The Old Car and the Black Notebook

The Old Car and the Black Notebook

By Bailey Sadowsky

The girls were riding high. They were still buzzing with excitement and confidence. Wren, Marcie, and Jezz screamed the rap line of the hottest song on the Top 40.They had the windows down and they cruised the dusty back sections lines enjoying the last warm hints in the fall air celebrating their victory. Because today, they were victorious. Last night the girls had just made State Volleyball for the third year in a row. The first time the girls made the journey to the golden court they were just sophomores,terrified of competing against the saged seniors of the statewide competitors. The last team from their rural hometown last made state volleyball 24 years ago. They held great pride and ensuing pressure from the whole community just as sophomores.

“Marcie, turn here! Let’s drive by the river to the Dipping hole”, sang Jezz in tune to the beat. The Dipping Hole is this spot in the river where the water had carved deep into the sandstone creating a large cliff overhang where you could avoid the sharp prairie sun. The water was deeper and many kids spent summer days swimming and daring their cohorts to skinny dip.

“Nooo,” whined Wren.”The water is way too cold this time of year.”

“Hush, I want to go explore banks. I never explore the abandoned rusted-up farm scrap,” said Jezz. Jezz was the forceful one. She was the life of the party, always coljoing her latest target to do what she wants. One day she would talk her way straight into the CEO chair. She was always pushing her limits on and off the court.

Wren’s comfort started to pulsate, “I don’t know about that. There is a reason we don’t hang out by the farm equipment. It’s dangerous. It’s so sharp and scattered about like a mind field. You don’t want to risk getting hurt before state? I have a feeling we can make it to the Championship this year. Actually, guys we should really get back, I don’t know if coach will…

“Oh, can it, Wren. What can it hurt? We’ll be careful. Besides, Marcie’s told me she always wanted to go.”

“Hey, hey keep me out of it,” sang Marcie. “I’ve only ever mentioned it would be fun to see the equipment up close.

“It’s settled then! Charge forth and let’s conquer this mission, and get back into town for our team sleep over,” commanded Jezz.

Marcie pulled her used Honda up the undesignated parking lot by the Dipping Hole. It’s crazy how dark the water turned as soon as September hit.

“Hold on, Jezz! Save your legs, and be careful,” screamed Wren as Jezz and Marcie took off.

The girls scrambled over the grassy knoll across the overhang to a scene of scattered rusted car equipment spread out over a football field size. The twisted scraps were in shapes that were hard to image their function.

“Guys, what do you think this was used for,” said Marcie. Her sing-song voice stabilized to her normal contemplative drawl.

“Well, I think this is a piece of equipment that replaced the scythe…”

“Good Gosh, Wren! You can’t possible know that. You were up in Chicago! How do you know what farmers of the 1920s used for equipment,” chastised Jezz. “Hey, look! Have you guys ever noticed that old blue car over there?”

“Woah, that looks like its from 1970s. That kind of out of place in regards to the age of the rest of this machinery,” stated Wren.

“Let’s go check it out,” said Jezz as she and Marcie raced off to the end of the field.

“Be careful! Watch out for rusted debris in the topsoil,” Marcie breathed as she jogged to catch up.

“Dang, this thing is really bougie. I didn’t know they made cars like this,” said Marcie. Wren slowly walked around and leaned to peer into the passenger side window.

“This is amazing. Why is this out here? It looks like it's never been used,” breathed Wren.

“Crazy right, but it’s been out here as long as I can remember,” said Marcie. I remember my Dad talking about it one time. He said one July night back when he was in high school the car showed up, and it never left. I remember him telling me the police even showed up to check it out, and…”

“Jezz, what the heck are you doing?” demanded Wren, as she cracked up the drivers door and popped in the seat. Marcie cranked up the passenger side and started to sing ‘My Sharona.’ “Come on Wren, hop in! We’re going retro.”

Reluctantly, Wren peered into the back seat. Nothing looked out of place. The leather looked a little cracked from countless hours of hot prairie sun, but everything looked clear of dangers. She pried open the back passenger door and sat.

Wren coughed as a plum of dust puffed up from the seat. “Guys, we better get out! What if there is Hauntavirus in this car?” Wren started to leave when Jezz grabbed her shoulder.

“Come on. Just stay for a sec,” she stated as Marcie really started to pick up volume.

“Don’t freaking grab me,” protested Wren as wrenched herself away, but as she did that her belt loop got caught on crack in the leather and she toppled over landing half off the seat.

“Oh my gosh. I am so sorry, Wren. I didn’t mean…

Marcie’s watch started ping wildly. “Well, guys that time to head back in.” She opened the door and headed back to the car. That was very Marcie, very blunt, but aloof. Wren glared at Jezz as she slid out the driver’s side door. As Wren started to sit up, she saw something under the seat. Wedged deep into the springs was a tiny black notebook. Wren was jarred out of her curiosity as Jezz opened the back door.

“Wren, I am really sorry. I guess I’m just really wound up right now. You know with state and my scholarship depending on my hitting record in the tournament.” Stunned out their moment by Marcie’s distant voice.

“Guys, we need to go,” yelled Marcie who was already back at the car jamming with her earbuds in.

Wren sighed and gave Jezz her I forgive you look. They had been friends since pre-k swim lessons. They bickered and loved each other as sisters. “It’s fine,” she relented to Jezz. She sat up and opened the other backside door as Jezz closed hers. Quickly, Wren reached down and grabbed the notebook, and shoved into her back pocket and raced back to the car not wanting to be late.

----

Later that night after all her teammates were snoring around her, Wren crawled out her thermal sleeping bag to go to the bathroom. She grabbed her bag almost forgetting to brush her teeth. Once in the bathroom only using her phone to illuminate the space, as to not wake anyone up, she cracked open her bag. Her jeans were on top with the little black notebook poking out. Wren hadn’t had a chance to look inside. The book was definitely old. The pages were slightly yellowed and started to get that extra crispy feel. She flipped through the empty pages until she reached the second to last page. Inside was a sequence of numbers scrawled in loopy numbers. Very interesting. Wren flipped to the last page. Printed neatly was the bank's name. Wren pulled up her internet browser and googled the bank. The bank was still active and operating in states across the Eastern states. Wren counted the numbers in sequence. Interesting, just enough for an account and routing number. She tried to log in with the numbers into the bank’s new website. There is no way this would work. The book had to have been there over 20 years. The internet brower’s blue line slowly crawled, and then boom it rushed forward and loaded a personal account page. There’s no way that actually worked, thought Wren. Up pulled a page and $20,000 sat in the bank account. Wren clinked on the account transactions. Not a single action in the account since 1983. Was someone missing $20,000?

The next thing Wren knew, a bubble popped up onto her screen.

“Congratulations, you’ve won $20,000.”