Lost in a Far Country

by Thomas L Daniel

  Marilyn stood up, facing him. “Besides, Jack, I love you. I know we’re still young, but I love you. I do. I don’t want you to be all upset like this.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him close to herself.

  Jack responded warmly to her embrace. Then he pushed her back a bit and said, “Okay. Let’s sit down again. I have a lot on my mind that I want to tell you. And I need to ask you for help with some of it. No, let’s not sit down. Not yet. Walk with me. Over toward the marina. I need to get things in my brain sorted out and in order so I can tell you about them.”

  Holding hands, they strolled along the lakefront. They paused at the marina inspecting and admiring the yachts moored there. They went on to the beach, staying on the walk rather than taking off their shoes and venturing onto the sand. This park was familiar territory to them. The beach was a popular place in the summer, and their parents had taken them swimming there when they were younger. In fact, the Stavitches and Hansons had picnicked together at this park on more than one earlier occasion. But not recently. Not since Millie Stavitch had begun drinking so heavily. They were silent during this walk. Jack was immersed in his thoughts. Marilyn did not want to disturb him. In fact, she was at a loss for appropriate words.

  Turning back, they returned to the bench near the lodge. No one else had occupied it; most lodge guests were now inside, many in the restaurant. Jack and Marilyn sat down. Jack spoke. “Do you know what O’Neill did?”

  “O’Neill?”

  “Yeah, the guy who wrote that play we read in English.”

  “The Long Day one. I remember it. I liked it. Kind of gloomy, though.”

  “Right. Very gloomy. Like I said, it’s our family. Stavitches—in spades.”

  “So?” Marilyn queried.

  “Well, O’Neill had TB. Just like the guy in the play. And just like the play, he had to go to an ‘el cheapo’ san because his father wouldn’t pay for a good one.”

  “And that’s what this is about? That’s why you brought me here? To talk about not being able to go to Princeton? The same as not going to a good san in the play?”

  “No, no, no,” Jack protested. “Well, yes, in fact. Yes, that’s it, pretty much. I’m smart enough to go to college most anywhere. But my old man doesn’t want to pay for college for me.”

  “Oh, Jack, just play it cool for a while. Send in applications—to Princeton, to Yale, to everywhere. Mr. Edwards will give you help if you need it. And you’ll get scholarship money. Your dad will probably come around once you get accepted. He’ll be proud of you, probably boast about you to everyone who comes into his garage.”

  “Yeah, he would. But that’s not the way it’s going to happen. I have other plans.”

  “Oh?”

  “Do you know what O’Neill did after he got better and was discharged from the san?”

  “Went home, I suppose. And started writing plays, I guess.”

  “Nope. Not then. He took off—to New Orleans, I think, maybe—and then he signed on as a seaman on a merchant ship. He spent two years working on ships before he returned and started writing.”

  “And that’s what you think you want to do? Work on a ship?” Marilyn queried with surprise and doubt in her voice. “You can’t do stuff like that. You have another year of high school. And you want to go on to college, even if your dad thinks otherwise. And you should. You’re smart. Your dad will come around, if you give him time.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. But it’s not right. I mean, there’s more to it.”

  “No? What more?”

  “No. Yes, Dad might, probably would even, back off about college, as you said. But my screwed-up family is not going to change. My mom is not going to stop drinking. My dad is not going to stop squeezing the juice out of every dime he can find. Maybe he would let me go to a top-rated college. But maybe—more like probably—he won’t.”

  “Oh, Jack. I hate to see you like this. What can I do? Anything?”

  “Yeah. I have some plans. And I may need your help. Maybe not, but maybe. But let’s walk again.”

  As they had done earlier, Jack and Marilyn walked along the path toward the marina, holding hands. The sun was setting over the lake, and what promised to be a glorious sunset was developing in the west. As on their previous walk, they were silent, Marilyn wondering, pensive. Jack not yet ready to open up and trying to decide how best he could say what he wanted to say. They returned to the bench and sat down again. As before, they were silent for several minutes.

