Hadrian's Wall

by Felicia Jensen

  Maybe not, I guessed, but with the Mrs. Jones’ daughters, anything was possible. I was so distracted thinking about my bath that I didn’t realize the house was not empty. Voices from the living room warned me and I became curious.

  Usually, Ms. Jones arrived much later. The girls and their father always arrived later after she did. I stopped halfway down the hall from the bathroom. Damn it! I was about to catch another conversation, but it wasn’t my fault if...

  “She doesn’t go willingly, I’ll give her a little help so she’ll be forced to leave,” said one of the girls.

  “What do you mean, Jenny? How do we get rid of Melissa?”

  It was of me they were talking about, of course. Melissa was my name. So it was me they wanted to get rid of...My eyes filled with tears. I held my breath and waited for the answer.

  “It’s very simple. I’ve planted the doubt about the disappearance of some of my stuff. Now all we have to do is get away with something of real value.”

  The other sister groaned, as if not understanding.

  “Pay attention, loser! Tomorrow’s Saturday—Family Poker Day, when Grandma comes to visit,” Jenny said grudgingly. “Have you noticed she always takes off her huge ruby ring when she helps Mom with the dishes? Well, you’ll be in charge of distracting both of them and I’ll get the ring and put it...guess where?”

  In my bedroom. I supplied the answer to her question.

  “And if Grandma doesn’t bring the ring this time?”

  “She always has money in her wallet and Mother has jewelry in her closet, so we have other alternatives.”

  “Why don’t you like her, Jenny? She seems okay to me,” said Tina.

  “Wake up, Tina! If she stays here long enough and captivates our parents, we’ll have to compete for privileges with her—money, gifts, trips...and I’m not interested in sharing what’s rightfully mine with a crazy girl, no less! What if Mom suddenly decides to...like... adopt her? Are you willing to share our inheritance with her?”

  I didn’t wait to hear Christina’s response. I’d heard enough. I forced my feet to move. I walked like an automaton back to the garage, having completely forgotten about shampoo and a bath. Along the way, I thanked my guardian angel for giving me the opportunity to hear that enlightening chat. There was no doubt—I had to get out right away.

  * * *

  Having accepted that inevitable fact, I blocked all chaotic thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me as I packed my suitcase with only the belongings that I considered important. The backpack would have to be left behind.

  Once that job was finished, I picked up my suitcase and walked down the stairs, being careful not to stumble on the steps. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, uncertain about what to do. I felt half anesthetized. Now what? What should I do? I bit my lip several times, thinking about the best way to end this situation. If it were up to me, I’d run away without looking back, but I knew that wasn’t appropriate. I owed an explanation to Mrs. Jones.

  The girls were nowhere in the house when I returned. Good. But then I realized that Mr. Jones had returned from work. A few minutes later, I heard the Mrs. Jones’ pickup coming up the driveway. What a relief! I could make my speech in a single breath.

  When I entered the house, Mr. Jones’ eyes immediately spied my suitcase, but he said nothing, although he did look a little surprised.

  When Mrs. Jones appeared, I gave her my best smile and said, “Mrs. Jones...I got a job! Isn’t that wonderful? I’m supposed to start on Monday.”

  It had been easy, fast, and lightweight. I hope I seemed sincere, I hoped so because I hated lying.

  “Congratulations, honey!” She didn’t hide his relief, briefly pressing my arms.

  “At last...” Mr. Jones muttered. We both pretended not to hear him.

  “I...I found a very cheap motel. It’s close to the job. I’ve made arrangements to stay there. Don’t get me wrong...” I tried to clarify things the right and diplomatic way. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful or belittle your hospitality, but it’s time to have my own place. I gave a her forced smile, praying that my lie had sounded convincing.

  “So I think we should celebrate your success,” she said while rummaging around inside the refrigerator, deciding what to prepare for dinner.

  I felt bad...but I couldn’t turn back now.

