Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  A whitecap of exhilaration roiled his insides. This could be a whole new beginning—an end to the discomfort and alienation that’d plagued him growing up—and the start of a fulfilling new chapter. There wouldn’t be dinosaurs, but perhaps a life where he’d fit in; that was exciting enough.

  Sunlight filtered through the leaves of hickories and oaks sent a greenish glow seeping into the van as it bumped along. Roots from the robust woods grasped at the worn path from either side, as if the trees were trying to tear the land apart. Watching the forest shuffle past, Leroy felt as if Bigfoot could pop out from behind a trunk at any moment.

  The trail seemed to hit a dead end, then the van veered right and the forest opened up to a meadow straight out of the paintings in the art museum—stalks of wheat danced with prairie grass, fried-egg Daisies swayed beside freckled orange Touch Me Nots, Goldenrod and tiny bouquets of Queen Anne’s Lace bobbed in the breeze. At the edge of a nearby pond, a rocky waterfall emptied into a small reservoir, six feet or so below ground level. It was nature’s version of a Reno hotel, Leroy realized, and he loved it.

  He admired the pond as the van rounded it, then parked in front of a jagged palatial building with rugged stone walls, yet every stone perfectly in place, bearing the name SpiritWood in huge golden letters. At the top of a steeple, Christ hung from a cross. The silent stillness perturbed Leroy.

  “Home, sweet home,” said Bishop Wood.

  Leroy unbuckled and tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. He made sure it was unlocked—it was—and tried again, to no avail.

  “Child-lock,” Pastor Mercer said, getting out of the driver’s seat. “We often intake children, and youths with behavioral issues. Best not to take any chances.” He opened Leroy’s door from the outside.

  Leroy got out and surveyed the area. There were three dormitory buildings—one for adults, one for girls, one for boys. The faint sound of machinery floated in on a breeze that brought an earthy odor to his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply. It was perhaps the freshest air he’d ever tasted, and it was invigorating.

  “The real action takes place around back. Follow me,” said the Bishop as he set out along the concrete path. Leroy followed, watching as the other kids lagged behind Pastor Mercer, heading to the dorms.

  Through a window around the corner, Leroy saw toddlers giggling and stacking blocks and playing with toys, while an older woman sat with them, looking on fondly. It warmed him.

  As they rounded the back of the building, the view opened up, presenting a breathtaking picture of rolling, grassy hills grazed on by hogs and cattle, and wide swaths of farmland tended to by dozens of people, adults and kids alike. Each one of them was African-American, just like him. The word ‘natural’ stuck in his mind. He felt like he was finally in the right place.

  “Quite a sight, huh?” the Bishop asked, and Leroy agreed. “SpiritWood grows only the highest quality organic produce. In fact, we won the award for the finest apricot at the Missouri state fair. The trophy’s sitting in my office, next to the rest of them,” he grinned.

  “Never had an apricot,” Leroy said, more to himself than the Bishop.

  “Well, son, as you’ll soon learn, there’s a first time for everything.”

  They stood a moment, watching the busy farm. It looked to Leroy like an ant hill, each worker attending to his or her specific job.

  “Come on. Let’s get you situated, then out to join them.”

  * * *

  Leroy couldn’t help but think of Ms. Stacey’s foster home, looking at the rows of empty bunk beds on either side of the room. Still, it wasn’t necessarily the living conditions that’d soured him; it just wasn’t where he was meant to be. This, he thought, was a bit closer to home. The congested room did nothing to put a damper on his excitement. Maybe he could even make a few friends, something he’d never even considered at Ms. Stacey’s, or at school.

  “You’ll be in this one,” the Bishop said, referring to the last bunk bed on the far side of the room. “You don’t have a bed buddy yet, so you get your pick—top or bottom. Don’t get used to it, though,” he said with a smile. “We get new members on a weekly basis.”

  Leroy set his bag down beside the bed. “I’ll take the bottom.”

  “The path of least resistance. Smart boy. Now, let me get you a pair of work clothes.” He strolled toward the door, then opened it. “Carl!”

