“Sorry, Goji. I need to get out of here. I’m too hot.”
He nods. “Each time a little longer. You’re doing very well. I suspect your mind will feel clearer today.”
I wipe the sweat off my face with a frayed towel. “It already does.”
* * *
Back in my room, I stuff a few things into my backpack, then tear a sheet of paper out of my notebook. I watch through the window as four-year-old Aura chases Sunny around the compound, curls bouncing around her head like little springs. Jade and Coyote smile at her from the table, where they’re huddled together over cups of tea. Every time Aura passes, they high-five her and she lets out a happy scream.
I scan my room, the familiar books and blankets, my guitar, Doobie’s hammock. The tree house creaks in the fall wind, a sound that has become so constant in my life I sometimes wonder how people sleep without being rocked to sleep every night. Below me laughter bubbles up to my ear. Willow? Sirona? Or maybe Rain, who, now that everyone knows she’s pregnant, has worn a smile that seems to have extinguished all her former tears. I hope my leaving doesn’t make her sad again.
Dear Family,
I’ve gone to find Harmony. I need to know she’s okay. Please don’t worry. I’ll be careful.
Love, Clover Blue
PS: Moon, will you please take care of Sunny until I get back?
It’s not that difficult to disappear into the woods unseen. I wait until I’m even with the Czech’s farmyard before stepping out and jogging toward the road. I’ve walked only half a mile when the sky opens up, pouring pockets of rain in short blasts until I’m drenched. With my head down and my thumb out, I keep walking. Bodega Highway isn’t a busy road. A couple of cars slow down then keep going, parting streams of water in their wake. I don’t care if I have to walk the whole way to Portland; I’m not stopping until I find her.
An empty lumber truck slows down, then stops in the lane with its blinker flashing. I run toward it, convinced he’ll pull away before I get there. The door swings open as I get closer. I pause near the metal step and look up.
Her voice startles me. “Well, don’t just stand there, climb in.” I heft myself onto the seat and pull the door closed. The driver rolls down her window and tosses a cigarette into the rain. Her curly brown hair is clipped short above broad shoulders. The sister-mothers cut wood and help with building stuff but I’ve never seen a woman driving such a big truck before.
“Where you headed, kid?”
“North.”
She lets out a throaty cackle, a rougher version of Doobie’s laugh. “North to the North Pole or north as far as the next town?”
“Portland, Oregon.”
“Portland? That’s gotta be six hundred miles from here!”
I drop my hood to wring out my wet hair.
She gives me the once-over. “Shit, you’re one of those hippie kids, right? Livin’ off the land, doing drugs.”
“I don’t use drugs, ma’am.”
She laughs again. “Sure you don’t. But I bet your friends do. Your parents kick you out or something?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Stop calling me ma’am. My name’s Paula. And you are?” She takes her hand off the shifter and offers it to me.
“Blue. Clover Blue.”
This gets her laughing again, so hard she goes into a coughing fit. “Nice to meet you, Blue. Your sister’s name Pink?”
I’ve learned that no answer is sometimes the best answer to questions like these. I stare straight ahead. The view from up here is amazing. I never knew the truckers were up so high.
“Pretty good handshake for a skinny kid.” She reaches over and squeezes my upper arm. “Shoo-wee! I could use a helper like you. Are you looking for work?”
I’ve never thought about getting a job. We raise most of our own food and I can’t imagine getting up and going to work for someone else, or what I’d do with all the money, for that matter.
“No, ma’am.”
“Paula.”
She pulls out another cigarette and offers me one. “No thank you, Paula.”
She flicks the lighter and draws deeply. Her upper lip has crinkles in it, though she’s probably younger than Lotus, based on the photographs of two little girls taped to the dashboard.
She catches me looking at the pictures and smiles. “That’s Andrea and Angela. They’re twins.”
“Cute.”
“Cuter than me. The girls just turned thirteen. I only hope they don’t get involved in drugs or get knocked up. The world has changed a lot since I grew up.”
