[sic]

by Scott Kelly

  The morning air was lukewarm; the surface of my car was covered in tiny beads of dew. I reached into my pocket and retrieved the keys I’d been sleeping on all night, pulling them out of their place embedded in my thigh.

  The car door opened at the same moment the door to our room did. Emily stepped out, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

  I froze with my hand on the keys and the keys in the door. She spoke before I worked up the willpower to look away from the looseness of the towel on her breasts. “Don’t you need some money?”

  I sighed. “Yeah. My bad.”

  Emily looked at me sideways for a moment then shrugged, handing me a five-dollar bill with her free hand. She turned and walked back into the motel room, bare feet padding across cracked asphalt of the parking lot.

  I sat down in my car. Shit. Almost out of gas; the needle was a centimeter from the big orange E.

  I drove across the street to the nearest drive-through and got Emily something with eggs in it. As I returned to the room, she was dressed again and looking refreshed.

  I, on the contrary, was exhausted, and my head hurt. “So, where to today?” I asked her.

  “North,” she said. “North, until we find some reason to go east. When we do, we’ll go east.”

  We made our way back to the car, taking our places. I sighed and put it into gear, pushing off into the stream of the small, two-lane highway. Within moments, we were out of Rusk and back into the hilly wilderness that made up central Texas.

  We drove north for about five minutes before I decided to bring up the obvious. “We’re going to run out of gas. We need to stop and fill up.”

  “Next station you see,” Emily said.

  A few moments, then I couldn’t hold back any longer: “Why did you talk to my principal? Why did you get me back into KHS?” I asked her.

  She dug through the purse on her lap. “I called, pretending to be your aunt. I plead your case; the principal was okay with it. I think he forgot all about you, really.”

  “Yeah, but why?” I asked.

  “Same reason as always. You need to have options when you choose me. Everyone does—you can’t arrive here inevitably. That’s meaningless to me; I don’t want to be common sense, or the best thing you have going right now. You choose, or it’s not a choice.”

  More Emily madness. I slowed and turned into a gas station, cringing as the underbelly of the car bottomed out on a steep bit of concrete. We pulled up to a pump.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked.

  “About what?”

  “About Kingwood.”

  I hesitated. I wasn’t sure, to tell the truth. Nora sat in the corner of my mind, beckoning me, not allowing herself to be forgotten. I knew she was disappointed I got expelled, mad that I didn’t take better care of myself. But if I could prove myself to her again, I thought I could probably get close to her.

  “I love the freedom,” I offered.

  “You’re about to tell me something I don’t want to hear,” Emily said, leaning back and crossing her arms.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “I don’t know if I’m ready to leave for good.”

  I stepped out and took Moira’s credit card from her. Pump was too slow; I stared back and forth from the meter to the tank.

  After a moment, she followed me out of the car, circled around and got close. Eyes locked on mine, couldn’t see anything else.

  What did she have planned? Heart raced. I knew she was no good for me, I knew it was unfair—but when she was close, it didn’t matter.

  Our feet fit together like teeth on a zipper.

  “You really do care about me, don’t you, Jacob?” Emily asked, staring up at me, eyes wide.

  It happened again; everything went away and there was just the intensity of her presence. “I do, but…”

  “But, what?” Emily sighed. “Why does it have to be complicated? We’re on an adventure. Roll with it, Jacob. I’m ready to really do this. I’m in, Eureka is what I want from life. Let’s stop dicking around, there’s a world out here. Look at it. You can’t try to control things and play this game at the same time. Let’s run away! We’ll watch out for each other, we’ll teach other people how to play.”

  “I can’t. I feel like I left things at home. Loose ends.” I avoided mentioning Nora. “I have too much going on to leave and never come back. Not yet.”

  Emily clucked her tongue, breaking eye contact, staring down at the cement. “I can’t do this with you if you don’t really want it. Not because you think you’ll have sex with me, or because you’re scared to disappoint me. That’s worse than being alone.”