  Confident footsteps clacked on the floor, then a broad man appeared in the doorway, looking eager to please. “Yes, Bishop?”

  “Run get young Marcus a full set of clothing, will you?”

  He nodded, then wandered off.

  “That’s Carl, head of the boys’ dorm. You’ll get along famously; he’s a paternal figure for many of the kids. You need anything, you ask him.”

  Leroy took a seat on the bed and felt springs poking into him.

  “Don’t get too comfortable just yet. Work hours aren’t over till six, and it’s but four-thirty. After that you get an hour for dinner, bible study till nine, and then you can get some rest.” His commanding gaze washed over Leroy. “We keep a tight schedule here at SpiritWood. Discipline prevents distraction, which is salvation’s greatest enemy.”

  Discipline was one area of child rearing his mother hadn’t overlooked. He had a feeling, though, that SpiritWood’s definition of discipline differed from Adalynne’s in some key aspects, particularly physically. He doubted a religious organization would employ the use of a switch.

  “Usually we have a strict work regimen, but since it’s your first day, I’ll allow you to choose where you’d like to start working.”

  “What are the choices?”

  “Farm, chow, laundry, maintenance, yard work, housekeeping. Then there’s bathroom detail, but we save that for those who misbehave.”

  “Farm.” It was unfortunate that he had to work as soon as he’d arrived, but he had a burning desire to be outside, amongst nature, and yard work sounded like a more boring version of farm work.

  “That’s my favorite, too. Now, I have more than enough of my own work to do. Tell Carl your decision when he returns.” He stepped through the door, then turned back. “Welcome to SpiritWood, Marcus.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t more than five minutes after he’d begun tilling the dense soil that his forearms started to ache, and another five minutes until it flared up in his shoulders. Drawn to the farm though he was, Leroy acknowledged he wasn’t quite fit for farm work. He vowed to change that.

  He hunched, working the end of a long strip of farmland, while adults lazily supervised from each corner of the field. The sun stung the back of his neck and his scalp, aggressively reminding him how long he had until he could get food and rest.

  As he stabbed at the dirt with the hoe, he felt someone watching him. From his peripheral vision, he saw a lanky kid, also tilling the land, staring from a few yards down. Leroy ignored him, sidestepped to an untilled patch, and went back to work despite countless nerve-endings objecting.

  “Your arms be hurtin’, huh?”

  Unsure whether he should respond, Leroy turned to the tall boy, who looked straight down as he aerated the dirt with the hoe.

  “Keep it movin’,” he snapped. “Work and talk, work and talk.”

  Leroy glanced at the supervisors then got back to work.

  “You doin’ it all wrong,” the kid said with a fast glance. “Power come from your back, not your arms. Gon’ wear yourself out real quick.”

  Without being too conspicuous, Leroy watched the way the kid worked the hoe; how the energy seemed to flow, as if it started in the earth, traveled up his legs, through his back, and along his arms, allowing the tool to swing free of fatigue and resistance. It was mesmerizing, the perfection of the boy’s chop as the hoe churned the ground, like watching an expert chef.

  “You on the end!” an adult called out, and Leroy looked up. “Pick up the slack! Sun sets in an hour,” he said, checking his wristwatch.

  Leroy felt his ch
eeks go hot as he looked around, but everybody else was busy with their own work, as if nothing had happened. Relieved, he resumed his job, trying to emulate the tall boy’s technique.

  A cow’s resonant moo droned from the field to his right, startling him. He didn’t know they could be so loud from up close. A foul stench whopped him, and he turned to see a proud pile of dung on the ground behind the animal. Well, he had wanted nature.

  * * *

  The supper bell had rung a few long minutes ago, freeing Leroy of the manure smell. As the boys and girls marched toward the dorms to wash up in separate, single-file lines, Leroy rotated his shoulders. The work hadn’t been as difficult after he’d adopted the tall boy’s technique, but it was still damn tiring. As he walked, he inspected his stinging palms, grazing the newly-formed blisters under each finger. In a way they were trophies; he’d never done anything with his hands besides drawing, which for all he knew would never lead anywhere. This was real work. This was part of something bigger.