  Mr. Jones turned on the TV in the living room and was watching the news, while Mrs. Jones began to prepare the meal. In fact, almost everything was ready. We had cooked several meals in advance the week before and frozen them, so the only thing that remained to be done was to prepare the salad. Well, it would cost me nothing, since it would be my farewell.

  Dinner was a silent event, but not embarrassing. The girls’ absence made things easier. Mrs. Jones commented that they’d gone to visit a school friend and would probably sleep over at her house. Mr. Jones talked very little, except when his wife asked him how he’d spent his work day and he rattled off a litany of complaints against his supervisor.

  After dinner, I helped with the dishes. Then came the first obstacle to a clean getaway.

  “Wait a minute, I’ll give you a ride,” said Mrs. Jones.

  I couldn’t escape. I gave her the address of a place that I’d once heard, but I really didn’t know if it was still there. Along the way I prayed that she wouldn’t try to accompany me inside the motel.

  Luckily, Mrs. Jones was in a hurry. She left me on the corner that I’d mentioned and said she’d visit me as soon as an opportunity arose. That is never! I thought wryly, especially if it depends on her psychopathic daughters or her grumpy husband.

  She waved goodbye and took off with the pickup sputtering. I had to laugh, she still hadn’t mastered the gears and speeds. I turned to wave, but the vehicle was already out of sight.

  I sighed, thinking about the meaning of expression “bitter victory.” Yes, I’d managed to get out unscathed, but I was on my own. I picked up my suitcase and walked in the other direction.

  I felt so lonely! I thought about my father and everything I’d lost because of his illness, not in material terms, but the family having to live day-by-day. Support...Security...Comfort. I wished he was by my side to comfort me! I blinked furiously, trying to chase away the tears and force my mind to focus on my immediate problem. What do I do now? Did I have enough money to buy a bus ticket? I found myself trudging down the sidewalk, carrying my heavy suitcase, without a definite plan.

  I decided to wait until the next day and then try to find a job in another place, perhaps a city where there would be more possibilities...maybe somewhere on the coast.

  Tomorrow is Saturday. You won’t find a job on a Saturday. You’ll have to wait until Monday, but by then I would have spent all my money on food and lodging, without any guarantee that my situation would be resolved on Monday. And if it wasn’t resolved, my money would be gone! I wouldn’t have enough to eat, let alone buy a bus ticket.

  Oh, yes! I’d have to take a chance on another city and I’d have to go now. It was now or never.

  I asked a passerby where the bus stop was located. The boy pointed me in the right direction and explained the distance that I had to walk to get there.

  I felt my stomach clench. I felt nauseated at the thought that tomorrow I could be anywhere, far from everything and everyone I knew. The unknown was very scary and the worst part was that I couldn’t make plans because I had no idea what was to come. Maybe things would get better, maybe worse. I tried to be optimistic, telling myself that nothing could be worse than it already was. But I knew that mine was not the only case or the worst case. Once I found an article on the Internet that talked about the destiny of Americans orphans who were not adopted—no support, no education, no friends. Man, I’m in trouble!

  I continued walking to the gas station where the buses usually stopped along that road— at least according to the information the boy gave me. I entered the convenience store, looking for a bus schedule. The attendant had been watching
me with a disinterested expression, before asking, “Can I help you?”

  I asked about the buses, but he knew almost nothing—just that they pass by there. A girl who was sitting on a long bench stood up and approached us.

  “Excuse me, I’m waiting for the bus to Gorham. It should arrive soon...” But she didn’t tell me about the rest of the itinerary and arriving in a strange city, near midnight, could be quite dangerous—even more so for a girl alone, like me. I thought it would be safer for me stay in Berlin and travel the next morning. I asked her if she knew where I could find a cheap hotel and I thanked her for the information before I left the store under speculative gazes. I bet that they thought I was too young to be traveling alone. Were they wondering if I was a teenager running away from home...? What fun—especially if they’d called the local social workers office, I thought with a twinge of irony. My suspicion was confirmed when the hotel desk clerk insisted on seeing my identity.