I don’t know how to answer that so I just nod and change the subject. “You don’t happen to have a map, do you?”
Paula points to the visor above my head. “I got Sonoma County, California, and western United States. Take your pick.”
I spread the map of the western states across my lap and trace Highway 29 East, over to Interstate 5, all the way up to Portland.
Paula glances at my finger on the map. “I told you it was a long way. I’m going as far as Redding. We have a mill up there. You’re welcome to ride along.”
“Thank you.”
She tosses the crumpled pack of Salem’s on the dusty dashboard and squints as she takes a drag. When she blows out, the smoke fills the cab. I crack my window. Taking the hint, Paula cracks hers and blows the next puffs outside the truck.
She leans forward to get another look at me. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like Leif Garrett?”
“Who’s that?”
“Ha! Only the face on every cover of every teen magazine. All the girls are gaga over him.”
“We don’t get any magazines.”
“He’s also on TV and he has a record album.”
“We don’t have TV. I mostly listen to music from the sixties. We’re pretty laid back.”
“That’s a shame. You ought to head the other way, toward Los Angeles. With that blond hair and blue eyes they’d make a star out of you. Can you sing?”
“Not really. My older brother gave me a guitar but I’m not very good at it.”
“I don’t think the majority of those kids can sing. Probably lip-sync most of it. No way that Partridge Family sounds that good.”
“Partridge Family?”
She jerks her head toward me. “What planet are you from, anyway?”
I study the map, hoping she won’t ask any more questions. It’s bad enough sticking out like a sore thumb in my long hair and thrift store clothes, but I feel lost when it comes to stuff like current events or famous people.
Thankfully she doesn’t push it. “You got somewhere to stay tonight?”
“I’ll probably camp at one of the state parks along the way.”
Paula glances at my feet, taking in the size of my pack. “There a pup tent in that bag?”
“I don’t need a tent. I’m used to sleeping under the stars.”
“Well, if you change your mind between here and Redding I’ve got a motel booked for tonight. You’re welcome to sleep on the floor.”
“I’ll be all right. Thank you, though.”
The slap-slap of the windshield wipers makes me sleepy and I nod off. When we pull off the road a couple hours later I’ve forgotten for a moment where I am until Paula pats me on the leg. “C’mon, kid. I need some grub.”
We walk toward a small café surrounded by eighteen-wheelers, many of them filled with redwood logs. The rain has finally stopped but the sun is hidden by clouds. Judging by where the light shines through, I’m guessing it must be about five o’clock. I wonder if they’ve noticed me missing at SFC yet. Maybe when they call me to help with a chore. Maybe not until they sit down to dinner. I hate that they’ll worry.
I glance at a pay phone next to the diner.
Paula follows my gaze. “You want to call home?”
“We don’t have a phone.”
“A neighbor maybe?”
I picture Lotus on the other end of the line. She’d try to convince m
e to come back. “I don’t have the number.”
She stops outside the café and crosses her arms. “You didn’t tell them where you were going, did you?”
I shake my head.
She sighs and opens the café door. “I’m starving. C’mon, kid.”
Paula orders a hot pork sandwich. The waitress turns to me. “What’ll you have, miss?”
Paula stifles a snort. I order a cup of soup. When the waitress hears my voice, she looks at my hair, then back at my face. “Sorry. I thought you were a girl.”
Paula peers over the top of her menu. “You’re going to need more than a measly cup of soup to keep you strong for the trip. Order a burger. My treat.”
“No thank you.”
“BLT?”
“I’m vegetarian.”
The waitress chuckles. Paula ignores her. “For Chrissake, at least order a bowl.”
I hand my menu to the waitress. “I’ll have a bowl of soup, please.”
When the waitress disappears Paula leans forward with her arms on the table. “So you ran away from home, right? You know how worried your folks will be? Hippies or not, they’ll be worried as shit, I can tell you that.”