  Leroy entered the building, last in line, feeling productive. They came to a stop at the door to the bathroom, and a handful of boys were sent inside by an adult. The rest sat, lined up against the wall. Leroy wondered if it’d really take so long to wash up that they’d need to sit, but as soon as he did he realized how much better he felt off his feet. He’d sleep well tonight.

  To his other side, a group of chatty boys exited the bathroom in clean evening wear. Leroy scooted down the wall as more boys were allowed in. His bladder wished he was nearer the front of the line.

  After much scooting, stomach rumbling, and holding in his pee, Leroy was finally at the front. The adult checked the bathroom, then stepped out and let the last three kids inside.

  Sinks lined one wall, stalls and urinals the other. Leroy did what he had to, tediously scrubbed the dirt from his hands and under his fingernails, then proceeded to the back of the room, ready to eat. Instead of an exit, however, he found an open shower room full of the kids he’d just spent the afternoon working with. Water rolled off their shiny naked bodies. His eyes shot to the floor, and he stood against the wall, stationary under the weight of uncertainty, embarrassment, and a tinge of disgust.

  Between the bathroom and the showers, Carl peeked in at him, keeping his eyes off the others. “What’s the deal? Something wrong?”

  Leroy gave him a bewildered glare.

  “It can be awkward at first, but you get used to it. Sooner you finish, sooner you can get out and eat. Put those dirty clothes in that bin.”

  Leroy looked down at his shirt. “They’re not that dirty, actually.”

  “Look, I know it’s weird, but nudity is natural. If you can make peace with that, you’re already one step closer to knowing God. Don’t you want to know God?” Carl questioned. “Like the Bishop?”

  He let slip a sheepish nod.

  “Then hop out of those clothes and get washed up for supper, please.”

  “Just… right here?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll turn around.” He did. “When you’re finished, dry off and take an outfit from the bin by the exit, then head to supper.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Straight down the hall you came in, then make a left, then…” He looked off for a moment. “Know what, you’ll be the last one out, so just follow me when you’re done. I’ll be right outside the door.”

  Carl walked back through the bathroom. Leroy heard the door close, then carefully lifted his gaze to the showers, avoiding the few remaining bathers, who were all using the utilities on the far wall, leaving those on the close wall unused. At least there was that, Leroy thought, slipping out of his outfit.

  He hesitated before dropping his underwear, glancing around to see if anybody was watching, but managed to tune out his embarrassment and removed the worn out boxers. He had to do it. It was just another bump on the way to becoming an adult. Until then, what was he? Just a kid.

  Leroy turned the tap to hot, and before long steaming jets of water sprayed the tile floor. He inched his hand under the stream, and it burned. He turned the temperature down until it was bearable, then stepped into the water. After a searing moment, his body adjusted to the heat, and he relished it. He realized how long it’d been since he bathed. Ant had hurried him out of the Reno hotel before he’d gotten a chance to shower, which meant he hadn’t washed since the day of his mother’s funeral.

  Ant’s face crowded his thoughts. He suddenly felt filthy, so he grabbed a bar of soap and began to scrub away the strangest week of his life.

  * * *

  Steamed vegetables, a mountain of mashed potatoes dripping with gravy, a square of cornbread, and three thick, juicy steak strips—Leroy’s mouth watered. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had such a full, balanced meal.

  “I know we ladies make some fine food, but keep it moving, hun,” said the wide woman who’d lumped the mashed potatoes onto his plate.

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  He turned to walk away, but the woman spoke up again.

  “Well, how about those manners! You come see Mama Sarena after you finish eating,” she ordered. “I’ll give you something good.”

  Leroy smiled at her, then turned back toward the cafeteria. With so many loud children crammed into long wooden tables, he felt like he was back in school, searching for an empty seat he wouldn’t get kicked out of. Luckily, he’d become an expert at finding them, and soon spotted a gap at the table furthest back. He wandered the perimeter of the room.