  I started to object, but couldn’t. “I care about you. A lot,” I said. “But, David—Cameron, Steven.” Just left with the nouns; everything else melted through the sieve.

  The gas pump clicked. The tank was full. “Prove it, then.”

  Emily kissed me without warning, lips pressed hard to mine. Briefly, though, then she pulled back. “Tag,” she said.

  The ground dropped below me, my stomach bottoming out somewhere around my ankles.

  She watched me expectantly. Any given moment, and everything could change. I looked out at the gentle hills around me, farmland dotted with a few houses. Green squares cut into the earth. Not even big enough to be a town, but still—this was her trump. I blame the death of David Bloom on the profound beauty of Eureka.

  Whatever I was debating about going home or staying with Emily would have to wait. I had to drop it all, right then, and change my frame of reference. Never a dull moment.

  I reached into my pocket and retrieved the car keys. One hand wrapped around Emily’s neck; I pulled her close, kissed her cheek once then put the keys in her hand. “I’ll see you someday,” I said.

  Emerald eyes wide. She twirled the keys on an extended finger before clutching them in a pale hand. “You’ll see me again,” Emily said, hips swaying as she opened the car door and climbed inside. “Good luck out here.”

  I smiled; the door to my car swung closed. The vehicle shifted into gear and Emily drove off, leaving me stranded.

  24. Awakening

  Now

  “I had to do it,” I explain. “I signed up for this experiment—eagerly, too. I think it will enrich my time here. What Eureka does to you comes in two parts. The first part is changing your identity. Everyone gets put into a stereotype, something that can be packaged and easily understood. Guy with glasses is a nerd, muscular guy is a jock. Mr. Aschen, you look like an old college professor, and you’re a counselor. That’s your part. I grew up in a trailer park, and that’s mine. Shakespeare said life is a play, and I agree—the issue is, the casting sucks.

  “But, Eureka makes you unpredictable. Helps you get away from those stereotypes holding you back. And when you are forced to act outside of your assigned role, you start to understand what bullshit the whole system of having roles is.” I lean back in my chair and stare at Mr. Aschen.

  He looks up from his notepad. “What’s the second part of Eureka?”

  “The second part actually changes you, the player. I loved the car while it was mine—but, not too much. The car was temporary, one way or another. Even if it didn’t get stolen or wrecked, I’d get tagged and have to let it go. So, I loved the car, but it didn’t tear me up to give it away. That’s how everything is. Everything you have, anything you own that you try to take pleasure from, is going to go away eventually. Better not to rely on material stuff. Eureka makes sure you don’t.”

  Mr. Aschen is gray and drying; his skin is drawn tight over tall cheekbones. He cannot properly twirl the pen, but he can shuffle it back and forth between gnarled hands, and does so constantly. “Other than David, what do you think made you want to play Eureka in the first place?”

  I study my socks so he can’t see me smiling. “It’s like we never had a fair chance. We grew up in this shithole, our parents failed at life, and even if we tried as hard as we could, made all the right decisions, worked two jobs a
nd saved up money—we could never have half of what was given for free to everyone around us. So, the life in store for us was already a shitty deal. Even if I did everything right, my life was still going to be second-rate, at best.”

  “But if you were building things…” Mr. Aschen raises his hands helplessly. “Careers, contacts, college—that’s how you escape the trailer park. How can you throw away every opportunity you get, and then be upset at life for not working out the way you want?”

  “I don’t want it!” I lean forward; my voice rises. “I don’t want a manager position at Wal-Mart. I don’t want to be an accountant or a paralegal. I want…I don’t know what I want, but I don’t want any of that. There’s no option available to me that would make me happy, so I choose none of the above. Look at you, Mr. Aschen. Is your life perfect? Everything going flawlessly? What has your life of hard work gotten you? I’m willing to bet your life is still shaped by a series of coincidences over which you have no control. Eureka is my way of accepting the way life is. Accepting, and rejoicing.”

