The First Try

“I don’t get it,” Said Aaron, “This is stupid!” Jason, the black-haired apron-wearing teenager, glared at his friend, rolling his shoulders back to ease the tension. Jason took his gloves off outside the hot baking tin-roofed shack while hot coals slowly heated his project. “I mean,” Aaron continued, “You can get that stuff at the dollar store, you know.” 

“But I made this one,” Jason replied with a small prideful flame in his scrawny chest while he ran his smudged hands through his black hair. “I don’t know, it’s just nice.” His friend rolled his eyes. “Aaron, don’t you have somewhere else to go?” 

“Hey, hey, don’t blame me for speaking the truth,” Aaron threw up his hands. Jason stood silent. “But hey, to each their own. I get it.” 

“No, you don’t,” Jason muttered under his breath. 

“But why work for old man Abacus?”  

“What’s the problem? You told me I should get a job for the summer.”  

“Jason, you know why no one works for him. He’s ancient. I mean, I get you want to do things old fashioned, but, man, at least get some high-tech stuff to make things go faster than a rusty snail going 0.001 mph.”  

“I don’t care,” Jason replied, “It’s a job and it’s decent money.” Aaron threw up his hands with a sigh.  

“Anyway, I’m gonna ask my mom for a job.”  

“Perks of being an only child, hm.” 

“You know it,” Aaron smirked. “Catch ya later, Jay.” 

“See you.” The black-haired teen waved. Jason looked at his black apron covered in dust and dirt like his brown industrial boots. He sighed. Was Aaron right? Was he just prolonging a dying horse’s death? Jason never saw Mr. Abacus use newer machinery. Every tool inside the shop was either given or made by him, especially the tongs. Jason shook the soot out of his short hair, and the 14-year-old boy placed his earbuds and safety glasses back on.  

It was a dated hobby job, but it was an art he appreciated. Blacksmithing satisfied Jason. The smell of hot metals funneling through the overhanging vent tickled his nose, and the satisfying curling, curving, straightening of the metal placed a strange crooked smile on his face. He was a mad scientist making the next great creation. 

The boy looked to the forge. The project was ready. 

Mr. Abacus’s pay was very decent, but it wasn’t enough for the new game console Jason wanted. That would have to wait. People paid lots of money for Mr. Abacus’s creations, but Jason could only do simple small trinkets like crosses, toy swords, and belt buckles. But this time, this would be different. Jason’s project was attached to a long piece of rebar. Carefully, he pulled it out of the forge, placed the large white-hot block on the anvil, and struck it with a large hammer. 

Clang clang clang! 

This was a secret project. He worked on it anytime Mr. Abacus had to run on an errand, which was a lot. Jason was trying to make a hammer for Mr. Abacus to sell. Hammers were much harder to make and took a lot of patience, skill, and effort, but they made more money. Jason had been working in the forge for a whole month now, so he figured he could at least try. Soon, the piece cooled and he shoved it back into the forge. The teen wiped his fair-skinned brow. The hammer had taken about five days to make, but even with Mr. Abacus being gone for long hours, Jason couldn’t figure out how to get the cylindrical metal to square out. It still looked like a vaguely rectangular bat that was cut flat at the end. Yet with the constant heating and cooling, Jason hoped his project wouldn’t do the one thing that he feared. Just as he pulled out the white-hot piece, he heard tires screeching to a halt outside.  

“Abacus,” Jason gasped. He looked around. He needed a hiding place. The floor under the table? No, fire hazard. In fact, everything inside the small square shack was a safety hazard as long as the piece was white-hot. “Outside!” The shop had two sides. The front side had a patch lawn and then the main road, and the backside had gravel, old parts, and car junk lay around in organized piles. Jason threw the metal clear past the mounds. He shut the back door just as Mr. Abacus came in. “Hey, Mr. Abacus.” 

“Jason,” smiled the old skinny pale man who spoke with a slight southern accent. “How’s it goin’?” 

“Uh... fine, just fine. Yeah,” He gulped quietly as Mr. Abacus placed the stuff down on the counter right next to the front door. “I didn’t think you would be back so soon.”  

Mr. Abacus turned his bald liver-spotted head. His white thin hair grew from the sides. The old man pushed his round-rimmed glasses further up his face. “I had a short list,” He smiled with wiry lips. “But that just means we have more time to finish those crosses, right?” 

“Oh, right,” Jason sighed with a small smile. The sun shone brightly through the large shack windows. The shadows inside slowly moved to the east as Jason helped Mr. Abacus fix the old metal tables and chairs, which were Mr. Abacus’s larger projects. That’s when Jason heard a strange sound. It had been going on for a while, but now it grew louder and louder. 