  The seat was directly between two boisterous groups of kids. Leroy placed his tray down, then sat, prepared to be picked on. He glanced to either side, but the conversations continued uninterrupted. Content to be unnoticed, Leroy chewed a mouthful of the freshest carrots, green beans, and broccoli he’d ever tasted. Coming to SpiritWood had been worth it for the food alone.

  As he ate, his eyes drifted to the other tables. The children seemed to sit toward the opposite end of the room, near the food counter. His position at the furthest table ostensibly put him amongst the oldest kids. At a glance, he guessed that some of the kids might be seventeen or eighteen, even.

  His gaze landed near the end of the table, on the girl from the van. His breath lodged in his throat for a second. She was staring right at him. Then, without saying or expressing anything, she turned back to her friends and rejoined the conversation, giggling and chatting.

  Leroy studied her. She was the only girl whose hair wasn’t braided; it hung just above her shoulders. She had an effortless smile, when she let it out. And there was a grace to her movements, like a fish navigating a tight maze of coral, smooth and purposeful. Beside her, he noticed the tall boy from the fields, talking to some of the other boys, then averted his gaze.

  Maybe he was too young for this table. He checked for an empty seat at the next table, but it was full. He restricted his eyes to his food.

  He was working on a steak strip, the back half hanging from his mouth and dripping grease onto his chin, when the tall boy dropped his tray onto the other side of the table. Leroy bit through the steak and the uneaten half fell to the plate. He snatched up his napkin and dabbed his face. “Sorry.”

  “Save them manners for the Bishop.” He sat down across from Leroy. “Let’s get the intros outta the way. Clayvon Winters.”

  “I’m… Marcus Jackson.”

  Clayvon’s eyebrows shot up and he nodded with slow sarcasm. “Sure. Good enough for me. How you likin’ the steak, Marcus Jackson?”

  “It’s great.”

  “They sure do like to make a good first impression.”

  “That’s what the Bishop said, too.”

  “I never much worried ‘bout ‘em. But then, look where I’m at. Anyway. That cow you saw takin’ a shit today? You chewin’ on him.”

  Leroy’s chewing slowed to a stop. “Nuh uh.”

  “Where you think they took him when we went inside?”

  Leroy processed the thought. He knew that all meat came from a once-living animal, b
ut it felt different when he’d witnessed the before as well as the after. Still, he wasn’t about to think his way out of a delicious meal. He swallowed, and took another bite.

  “Psych!” Clayvon leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Someday it will be, though. Every cow get eaten sometime. Remember that.” He forked a whole steak strip into his mouth. “Tasty,” he garbled.

  Leroy forced himself to smile.

  “Jemisha said they—”

  “Is that her name?” Leroy asked, looking at the girl.

  Clayvon stared at him. “Yeah. Jemisha Winters.”

  “Oh… I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get that shit all the time.”

  Leroy was surprised Clayvon would curse at a place like SpiritWood. He figured God would look down on that kind of thing.

  “She said they found you at the train station. What was you doin’ there?”

  “Just passing through, you know.” He and Ant hadn’t exactly planned a backstory for this possible outcome. “On my way here, actually.”

  “You was comin’ here?” Clayvon asked, apparently surprised. “Pshhh. Now I know you fibbin’. Don’t nobody come here on they own.”

  Leroy picked up his cornbread and bit into it, trying to buy time.

  “It’s all good, though. Most of us got plenty we don’t wanna talk about. What’d you tell ‘em ‘bout God when they asked?”

  “That I never thought much about it.”

  Clayvon winced. “Should’a told ‘em you believe.”

  “Do you?” Leroy asked, surprising himself.

  “I believe in the Bishop,” he said with a wry look. “I believe what I’m told.”

  Neither spoke for a minute.

  “Anyone to watch out for?” Leroy murmured.

  “Besides the Bishop? Pastor Mercer got ears everywhere. Most everyone’s pretty a’ight. They’s a few fools in the group, but usually if God can’t keep ‘em in line, the belt can. I can introduce you around, if you want.”