And then, after about five minutes, Pastor Landis whispers,
Okay, I think that’s good for now.
I let go right away. My face and arms feel cool suddenly as the air hits a thin layer of sweat. I take in a large breath.
He says, That wasn’t bad for a first run.
I say, First?
He nods and says, I think we should have a few more of these, once or twice each day.
I stare at him. I don’t want to do this again. All I want is to get out of this room.
Pastor Landis says, It’s going to take some practice for your body to react to this kind of touch in the appropriate way, out of habit. Remember, we’re trying to get you to unlearn behavior that’s been with you for years.
I don’t say anything.
He says, We’ll try again tomorrow, and try to go for longer with each one. I want you to be able to hug for at least twenty minutes, uninterrupted.
I can’t imagine doing this for twenty minutes. I’m trying to think of what to say.
He puts a hand on my shoulder and rests it there.
He says, We can beat this, Mike.
He leaves his hand on my shoulder and smiles.
I just stare at him.
We stand there like that for a while.
Then the thumb of his hand rubs into my shoulder, lightly. He just smiles.
My heart starts beating a little faster.
He smiles a bit wider. Just a bit. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. His thumb just rubs my shoulder, right at the base of my neck.
Neither of us moves for a few more moments. I notice I’m holding my breath.
Then Pastor Landis’s smile starts to fade. He pats my shoulder and then glances away as he lets his arm drop.
He says, Why don’t you get down to Outdoor Activities. I’ll see you again, same time tomorrow.
He walks to the door, opens it, and leaves.
I stand there by myself for a few seconds, staring at the door. My heart is still pounding. I realize I’m breathing a bit deeply, through my nose.
Then I open the door and walk out.
But I head right down the hallway, instead of left toward the courtyard.
I don’t really know what I’m doing or why, but a moment later I walk into my and Timothy’s room.
I close the door behind me and walk over to Timothy’s bed and sit down.
There’s a minute where I just sit like that, looking at a spot on the carpet. I don’t even know if I blink. But I guess I probably do.
Then I get up and walk back to the door, and then I just stop.
My hand is on the doorknob. I’m supposed to go to my group.
But something keeps me there, and a minute later I’m pulling my clothes out of the dresser, putting what I can into my backpack. Not really looking, just grabbing the few things I have here and stuffing them all in.
There’s too many clothes for just the backpack, so most of my stuff stays in the closet. But I don’t really care.
I shove the backpack into the corner of my closet, then take one last look into the mirror. I look normal enough. I try to smooth down my hair, then head out.
No one seems to think much of me being late to Outdoor Activities. The counselors know I was with Pastor Landis. I wonder if they told the other kids.
Timothy gives me a look from across the courtyard. I can’t read his face.
I spend the time walking around the fence. Shoulders hunched against the wind. Head down.
Timothy leaves the bathroom in his pajamas and I go in to change.
I keep my regular clothes on under my pajamas and look at myself in the mirror.
I look a bit bulky but not too bad.
Just in case I turn off the light before I leave the bathroom, so it’s dark as I get into bed.
Timothy says, Good night.
I pull the covers up over me and say Good night back. It’s hot but I wait.
It’s a while but finally Timothy’s breathing gets deeper and deeper, longer pauses between each one.
I wait another thirty minutes to make sure. Staring up at the ceiling. I worry about falling asleep but I’m too nervous to sleep anyway.
Finally I pull the covers down.
Slowly.
I sit up in bed and swing my legs over. My feet find the floor.
I stay in this position for a minute, totally still, listening.
There’s no change to Timothy’s breathing so I stand up. I take my pajamas off, and am in my shirt and pants, and put my shoes on. Then my jacket from the closet.
I put the backpack on.
Before I leave I look at Timothy. He’s still breathing deep.
Quietly I open the door, slip out, and close it behind me.
I look up and down the hallway. The lights are on, but there’s no one there.
I don’t know what kind of security they have here. I mean I know there’s always someone at the front desk of the dorm building and I think sometimes counselors keep an eye on the hallways, but I don’t know if they have cameras or alarms or anything.
But there’s no one here right now, so I walk quickly to the stairwell at the end of the hall and down a couple flights.
I peek through the small window of the stairwell door on the first floor. I can sort of see part of the lobby. I wait awhile and I don’t see anything, so I crack the door open and listen.
I can’t hear anything.
I open the door and slip through.
The guy at the desk can’t see me from his position. He has his head resting on one hand, but I can’t tell if he’s asleep or not.
I wait a long time and there’s no movement. I try walking a couple steps.
Then he suddenly moves and I freeze.
He shifts his head to his other hand, then he’s still again.
I don’t know what to do.
But a minute later, he stands suddenly and walks off and into the hallway on the other side that I know leads to the bathrooms.
I stare at the hallway as he disappears into it, my heart hammering. I hear a doorknob click open, a pause, and it closes.
Then I run.
I run through the front door and outside. There’s no alarm.