  “Beautiful sunset,” Marilyn said, not knowing how to get conversations started again. She didn’t know what Jack had on his mind. She wanted to hear what he had to say. Yet she was apprehensive that she might not like it. In fact, it was a beautiful sunset. Reds, oranges, purples, and dark grays. One of the nice things about being on the lake front was the uninterrupted view to the northwest.

  “Yeah, it is. Look, Marilyn, this is what I want to tell you. I’m going to run away!”

  “What!”

  “I’ve had it. I’m getting out of here.”

  “Jack, you can’t do that.” Then, recognizing that he might be—that he was indeed serious, might indeed be able to do so, might indeed run away, she added, “Do you mean it? Really? Seriously?” Then, after a pause, “Don’t. Running from problems never solves them. I guess I’ve had an easy life and not had to deal with things like your family. But running away won’t change anything—except screw up your life completely.” She paused, silent for a bit, then she asked “Where to?”

  “Well, what I think is that I’ll go to Florida. Maybe Key West.”

  “Jack, you can’t do that. That’s crazy.”

  “Well, I can’t stay here. I just can’t. I’ll be eighteen in November. That’s legally adult; I looked it up on the Internet. So if I can hide out until then, I can be on my own and my skin-flint old man won’t be able to get to me.”

  “But, Jack,” Marilyn interjected, “you have another year of high school. And you need to go on to college. You dump those things and you will really make a mess of your life.”

  “Yeah, yeah. But give me a break. I’ve thought most of this through pretty much. I go to Florida, where it’s warm enough so I can live most anywhere. Then I get a job. I’m strong. I can work at lots of things and smart enough to get ahead in whatever I do.”

  “But, Jack, you’re not out of school yet. You can’t just throw away everything.”

  “I won’t. I have enough credits to be able to get a high school diploma in a year, probably in only a semester, while working. Then I’ll go on to a university somewhere. In Florida, if that’s where I go. There are some good schools there. Stetson University. Named after the guy who made cowboy hats. He gave them some money, I suppose.”

  “Okay,” Marilyn interjected somewhat tentatively. “I can see you’ve thought about this. But I still don’t like it. In fact, I think it’s a dumb idea. Stupid. Real stupid.” Indeed, Jack had thought through his plan. He had no intention of going to Florida. He had decided to go to Canada. There were good schools and universities there. The Canadians had welcomed Viet Nam war protestors; they should welcome paternal abuse protestors, he thought. It would be very hard for his father to chase him there. However, he had to lay a false trail, he thought. His father would certainly ask Marilyn where he was headed. Later Jack would ask Marilyn to join him, maybe. He was sure that one day he would marry her. But that was a long way off, a long way from age seventeen. He would probably come home someday—probably after finishing at a university in Canada.

  “Oh, Jack,” Marilyn continued. “I don’t want you to leave. I guess it’s dumb of me to say this at age seventeen, but I love you, and I want us to get married someday. Whatever you do, I want to be there too. No, more than that. I want to do it with you. I know you’re smart,” she continued, “but so am I. There’re lots of things we could do together. But not if you run off.” Then she paused. “That sounds selfish of me, doesn’t it? And it is. You think about your future
, but I also think about mine—and about ours. Even if we’re only seventeen. We belong together. We can conquer the world, no matter about your skinflint father.

  “Think about us together conquering the world. Maybe Stavitch and Hanson, Attorneys at Law. No, that’s not right. Stavitch and Stavitch, Attorneys. Or maybe we can go to medical school, both of us. You can become a famous brain surgeon. I can deliver babies. Whatever, Jack. We’re smart, we work hard. I dream of the two of us, together, conquering the world. We can do it. Don’t spoil my dream. It should be our dream.”

  This conversation was not evolving as Jack had expected. He had not taken Marilyn’s intelligence and her devotion to him sufficiently into consideration. He had not expected her to object to his plan. Certainly not to object and feel about it as strongly as she did. He exhaled audibly. “Oh, Marilyn, I love you, too. And I want a life together with you. And we’ll do it. But first I have to get out of here. Out of the Stavitch animal farm, out of that zoo. One day I’ll come back. I’ll be a knight in shining armor and sweep you up and away.” Jack hoped a bit of humor would make the conversation a little less emotional.