  My psychologist leans back and folds his arms.

  *

  Goddamnit, Emily.

  Trapped in a wide open space.

  Plenty of options, sure. Just, they all began with a hundred mile walk. The gas station behind me had a pay phone, but I didn’t know anyone to call and had no money to call them with.

  Embrace the change, Jacob. Could be worse.

  Right. Positive attitude.

  I started walking, following a small road running perpendicular to the highway, back behind the gas station. Trees, birds, flowers. Nice day, cool winter breeze. This was it—a real adventure. Completely alone.

  Lots of walking. After about a half hour, I came across a shaded camping ground filled with RVs and picnic tables.

  An old man rolled hotdogs across the rusted iron grate of a community grill; three men stood at his side, supervising with beers in hand. Their respective old ladies sat in lawn chairs, reading magazines. A geriatric looked up at me and smiled. Caught me off guard—I smiled back.

  A large Christmas tree stood in the center of the camp. Totally forgot about the holiday; gift giving was not a big deal in my family. Not being at home saved me the awkwardness, really. I didn’t want more stuff.

  Did kind of miss Dad.

  I didn’t want to go into the RV camp and disrupt what looked like a private party—but I didn’t want to keep walking, either. I found a tree twenty feet away from the nearest camper, sat down and leaned against it.

  Hundreds of miles away, and still in a trailer park. But, this wasn’t like Broadway. These were expensive RVs, ten-wheelers with big windows, the kind you didn’t hook up to a car.

  After about an hour of sitting underneath the tree and rubbing my temples, I was approached. One of the older ladies—maybe watching a distressed youth in the Christmas season was too much for her.

  “Hey, sweetie—would you like a hot dog?” All cautious care, like the puppy might be rabid.

  “Um,” I mumbled, “Sure. I’d love one.”

  She extended a plate with a fully assembled hot dog. I smiled, thanked her and quickly ate the food. As I chewed, I realized what I must look like, sitting there in my dirty clothes, staring woefully at the group of wealthy, elderly folks.

  Well, this was survival. I figured if I was going to do this—going to play Eureka, and be willing to wander, then I needed to learn how to survive. Begging was not out of the question.

  “Thank you,” I told her. “That was great.”

  “Are you from around here?” she asked, painted lips smiling gently. Gray hair curled, red blush too thick on cheeks. The grandmother I never had.

  “I’m just hitchhiking through,” I lied. “Looking for a place to sleep.”

  She clucked her tongue, moaning pitifully. “You poor thing. There’s a bathroom over here, with showers too. Why don’t you come and eat some more? We just keep cooking and cooking, with no one to feed.”

  Shocked, how nice she was. This was new.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” I said. “I’m just passing through. I can sleep right here, you know.” I patted the ground.

  “Oh, dear, I can’t possibly sleep in that big RV all night, knowing you’re laying out in the grass without even a blanket or a bite to eat. Come on, come get some food. I think Ron has a spare sleeping bag, I’ll see if we can help you. Come on, I won’t stand for you being miserable: come eat.”

  I’d happened on a group of retirees, traveling America, enjoying each other’s company. For the most part, they seemed happy to have me around; after a couple hours of uneasiness, they began asking me questions, telling me stories. Trusting, to a certain point. No one let me inside their RV, but they were happy to talk with me and share their food. I slept near a campfire, with two pillows and a sleeping bag.

  Not half bad, for my first night.

  By the second day, a Vietnam veteran was familiar enough to loan me a set of oversized plaid sweats to wear while they washed my tired t-shirt and jeans. I looked like someone’s lame grandson on Christmas morning.

  In the evening, the camp came alive. People played guitar and sang and talked and drank. I listened to their stories and asked questions, and they seemed happy to have me. I even kind of enjoyed my time there. I hadn’t got this sort of attention since…well, ever.