I keep running.
I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to realize I’m gone.
I think about this a lot while I walk down the highway.
Timothy never really wakes up during the night, but he does get up earlier than me. Like five thirty.
So I guess that’ll probably be when they notice.
I’m walking along the highway in the direction I know is home. I know it’s home because I remember coming this way when we drove in.
But also because I passed a sign saying this was U.S. 58 East, and east means home.
It’s almost one in the morning now. I’ve been walking for more than two hours. At a pretty good pace too, which means I guess six miles or so.
The math worries me a bit. It took about an hour and a half to drive to InnerPeace from home. That’s like ninety miles.
And I’m going three miles an hour.
It’s pretty cold out. And I’m tired.
Finally I stop. Just on the shoulder of the highway and listen.
A car passes by going the opposite direction.
I look off to my right, into the trees, and shiver. It’s dark and cold, and I wonder if it’s safe to sleep there. But there isn’t any shelter anywhere and I’m tired. I start thinking about how long it’ll take to walk all the way home, with no food or money and then what if it starts snowing or something?
While I’m thinking about all this, I hear the car that passed by slow down. I glance over my shoulder.
It does a wide U-turn across the short grass median and gets into the rightmost lane, and starts driving slowly toward me.
I turn toward it but back away, toward the trees. I wonder if the headlights ever caught me.
Red and blue lights start flashing from the top of the car, and my heart skips.<
br />
I say, Shit.
To myself.
Another light turns on, bright and white and solid, from the roof. It turns toward me and holds me in place. My eyes sting. I blink and shield my face with my arm.
The police car pulls up beside me. On the side in big letters, it says VIRGINIA STATE POLICE.
I just stare at it, through the open passenger-side window into the space where the driver would be. I can see the silhouette of a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat.
Nothing happens for a second. The silhouette doesn’t move. Behind him the asphalt glows red then blue then red.
Then the man says, Well, hey there.
I jump, just barely. The voice is higher and louder and more chipper than I was expecting. The officer has a pretty thick southern accent. For just a second I think about Ronald, then I mumble,
Hey.
The man opens the door and steps out, taking his time, and walks around the front of the car to my side of it. He keeps his eyes on me and his right hand on the butt of his gun. When he’s a few feet away, he stops. I can only sort of see his face.
He says, Can’t sleep?
I blink twice.
He waits a bit, then sighs.
He says, How old are you?
I say, Eighteen.
He says, How old are you?
I glance away and say, Fifteen.
He nods.
He says, What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere, son?
I say, Going home.
He says, Going home.
He says it back slowly, like he’s thinking about what it means or something.
Then he says, Okay. Listen, I’m gonna pat you down a sec. Just for my protection, you understand?
I nod. He still sounds kind of chipper.
He says, You’re not gonna give me any trouble, are ya?
I say, No sir.
He says, I’m not gonna find any weapons or controlled substances, am I?
I say, No sir.
He says, All right. Put your arms out at your sides for me.
He walks over slowly, keeping his eyes on mine.
His hands pat gently along my arms, then my sides and waist, then down each leg.
Then he takes a step back and seems to relax a bit. He takes his hat off, and for the first time I get a good look at his face. He’s younger than I thought. Maybe Jesse’s age.
He says, I’m Trooper Manske.
I nod but I don’t say anything.
He says, What’s your name? You can put your arms down.
I let my arms drop. I say, Mike.
He says, Mike what?
I open my mouth, wait for a second, and say, Pilsner.
I don’t know why I pick Ronald’s last name, but I don’t want to give him my real one.
He says, Had to think about that, huh?
I don’t say anything.
He says, You have any identification? Learner’s permit, maybe?
I say, No, I only just turned fifteen a couple weeks ago.
He says, Happy birthday.
I mumble a thanks.
Trooper Manske turns his head and looks down the highway as another car passes by. Then he turns back to me.
He says, So you’re going home, huh?
I say, Yessir.
He says, You’re a ways from the nearest town.
I don’t say anything.
He says, Where is home?
I glance away and say, Somerdale.
Trooper Manske looks down and lets out a long, slow breath through his nose.
Then he looks up.
He says, What are you doing out this far?
I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to mention the camp because then he’ll just take me back. But I can’t think of another reason to be out here that sounds believable.
He says, You run away, son?
I look up and say, Yes. I ran away.
He says, How long ago?
I’m stuck again. I couldn’t have made it this far away from Somerdale on foot.
Then I say, A couple hours ago. I hitchhiked.
Trooper Manske raises his eyebrows. He just looks at me for a few seconds.
He says, You hitchhiked?
His voice is a little clipped.
I say, Yeah.
He says, Who picked you up?
I say, I don’t know. Some guy.
He says, What did he look like?
I say, I don’t know. Medium height I guess. Brown hair. Not too old. Like my dad’s age, maybe.
I’m wondering if my voice is steady enough and if Trooper Manske can tell I’m lying.