Pit, pit, pit, pit 

That’s when he noticed the black shadows in the shack had dimmed and nearly became invisible. Jason felt his gut clench. 

“Huh. Looks like it’s raining,” Mr. Abacus mentioned, looking at the tin roof. Jason’s eyes jumped out of their sockets.  

“Oh no!” He ran to the back and flew the door open. Gravel flew up from his feet. He darted over to the far end of the metal mounds and grabbed his tossed project. “Please be okay. Please be okay!” He looked at the flat end. A long thin sliver in the metal spread from the bottom of the flat end to the top. It had cracked. “NOOO! Darn it!” Jason marched back with his ruined piece, wet and dripping, and tossed it into a set of scrap forgotten in the corner of the shop. Jason sighed and sat on a nearby chair. He dropped his head into his hands, gripping and pulling at his hair. All of his hard work gone. Just like that. He thought the warm air would let it cool down slowly. But he didn’t know it would rain. Jason took a deep breath and sighed loudly. Mr. Abacus quietly laid his hand on his apprentice’s shoulder.  

“Jason, what’s the matter?”  

“I... I just... I was so stupid,” Jason grunted. His hands clutched the air like he could strangle his mistake. “If I could just... darn it...” 

“Jason, what’s the matter?”  

“Mr. Abacus,” Jason sighed, “I’ve been trying to make this hammer, but... it’s ruined now.”  

Mr. Abacus tilted his head and furrowed his thinning craggy eyebrows. “And you tried to do it yourself?” Jason nodded sadly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Well... I knew you wanted me to do just crosses and stuff, but I-” 

“Jason, I only did that so you could work your way up. I didn’t know you wanted ta try the next thing.”  

“O...Oh.” Jason could mentally feel some person kicking him in the back of his head. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Mr. Abacus smiled. He walked over, grabbed Jason’s ruined piece, and examined it closely. He lifted his glasses a bit. “I’m curious. How were you gonna make this thing?” 

“W-Well, through the coal forge and... using the hammer and then-” 

“All by yourself?” The old man exclaimed, surprised and alarmed. Jason nodded. “Well, no wonder you were strugglin’! You have ta use a sledgehammer for this or a power hammer.” 

“Oh,” Jason said. But then he shook his head and looked at Mr. Abacus. The old man was a hundred and fifty pounds when drenched in oil. He was the living embodiment of a tall old scarecrow, plaid shirt, overalls, everything. He had a small hunch and arthritis in his leg would act up depending on the rain.  

 “But how?” Jason asked. “How are you able to make hammers?” Mr. Abacus narrowed his eyes in confusion. But then he tilted his head back as realization came flying at his face.  

“Right, right. I never showed you the other part of the shop,” Mr. Abacus said. He put the ruined piece down and motioned Jason to follow him. They walked to a door on the left side of the shop. The shop had a big side compartment room beside it. Jason always assumed this was a garage for storage. Behind the door, there was a bigger open room with machines and devices of all kinds. Next to the door was a high-pressured blast forge and in the middle was a power hammer machine. It had a huge tire-like wheel on top of its pillar metal frame. In the middle of that machine was a flat dense plate for pounding the metal even at a fast rate. Jason’s jaw dropped. “You like it? Sorry I never showed you this place, but I wanted to wait until ya’ll were ready.” 

“You... you have machines,” Jason blinked several times. “High tech machines?”  

“Of course, you think I could keep doing this work all by myself?” Mr. Abacus laughed, pointing to his whole thin body.  

“B-B-But I thought you didn’t use high-tech stuff. I thought you were... uh...” 

“Old fashioned?” Mr. Abacus smiled. “You’re right. I don’t like working with too many fancy contraptions, but I still use them.” 

“Why?”  

“Anything high-tech has high-tech maintenance.” 

“But then why don’t you just use these things to speed up your business?” Jason asked.  

Mr. Abacus pushed his glasses up again and smiled. “People don’t come to a blacksmith for cheap things they can get from the dollar store. They come for the art. That’s not somethin’ these high-tech things can do.” Mr. Abacus shrugged, “You can use the tool, but knowing that you can do things without the tool is even better. In case these machines break down-” 

“You can keep working?” Jason finished. The old man nodded. 

“Old doesn’t mean it should be thrown out. Heck, part of blacksmithing is recycling stuff. You’d be surprised how old things can stay the same and yet change,” Mr. Abacus smiled. “Now let’s get to work on this hammer that you have in mind.”  

So, Jason, with a few more trial and errors, finally made his first good hammer and sold it at a great price. He went on through the summer to make more elaborate things: forks, knives, tools. He even picked up a bit of welding experience from Mr. Abacus. Blacksmithing turned out to be a great opportunity for him. Old fashioned was okay with Jason because old fashioned still had value.