“Where is there to go?”
“Depends what you want to do. We could see a movie, check out the park…”
Those sound like good choices. But just driving around with no destination in mind feels good too. I’ve never experienced such freedom. I roll down the window and stick out my elbow.
“Or I could take you to meet some of my friends.” Jimmy glances over at me. “But they’re mostly older than you.”
“How old are you, anyway?” I’ve never thought to ask. All I know is he’s older than me.
“Twenty-one.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Does that seem ancient to you?”
“Not really.”
“You figure I should be married with a couple of rug rats, right?” He grins and punches me in the arm.
“No. But, well, why are you still living with Abigail? You’ve got a job and everything.”
“True. But the rent’s cheap at Abigail’s, and I’m saving up for college. Construction work’s okay, but I can’t see myself doing it when I’m forty.”
I know what he means. I’ve had quite a few work-related injuries already. It probably gets even harder as you get older.
“Wanna go for a swim?” Jimmy asks suddenly. “It’s the perfect night for it.”
“Where do you swim?”
“There’s a swimming hole just a little ways downriver. And there’s cliff jumping for the really brave.”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy watching three girls walking along the sidewalk, wearing very short skirts and skintight tops. Their breasts bounce with each step.
“We can go back to Abigail’s and grab shorts,” he says. He’s silent for a second. “Or we could skinny-dip.”
“Skinny-dip?”
“Never mind. When you’re ready.”
“Let’s just drive around some more.”
In Unity, we swam fully clothed. I’m not ready to wear shorts, and I don’t like the sound of “skinny-dipping,” whatever that is.
“What do you want to take in college?” I ask Jimmy.
“I’m thinking of social work, but that’s about seven years of university. I will have worn out my welcome at Abigail’s by then.”
“You’d be, like, twenty-eight or something. And still in school!” I laugh at the thought.
“Lots of people go to school when they’re twenty-eight, Jon.”
“They do?”
“Uh-huh. Sometimes it takes a while for a person to figure out what they’re good at.”
“What does a social worker do?”
“They try to make life better for people who don’t have it so good. Like poor people, or people with disabilities. They also work for social justice.”
“Social justice?”
“Sticking up for people’s rights.”
I think about that. “You’re kind of doing social work already.”
“By helping boys escape Unity?”
I nod.
“Maybe that’s what made me think of it. Or maybe I already know what I’m good at.”
Jimmy suddenly beeps his horn. Two guys on the sidewalk wave. “Jimmy!” one of them yells.
Jimmy pulls the pickup over to the curb and jumps out. He smacks hands with each of them. I notice that both are carrying beverage cans held together with plastic rings.
Jimmy talks to them for a few moments and then introduces me. The boys’ names are Jared and Sam.
“New in town?” Jared asks.
“Yeah.”
“Staying at Abigail’s?”
I nod.
“Good lady.” He turns to Jimmy. “We’re going over to Alan’s. Drink some beer. Play some frolf. You coming?”
Jimmy looks at me, eyebrows arched. I just shrug.
“Sure,” Jimmy says. “Jump in the back.”
The boys scramble into the truck bed, and Jimmy pulls back out onto the road.
“What’s frolf?” I ask.
“Frisbee golf,” Jimmy says. “You’ll love it.”
Minutes later we reach a small, neglected-looking house with old vehicles and furniture strewn about the front yard. The boys jump out of the truck and head around the side. Jimmy and I follow. The backyard is crowded with girls and guys, most about Jimmy’s age. Sam and Jared stash their cans in a cooler of ice that’s already full of cans and bottles. Sam offers us two of the already cooled ones.
“No thanks,” I say, but Jimmy takes one and pops the cap off.
“I’m of age,” he tells me.
The backyard isn’t fenced and opens onto a large barren field. Hula-Hoops lie all over the field, and several kids take turns trying to land their Frisbees in the hoops. “It’s not the official game,” Jimmy tells me, “but it works for us.”
He sees someone he knows and steps away, chatting with the guy about a work project. I stand back, feeling completely out of place and conspicuous in my pants and long-sleeved shirt. All the guys are wearing shorts and T-shirts—or even no shirt at all. Many have colored their hair in shocking tones of yellow or orange. Most have multiple tattoos, some large, covering whole arms or their entire backs. Others are small, like symbols. The Prophet would have freaked out if he saw these guys.
The girls are dressed much the same, but their clothes are tighter. Some wear sundresses that expose as much skin as wearing shorts and tight tops. They also have the full range of tattoos. I have to will myself not to stare.
“You must be one of Jimmy’s roomies,” a soft voice beside me says.
I turn and find myself looking down at a small girl with breasts the size of melons bursting out of her snug shirt. I try to focus on her eyes, but it’s hard. I’ve never seen real breasts so close up. They look so much softer than the ones in the magazines that sometimes got smuggled into Unity.
“What’s your name?” she asks, ignoring that I haven’t responded. My mouth doesn’t seem to be working.
“Jon,” I say. “Without an h,” I add stupidly.
“Nice to meet you, Jon-without-an-h,” the girl says. “I’m Isobelle, with an o.”
I suspect she’s mocking me.
“Most people just call me Belle.”
I can’t think of anything to say to that either.
“Are you from Unity?”
I nod, wishing it wasn’t so obvious.
“I just love hearing about Unity. It’s so sweet and old-fashioned.”
I’d like to set her straight on that, tell her there’s nothing sweet about having every single part of your life controlled by the Prophet, or practicing a religion that doesn’t allow for reasoning or questions, but before I can find the words, another girl hooks her arm through Isobelle’s. “Hi,” she says to me and then turns to Isobelle. “Beer pong has started. Let’s go.”