He says, What was he driving?
I say, Um, a pickup.
He says, What color?
I say, Blue.
He says, What make and model?
I say, I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention.
He says, Why’d he drop you off?
I blink a few times.
I say, Um, I asked him to. I didn’t want to go any farther.
He says, Why not?
I say, I . . . changed my mind. About running away.
He says, What accent is that?
I say, What?
He says, Your accent. You didn’t grow up around here, right?
I say, Oh. No. We moved from Wisconsin.
I try to cover my accent and am glad when I don’t hear it in the last few words. It comes out sometimes when I’m nervous and I don’t really like it.
Trooper Manske nods, then leans back against his car door.
He says, Look, son, what you did was just incredibly dangerous. I haven’t been doing this long and I’ve already heard horror stories about what’s happened to some hitchhikers, ’specially kids. You don’t wanna know what some crazies are capable of, okay? There are some real messed-up folks out there.
I nod.
He says, You gotta never do that again, no matter how bad things get at home, okay?
I nod.
He gives me sort of a sideways look.
He says, How bad are things at home?
I don’t answer.
He says, You’re not gettin’ hurt or anything, are you?
I say, No.
He says, Why’d you run away?
I don’t know what to say. Then it comes out:
My dad left. It’s just me and my mom and my brother.
I think about Ronald and his mom and feel awful. But I didn’t know what else to say.
Trooper Manske stares at me awhile longer with that sideways look.
Then he says, Okeydoke. Let’s give your mama a call.
I say, No.
I blurt it out.
He raises his eyebrows at me but chuckles.
He says, Son, I gotta call her and let her know you’re all right. And then I’m taking you home.
I just stare back at him.
He pulls a cell phone out of his belt clip and says, Now, what’s your home number?
I take a deep breath, and I give him Ronald’s number. I know it by heart.
He says, Area code seven-five-seven?
I nod.
He dials really slow, then puts the phone up to his ear and turns a little to the side. I hear it ring for a good while. My mouth is really dry.
The fifth ring cuts off in the middle, and a tiny voice comes through the speaker.
Trooper Manske says, Sorry to disturb you so late at night, ma’am. Am I speaking to Miz Pilsner?
He pauses.
He says, Ma’am, this is Trooper Gil Manske with the Virginia State Police. I don’t mean to alarm you, but I have your son Mike in my custody. Now, he’s not in any harm and has not been arrested. But I did find him walking along the side of the highway a good ways from Somerdale. He says he hitchhiked out of town about two hours ago. Runnin’ away from home. Were you aware of this?
There’s a long, long pause. My heart is beating really fast. I’m trying to imagine what Ronald’s mom is thinking.
&n
bsp; Then I hear the tiny voice again. I can’t make out what she’s saying.
Trooper Manske glances at me, then says, Yes’m, that’s right. He’s completely unhurt, but I have to say that’s a heck of a lucky break for you both.
Another pause.
He says, No, that’s fine, ma’am. I’m going to bring him home now. Seems he was headin’ that way anyways.
Pause.
He says, All right, ma’am. Sorry again to wake you.
He looks back at me as he pulls the phone from his ear and hangs up with his thumb. The phone lets out a little beep. I realize I’ve been holding my breath and let it out slowly.
He says, She was still asleep, so didn’t have a chance to be worried out her mind. Good for her.
I nod. I’m trying not to look nervous or give anything away, but I end up just blinking a lot. Trooper Manske looks at me a bit longer, then shakes his head.
He says, All right, get in.
I’ve never been in a police car before.
There’s a small laptop sitting on a built-in platform thing. It’s open now and swiveled toward the driver’s seat. Under it are a bunch of controls and then a radio. From the radio I can hear a dispatcher talking in codes every now and then, and then crackles from other officers’ voices. It’s kind of neat, I guess.
Trooper Manske drives faster than I really expected. He doesn’t have his lights or siren on, though.
He speaks into the radio every now and then, but I don’t really pay attention to what he’s saying. After a bit he turns it down.
He glances over at me and says, Are you hungry? When’s the last time you ate?
I say, Uh, I guess. Yeah. Dinner was at like six o’clock.
He waves his right hand at the dashboard in front of me and says, There’s some granola bars in the glove. Have a couple.
I open it. There are papers and a car manual and a small can of pepper spray and a bunch of granola bars all stuffed in. I take one out. The wrapper says OATS AND HONEY.
It’s crunchy and a bit messy, but I try to be careful not to leave crumbs. It’s not bad, and after I finish it I reach in the glove compartment and take out another. My mouth is a little dry afterward but I feel better.
I say, Thanks, Trooper Manske.
He waves the thanks away.
We sit in silence for a bit. I listen to the crackles over the police radio and think about Ronald’s mom. I don’t know if she’s going to be pissed. I’ll probably get to their house after two in the morning. It’s Friday night, but Ronald says sometimes she works on Saturdays. I hope she’s not going to work in the morning.
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