of DVD's for a lady and her kids. As soon as they were through, I explained my predicament. “Well, Matthew, how about if I give you one of these gray crates, and you put all of the books in there for tonight, and I'll keep them back here behind the desk for you until tomorrow?”

“That'd be great, Mrs. Cleary,” I said. “Thank you.”

“I'll just put this yellow sticky on top with your name, and nobody will bother it.” Mrs. Cleary peered up over the top of her glasses at me. “So who's your new friend? I don't think I've seen her around here before this week. Someone new at Peace Congregation?”

My mind raced. Mrs. Cleary didn't attend Peace Congregation, but she knew my dad was the pastor, and she might say something to my mom the next time Mom was at the library. Plus there was my promise to Dinah not to say anything. Dinah kind of was someone new at Peace Congregation. She didn't attend any of the services, but she was living there, for crying out loud. I decided the less I said the better. I kind of shrugged my shoulders, nodded, and mumbled, “Yeah.” Then I tried to change the subject. “I'll be in
as early as I can tomorrow. Thanks again, Mrs. Cleary.” And I was out the door.