  “Jack, Jack, running away never solves any problem.”

  “Well, staying around here won’t solve mine. That’s for sure.”

  “Okay. I give up—maybe.” She stood up and turned to face him. “So what’s your plan? Just take a bus to Florida, find a job on a yacht, and get rich?”

  “Come on, give me some credit. I have thought this through, I think, I hope.”

  “Yeah, I hope so too.” Marilyn sat down beside him once again.

  “Okay. When school’s out, I go to work at the vineyard. That’s not something that’s open for discussion at our house. I’m sure there are lots of summer jobs I could get, but my old man wouldn’t hear of it. Especially without Mom, he is always busy in the tasting room on weekends when we’re open. I need to be eighteen to be able to serve wine, so I can’t do that. But there’s lots that I can do to help out around the place. And all kinds of maintenance work during the week. And just plain cleaning up stuff. He’ll keep me busy. And I come cheap. He won’t pay me much. Just my meager present allowance, I suppose.

  “Then, some busy weekend in June, maybe, I’ll take off. Mom no longer works in the tasting room. She’s never sober enough. So Dad is there alone—and busy. Edward helps, too. Anyway, I won’t be missed right away.”

  “So you just walk out. Then what? Hitchhike to Florida?”

  “No. Give me credit. I have thought this through. I have a plan.”

  “Okay. So?”

  “So I’ll need you to pick me up and drive me to the garage. I’ll take one of the old clunkers and drive it to Florida. There are always a few of them that need body work but are still drivable. Dad gets them for essentially nothing. I won’t be stealing much of value.”

  “And you’ll have money to buy gas and live on ’til you get to Florida? Until you get a job?”

  “Yeah, I will, I do. I have more than three thou in my savings account. I’ll take it all as cash. In a money belt. And I need you to help me more.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. We need to go shopping on one of our dates—soon. I just said I’d take money in a money belt. But I don’t have a money belt. And I can take my backpack, but I’ll need a sleeping bag. If I can find parks with campgrounds, I can save money on the way and in Florida, I think. And maybe even a tent, but I think they cost quite a bit. Wal-Mart should have those things. Or, if not, Dick’s. What else? What would you, what do you think?”

  “Well,” Marilyn replied, “what I think is that this is crazy and stupid. But I’ll help you anyway I can. We can go shopping next Saturday night. And also, you have to promise to stay in touch. Send me postcards. Call me. Call me often, maybe every day. No, not maybe. Every day for sure.”

  “Of course. Of course. If my father keeps up payments to Verizon.” Then he continued, “Please, please, Marilyn, know that I love you and I always will. I need to escape, yes, but not from you. I will stay in touch, and we will have a future together. Trust me, trust me on that.”

  “Oh, Jack.” Marilyn threw her arms around his neck. “I trust you, and I love you. I always will. No matter where you go. No matter what you do. But promise me you’ll come back, come back to me.”

  “Yes, I promise. Absolutely, I promise.” He turned and kissed her. Night had fallen. It was dark. Stars had appeared in the sky over the lake. “Look,” Jack said, “There’s the Big Dipper. And the North Star. I guess it will be hard to see them from Florida. Too far south.

  “Now, I think we should be heading back. The movie must be about out now.”

  “Oh. Of course. And we have to stop for a smoothie at the Seven-Eleven.”

  Back in the lodge parking lot, they climbed into the pick-up. Jack pulled Marilyn to him and kissed her, his tongue on hers. He pulled her blouse out from her skirt and slid his hand up and under her bra.

  “No, Jack, not now, not tonight. This has just been too heavy, too much for me to deal with. One more kiss, and then take me home.”

  “After a smoothie.”

  “Okay.”

  3. Preparation

  Jack looked around his room. He had pulled the bedding up to cover the mattress, which was as much as he ever did to make his bed. A good room, he thought. A comfortable room. With his mother—his mother of earlier years—he had picked out unfinished furniture. Two chests of drawers with a desk top between them. And a bookcase. He had stained the furniture pieces a light chestnut stain, then rubbed in linseed oil. A nice finish—after the smell of the linseed oil waned, he mused. His bed was a simple one against the wall. It was all he needed. Firm and comfortable. His mother had offered multiple pillows, so it could serve a couch. But he had preferred only one pillow and a simple spread. He had a good arm chair with a lamp where he could read and study.