  I registered and asked for a bedroom on the ground floor so that I wouldn’t have to go up and down the stairs, struggling with my heavy suitcase. The look on the guy’s face told me that it was obvious he didn’t intend to carry it for me. I paid for the room and picked up the key that he placed on the counter.

  The room was simple, dark due to the painting of walls stained because of leakage. On the floor, the carpet didn’t look like it had seen a vacuum cleaner for a long, long time. The bathroom had loose tiles on the shower floor and the overhead wiring was exposed. But for me it seemed like the presidential suite compared to the little bedroom that I’d occupied above the Joneses’ garage

  I literally collapsed on the bed. The mattress was sinking in some parts, but was comfortable and large. I sighed. I was exhausted. I was unfit for anything except sleeping. The blisters on my feet had burst because I was feeling pain become more acutely. My hands were painful too, calloused from carrying the suitcase. I was afraid to take off my ballet flats and prove my suspicions, but I had to because if I wanted to walk the next day, I wouldn’t get far with those shoes. I’d only worn them for the job interview because they were more elegant than my shabby sneakers.

  The blisters on my feet scared me because they’d formed wounds. Like an acrobatic drunk, I awkwardly rested my foot on the edge of the sink, cleansed the wounds and dried them with a towel. Then I looked in my suitcase for socks and my only comfortable shoes. I let out a sigh of relief. Sneakers: the greatest human invention!

  Again, I thought about my dear father, but I tried to react to depression. Now I desperately needed to count the money I had left. Thinking correctly, dealing with money just let me down.

  Only you cannot postpone the problem, right? You will not get to sleep until you assess the size of the disaster!

  After telling and retelling, including picking up lost coins in the back of the pockets, I was overcome by a terrible anxiety. Something told me that the money would not be enough to buy a ticket anywhere.

  3

  D I R I G O

  I was so tired that I fell asleep fully clothed. When I awoke, the sky outside of the window was brightening and the cold of the morning was disappearing with the darkness. I felt lethargic. My body ached all over but I finally forced myself to get out of bed and get moving. Determined to take a hot bath, I stripped off my clothes and submerged my sore body into the tub to thoroughly enjoy a luxury that had been denied me for far too long.

  * * *

  When I left the bathroom, the outside temperature was already climbing. I got dressed and brushed my hair, deciding to make a ponytail. Absentmindedly, I heard the noise from the street, indicating that the town was beginning to wake up. Sighing, I concluded that I could not postpone what was to come; in fact, I had to act quickly so that I would not miss a minute of the day.

  I left my room, pulling my suitcase behind me. I stopped in the lobby, expecting to see the young male desk clerk who was on duty when I checked in, but instead I saw a very old lady sitting there calmly reading the newspaper. She looked up at me and smiled.

  “Good morning!” I greeted her, placing the key on the worn counter.

  “Good morning!” She compared the number on the key tag with my record, found that I’d already paid for the room, and threw the key into the bin. She smiled as if to say, “It’s okay” and sat down again.

  Oookay! I responded with a shy smile and headed for the exit.

  * * *

  I walked slowly, savoring the hint of breeze that caressed my face, providing some respite from the heat. In the daylight, the streets seemed a little different. I forced myself to remember the way back to the gas station. Once there, I came across another attendant. He knew more about the bus route—fares and schedules—than his colleague last night. Given the information he provided, I quickly realized that my money would be insufficient for anything other than a small breakfast. I bought a carton of orange juice and a cookie, and then sat down on the bench outside. Hopeless situations require serenity. A new beautiful teaching of Buddha, no doubt. Focus on the immediate problem, Melissa!

  I needed to get a ride, which could prove to be more difficult than finding a job because at that hour there was hardly any traffic on the road.

  Suddenly, a truck made a turn into a parking place. It was a mid-size vehicle and displayed a prominent logo on the side. The driver stopped the engine, opened the door, and leaped out. I kept chewing on my cookie, all the while absentmindedly watching him. It was a bearded young man, wearing a sweat-stained shirt. He glanced around and then his eyes came to rest on me.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning,” I said, though my mouth was full.