“I know. But I need to do this.”
“It’s a girl, isn’t it? You got the look of a broken heart in those beautiful blue eyes of yours. Well, let me tell you. If she moved away with her family, they ain’t comin’ back. You might as well turn around right now.”
The waitress returns with our food. I slurp a couple spoons of minestrone. It’s actually pretty good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
“I’m going to visit my sister,” I finally answer.
Paula’s eyebrows go up. “Your sister?” She wipes her mouth with a paper napkin, then pokes a fry into a mound of ketchup. “Ah, now I get it. Your parents split up and Mom moved away with your sister. I’m sorry, kid. You must really miss her.”
“I do.”
“And your mom, too, I bet.”
Two truckers sitting at the counter drop a few bills next to their empty plates and stroll toward the door. One of them yanks on my hair on the way out.
“Hey!” Paula says.
“Just seeing if this girly boy was wearing a wig, that’s all.”
The other man laughs, staring at me. “You’re awfully pretty, aren’t you? You one of those fairies from San Francisco?”
Paula glares at the men. “Go on now. I’m sure you have better things to do than pick on a boy half your size.”
They head toward the door, laughing. “Get a fucking haircut,” one says. “Or a tutu,” the other one adds.
I wad up my napkin and throw it on the table.
Paula rests her roughly chapped hand on top of mine. “Don’t pay any attention to them. All talk and no balls.”
Paula pays our bill and we get back on the road. She fishes around behind the seat and comes up with a cassette tape. She pops it in and cranks the volume, singing loudly with “Yellow Submarine,” slapping me on the arm until I finally join in. We sing along with the next three songs, bouncing around like a couple of joyful idiots until “All You Need Is Love” starts up and gets to the lyric about being where you need to be, and the tears start. It’s no use trying to hide them. I try singing louder but end up choking on my words.
Paula moves to eject the tape.
I touch her arm. “Please. Leave it going.”
She gives me a look that says everything without saying a word. When the song finishes I turn off the player. Paula swipes at the corner of her eye with the cuff of her jacket, then ruffles my hair. “I’m sorry, kid.”
* * *
Three hours later we pull into a motel and Paula parks the truck. “This is it for me. You coming in?”
I retrieve my bag from the floor of the cab and throw it over my shoulder. “I think I’ll keep moving.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be in room number eleven if you change your mind. Right down there on the end. I always get the same one.”
“Thanks for the ride and the soup.”
“Thanks for the company.” Paula pulls me in for a half hug. She smells like cigarettes and French fries and everywhere I’ve never been. She reaches under her seat and hands me a baseball cap with their company logo on it. “Take this. Less trouble for you, I promise.”
I tuck my hair up under the hat. She flashes a thumbs-up and grins. I climb down from the cab and walk back toward Interstate 5.
35
The traffic on the highway at night is crazy-fast. I’ve had my thumb out for over an hour but every single car and truck whizzes past me. At least it’s not raining anymore. This thought is immediately followed by lightning and a crack of thunder that nearly startles me out of my boots. I was just starting to feel dried out. I turn and run back toward the motel.
I’m about to knock on the door with the big number eleven painted on it, but try the handle just in case. It’s unlocked. Either she’s very trusting or she knew I’d be back. I slip inside and stand until my eyes adjust. Paula is snoring louder than Coyote ever did. I step quietly toward the bathroom to take a leak. With the door closed I flip on the light. A cockroach scurries under the sink cabinet, leaving a couple of dead ones behind. To the right of the toilet sits a gaudy pink bathtub with a tiny white rug in front of it.
I push the plug into place and turn on the water, hoping the sound doesn’t wake Paula. Sinking into the steaming tub I think about all the times I’ve nearly frozen under cold “showers” made from plastic bags with holes in them or washing in the creek before Lotus brought us the hose. The closest I’ve ever come to a real bath was the metal washtub Willow used to bathe me in when I was little. It’s never seemed like a big deal. Until now.