  What’s more, I still woke up Jacob Thorke. Despite having changed everything—despite the fact I wasn’t in Kingwood and David, Dad, Nora, and the rest of the Six weren’t around—I was still me.

  Something deeper defined me, something other than relationships or cities or routines. The game worked; Eureka took me somewhere new. Made me experience something unexpected.

  I was happy to spend a second night.

  During the third day, I was approached by the woman who gave me the first hotdog. “We’re shipping out today,” she said, big silver hoops of earrings bobbing in time with her words. “It’s about that time for us. We’re gonna head north to the next camp, or else we won’t make it to Canada by summer.”

  For a minute, I thought about asking to go with them. I’d been polite and well-behaved, and they seemed to enjoy my presence. Still, I couldn’t. I mean, I was ‘it.’ Someone needed to get tagged.

  So as they packed their things, I racked my brain for some way out of there, for someone who might come and save me. I needed to find a phone, but first I needed someone to call.

  There was one person I used to call constantly. My fingers memorized the pattern the numbers made when they pressed across the keypad. By twitching my fingers across an imaginary phone, the digits came to me.

  I didn’t want to call this number. Still, this was the only one I knew.

  I walked over to the woman who’d been so generous with me all week and asked to use her phone. She didn’t hesitate to let me.

  I dialed the ten-digit sequence.

  “Hello?” the voice of an older man.

  “Hi…” I said, trailing off. Didn’t expect this.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, sorry. May I please speak with Nora?”

  “One second.” I heard the phone being put down as Nora’s father went to fetch her. Christmas music in the background; I could practically smell the cookies.

  After several excruciating moments, the phone was picked up then put to Nora’s ear. The sound of her hair brushing the receiver made me smile.

  “Hi, Nora. Happy holidays.”

  “Jacob?” she whispered. She apparently didn’t want her dad to know who was calling. “I’m with my family. What are you doing?”

  “I…just wanted to call. See what’s up.”

  “Nothing is up. It’s Christmas vacation,” Nora repeated. “My aunts are down. What else would I be doing? What are you doing?”

  “I’m kinda in a situation, actually.”

  “When are you not in a situation?”

  I cringed. “Yeah, you’re right,” I admitted. “Look, I got back int
o the high school. I’m going to spend my last semester with you. At school, I mean.”

  “Well, good for you, Jacob. But I’m not going to pretend I believe you, or that you’re suddenly going to stop ruining your life.”

  “I need you to pick me up,” I blurted. “I’m in Martindale.”

  “Where the hell is Martindale?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. It’s north of Kingwood, I know that. If you drive north on Highway 71, you’ll get there in a couple hours. I’m stuck here, alone, until someone comes to get me. I’ll be walking down the highway, if no one gives me a ride. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

  No response; only the sound of a receiver clicking down on its rest. The line went dead. I sighed and flipped the phone closed, handing it back to its owner.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do for you?” she asked, eyes searching mine. The RVs were packed and running, ready to go.

  “I’m sure,” I told her. “I’ll be fine.” Knowing as the words left my mouth, I wasn’t and wouldn’t be.

  “Where are you going to sleep?”

  “I’ll…” I gestured lamely off to my right. “I’ll find some place.”

  “Here. Take this sleeping bag, so at least you’ll have something to keep you warm.”

  I hesitated.

  “No, just take it. I cannot, in good conscience, let you stay out here like I know you are going to, without this. You sure you don’t want to use the phone again?” she asked.

  I assured her I’d be fine, then waved goodbye to my surrogate family as one by one, the RV group lumbered away from Martindale, migrating like geese in search of year-round moderate weather.

  As the last RV left the clearing, I sighed. Alone again.

  I spent a few hours walking around the campground in circles, trying to formulate a plan. I could wait for the next RV to come, and hope they’d be equally generous, or I could start walking south toward Kingwood and hope something happened along the road.