  He looked at my suitcase, but said nothing as he walked around the truck to the gas pump. He inserted the nozzle into the gas tank, then set the lever for “hands free” fueling. He hesitated for a moment and then approached me.

  “Waiting for the bus? It’ll be here soon. I know because I passed it a few miles back.”

  “No, I want to ride the bus, but I don’t have enough money for a ticket. I don’t know what to do...”

  He arched his eyebrows, apparently surprised at my confession.

  “Don’t worry...I can give you a ride.” Suddenly his expression became cautious. “You’re not under age, right?”

  I laughed. “No, I’m not...and I can prove it.”

  He raised his hand, cutting me off. “It’s not necessary...where are you going?”

  He seemed friendly. For just a moment I thought about the risk of accepting a ride from a total stranger, but I had no other option.

  “Tell me where you’re going,” I said.

  He shifted his weight and smiled, somewhat surprised by the fact I didn’t have a final destination.

  “Well, I’ll be going through Gorham, Bethel, Norway...I have to make a delivery in Poland Spring too, so I’ll pass by Gray, Portland, and the surrounding area. I’ll take the Route 95 exit that will take me straight to Augusta. Then...”

  “Works for me...thanks!” I grabbed my suitcase, turned it around with some difficulty, and then approached him.

  The young man laughed incredulously. “What city?”

  “The farthest one from here,” I said, sounding as bitter as I felt.

  “So, we’re off to Maine,” he muttered and picked up my suitcase.

  * * *

  The trip was enjoyable. Bob was good company. He was a simple fellow, doing well in life, and very devoted to his family. I think I drew the long straw to catch a ride with him.

  Gazing out the windows of the truck from time to time, I saw mountains interspersed with extensive pine forests and small towns. The landscape was lush and green. I wished I’d had a camera, but instead I tried to observe every scene we passed so that I could later replay them in my drawings.

  We were leaving New Hampshire whose motto is “Live Free or Die.” In my case, it was more like “Get a job or die.” I never imagined that my hometown would become “foreign” to me. What happ
ened to the good times of my life there? Would I remember anything or nothing at all? On the other hand, I expected to leave the bitterness behind.

  It was easy to talk with Bob. He was so open about his own life that I soon found myself telling him excerpts of my personal episodes of Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events. He sincerely regretted my bad luck and then made a totally unexpected offer.

  “I’ve got an idea! My sister Carmen works in the personnel section of a department store in South Portland. Maybe she can help find a job for you? Maybe she can find room for you in her apartment. We’ll stop and see her. It costs nothing to take a chance.”

  I was speechless.

  “What?” He laughed at the look on my face. “Miracles happen, Melissa. Maybe the man upstairs sent me your way today.”

  “Yes...who knows?” I answered, but feeling skeptical.

  I was always wary of sudden offers because they never occurred spontaneously or unselfishly—except those from Mrs. Jones, who over time had proven herself to have good intentions. I hoped the same would be true with respect to Bob. In this case, time would be the judge. I didn’t want to repeat the bad luck I’d had with the Jones family. If Carmen was as psycho as Jennifer...well, I couldn’t bear another experience like that.

  “...worst case scenario,” Bob was saying, “If there’s no place for you in the store or with my sister, Portland has other opportunities. I know some guys...they know other guys...” He was laughing. “...who work for other guys. These guys own bars and restaurants. It’s an area that always needs waiters and waitresses, especially in the summer season.”

  “Well...” I laughed too. “It would be great if ‘the guys’ would give me a hand.”

  We stopped a few times along the route to make the Bob’s deliveries. I seized the opportunity to get out of the truck and stretch my legs. Not long after we left Gorham, Bob figured out why I didn’t go into the roadside cafes with him, when he stopped to get a bite to eat. I told him I wasn’t hungry, but I guess I wasn’t very convincing because just outside of Norway, when I gave him the same excuse, then ducked into the restroom, he brought me a hamburger and refused to accept repayment.