I soak until my eyes start to droop and I nearly slip under the water, which is a lot dirtier than I imagined I was. I towel off and creep back into the bedroom. The loveseat is too short for my long legs, but nearly as comfortable as my mattress at home. I doze on and off, my mind wandering between SFC and Harmony. When the sun peeks through the blinds, I slip out before Paula wakes and walk back toward the freeway.
* * *
It takes me all day and three more rides before hitting the Oregon border. A vinyl siding salesman drove me to Legget before a couple of stoned Humboldt College students took me as far as Arcata. I walked to Highway 199, where another trucker picked me up at the I-5 on his way to Eugene, Oregon. He’s not much of a talker and I’m glad for that. I lean back and marvel at the size of the redwoods as we pass through Klamath National Forest. I thought we had big trees in Freestone but these are giants.
The trucker slows down, edges onto the shoulder of the highway, and idles. I don’t see any truck stops or weigh stations and the last sign said the interstate is twenty miles away.
“We got us a bear,” he says quietly. “Best you keep quiet and let me do the talking.” I start to turn around but he stops me. “And don’t turn around! Don’t even look at him. Just be invisible.”
I stare straight ahead, except for a quick glance in the side mirror as a cop walks from his cruiser toward the driver’s side of the truck. My heart races, knowing that if he finds out who I am it’ll start a huge snowball of bad things, beginning with the arrest of most everyone at SFC. In my mind I hear Goji’s voice when he was trying to explain to Harmony how Coyote getting arrested was the result of his prior actions. Every choice has a consequence. I didn’t think this idea through. And I’ve just stupidly put my entire family at risk.
When the cop reaches us, the driver, who never told me his name, rolls down his window and hands the officer his license and other papers.
“Afternoon,” the cop says. He looks down at the license. “Kenneth,” he adds.
I forget about the stay-invisible rule and follow the cop’s voice. He’s an older man, freckled, with a reddish white mustache. The officer catches my movement and cranes his neck to get a look at me. “Who’s that you got with you?”
“Just giving the kid
a lift.”
“Hitchhiker? Where’d you pick him up?”
“Crescent City. The on-ramp for the one ninety-nine.”
“You brought a juvenile across state lines?”
Kenneth glances at me, then back at the cop. “I don’t know how old he is. It was raining and he needed a ride.”
The cop takes a long look at the papers. “I’m going to check these and come back. You boys just hold on, okay?”
Kenneth nods.
When the cop is out of earshot the trucker growls under his breath. “How old are you?” he asks.
“Fourteen.”
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It was stupid of me to pick you up.”
“It was actually very kind of you.”
He looks at me and smirks. “Kind of stupid.”
The officer comes back, this time on my side of the truck. “I’m going to need you to step out, son.”
I freeze. This cannot be happening.
“C’mon now. You’re not in trouble. I just need to know who you are and where you belong.”
I look back at Kenneth, who just shrugs.
The officer hands the papers back to the trucker. “Slow it down, buddy.”
“Yes, sir.” Kenneth hands me my pack. As soon as I take it he pulls the door closed and shifts into gear without a good-bye. He’s already in third gear by the time I reach the police cruiser.
The officer surprises me by opening the front passenger door of his car instead of the back. “Take off your cap.”
My hair falls down my back when I remove the trucker hat Paula gave me. I expect a rude comment but he just motions for me to get in. He slides in the other side and closes the door.
“What’s your name, son?”
Something about the way he says the word son, a tenderness beneath the authority, hits me square in my chest. My throat feels suddenly dry, like I’ve swallowed every drop of saliva in my mouth.
“Look, I see your type every day. I’ve heard every story, some true and some flat-out lies. But what I do know is that we’ve been getting reports of young people like yourself being picked up and disappearing. I’m not going to arrest you. I’ve got kids, and if they ran away I’d be sick with worry. I just want to return you to your parents.”
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