  His room was relatively tidy. Marilyn had walked into it two weeks earlier, glanced around, and immediately started straightening books on shelves and attempting to put his desk top into order. Chagrined, Jack had gone downstairs to the hall closet and retrieved the Kenmore vacuum sweeper. All of that activity had brought unusual tidiness to his room; the intervening days had done much to restore comfortable disorder. It’s a good room, my room, Jack thought to himself. I’ll miss it, I guess.

  Jack then turned his thoughts to his departure. He closed the door, so as not to be disturbed. He was alone, and he probably did not need to be cautious. Edward was with his father at the garage. School had ended a week earlier, and Walter Stavitch had already given Jack a list of tasks to be done at the winery. He’ll have to make do without me, Jack mused, feeling both guilty and satisfied. “What will I need?” Jack said aloud. “Passport, money, clothing, and personal stuff in a pack, tent, and sleeping bag, I suppose. Money belt to safeguard my cash, I guess. I’ll have to buy one.” He retrieved the well-worn pack in which he had carried books back and forth to school. It was generous in size; he typically brought home many books. I don’t need to take a lot of clothes. This pack should do. And a good jacket, my Gore-tex one with a fleece lining. I’ll carry that.”

  At the back of a desk drawer he found his passport. Two years earlier, the Madison Congregational Church youth group had taken a volunteer work trip to Guadalajara, Mexico, to work on a Habitat for Humanity project. Marilyn had gone. Her family belonged to that church. Jack had planned to join the group and go, and his mother, then usually sober, had encouraged him and helped him apply for a passport. When Walter Stavitch learned that Jack would have to pay for an airline ticket to go with the group, he balked, refusing to sign the parental permission slip and forbidding Millie to do so. “That’s wasted money,” he said, “and we don’t have money to waste.” In the end, an unused passport was all that came of the potential trip to Mexico with Marilyn and other young people from the Congregational Church. Now Jack would use the passport as he fled to Canada.

  Money, Jack thought. He looke
d at his watch. The bank should still be open for a while. I’ll go there now. With his passbook in his pocket, he went downstairs. His mother was dozing on the living room couch, wine bottle close at hand. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently nudged her awake. He told her that he was going out on an errand. She nodded. “Okay. Be back for supper.”

  Borrowing the pickup, Jack drove to the bank where he’d had a savings account since early childhood. “It’s important for you to learn the value of saving money,” his father had said when he took him to the bank to open the account. “Your money will grow as the bank pays you interest.”

  Jack parked in front of the bank and went inside. “I want to take out all the money in this account and close the account,” he said as he presented his passbook to the teller at the PNC Bank office. She took the passbook, and entered the account number on a keypad on her counter.

  “The balance is $3,021.59. You want it all?”

  “Yes. Most in fifties, but a couple hundred in twenties. Plus whatever small change you need to finish it.”

  A man wearing a dark blue business suit stood up from his desk just across the room and walked up to Jack. “You’re Walter Stavitch’s son, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Jack replied.

  “And you’re closing your account? Why?”

  “Because I want the money,” Jack replied.

  “And why does a boy like you want all that money in cash?”

  Jack was dumbfounded and annoyed at this question. None of his business, he thought. A small-town busybody. He did not reply, but began gathering up the bills from the teller’s counter. The bank manager continued, “I’ll have to tell your father about this when I see him next Wednesday at the Rotary breakfast.”

  Jack was astounded by this remark—and angered. Moreover, he thought it likely that this man would tell his father as he threatened. He turned to face the man and put his right index finger in the middle of the man’s chest. “You do that and I’ll lodge a complaint with the Pittsburgh office of this bank that will cost you your job. This is my account and my money. What I do with it is my business, not yours. Not even my father’s. Bank business is supposed to be confidential.”