Isobelle gives me a big smile and a little wave. “See ya later, Jon.”
I give her a feeble wave back and watch as the two girls take their places at one end of a picnic table lined with red plastic cups.
Jimmy finishes his beer and reaches into the cooler for another. He looks at me as he pulls a Frisbee out of a box. “Wanna play?”
“Sure.”
Frisbee is something kids play in Unity. I can handle this.
He tosses me the Frisbee and, as we walk out to the playing field, gives me the rundown on how points are tallied. It takes me only three throws to get the Frisbee into the first Hula-Hoop. It takes Jimmy four. As we walk toward the starting base for the second hoop target, I become aware of how muggy and still the evening is. Jimmy has taken off his T-shirt. He takes long swigs from his can of beer.
By the time we get to the fifth hoop my entire shirt sticks to my body. I undo the top two buttons while Jimmy gets in position to throw the Frisbee. I leave the bottom four done up. My skin is deathly white compared to everyone else here, and I don’t want my shirt flapping open to expose all of it.
I beat Jimmy at each of the hoops. A group of kids is waiting at the final target. I take my second shot a
nd a cheer goes up. The Frisbee glides right into the center. It takes Jimmy two more tries to get his Frisbee in. There are high fives and pats on my back.
“Who’s your ringer?” a guy asks Jimmy.
“He’s on my team at the next tourney!” another guy shouts.
“Oh no. I found him,” Jimmy says. “He’s all mine.”
Back in the yard, the crowd at the picnic table has become boisterous. Isobelle is still playing.
“Another beer?” Sam asks Jimmy.
“No thanks,” he says. “I’m driving.”
“Jon can drive.”
He glances at me. I nod.
“Thanks,” he says, “but we gotta go. It’s a work night.”
Isobelle catches my eye and jogs over. I can’t help but watch her breasts bounce. “You’re not leaving!” she says to me. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes glassy. “We didn’t get a chance to talk!”
I glance at Jimmy for help.
“Yep, I’m taking him home,” he says. “But no worries—you’ll be seeing him around.”
“It was sooo nice meeting you, Jon-without-an-h,” she slurs. She throws her arms around me. I just stand there, arms at my sides, hoping she’ll let me go but also enjoying the press of those breasts against my chest.
Jimmy grabs my arm and pulls me away. “Sorry, Belle. Gotta go,” he says.
I give her another feeble wave and follow Jimmy around the side of the house.
“I think she likes you,” he says, grinning.
Four
“Abigail sure likes having you here. I saw her face last night when she came home and smelled dinner cooking.”
Taviana and I are cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Everyone else has left for work or school.
“Yeah, well, not enough to let me stay,” Taviana answers, closing the dishwasher door and pushing the Start button.
“What do you mean?”
“I have until Monday to find somewhere else to live.”
I stare at her. “Are you kidding? How come?”
“House rule number one—finish school. I can’t do that.” She gives the counter one last wipe.
“Why not? Abigail said you could get help if you’re behind.”
“It’s not that. School is easy enough for me. It’s the other kids.”
“What about them?”
“They’d make my life impossible.”
I watch her sweep the floor. “But you’re not even a polyg like the rest of us. How bad can it be?”
“Real bad,” she says.
I try to remember what I know about Taviana. She’d only lived in Unity about a year and a half. It was unusual for a gentile to choose to live there, but an elder, Jacob, had brought her to town, saying she needed a safe place. Celeste’s father had offered to take her in because Celeste’s mom was sick and they needed extra help at their house.
The boys in Unity talk, and there were stories that Taviana was a runaway who’d lived on the streets of Highrock, the next town down the river from Springdale. There were whispers that she had made money by having sex with men. Somehow Jacob had met her and felt compelled to help. From what I could see, she’d made a big effort to conform, wearing the long dresses that our girls wear and pitching in with community work. With her shorter hair and more worldly appearance, though, she was never really one of us. I know Celeste liked her and was heartbroken when the Prophet decided she had to leave. The way I heard it, he was afraid the authorities would think she was being kept in Unity against her will, so he had her dropped off in Springdale. That was the day before I arrived. I was able to get word to Jimmy that she was here. He located her wandering the streets and brought her to Abigail’s.
“The kids here know about the stuff I used to do,” Taviana says.
I decide not to ask about that. “Where will you go?”
“No idea. But I guess I’d better start thinking about it. I’ve been hoping Abigail would change her mind.”
“If you helped out enough.”
“Yeah.”
I spend the entire day watching TV. Though the novelty is already wearing off, it helps me ignore the questions plaguing me: What has happened to Celeste? To my parents?
They will have realized by now that I’m gone. They’ll be trying to keep it to themselves, as my running off will cast shame on my father. Fathers are supposed to have control over their children. When they don’t, the Prophet can rip their wives and families away from them, assign them to another man. I don’t think that will happen to my father. He seems to have a special ranking in the priesthood. Why else would he have been assigned some of the prettiest girls in Unity as his wives?
My mother was one of them. I sink lower on the couch. As her firstborn, I always felt like I was her favorite. I’d often look up from playing in the yard and find her gazing at me, smiling. Sometimes she’d hand me a little treat—a small candy—when no one else was looking. I badly wanted to please her, yet there was so much competition for her attention. Trying to anticipate her needs, I’d pick up the babies and rock them when they cried or bring her fresh carrots from the garden. When she was nursing one of my little brothers or sisters, I’d snuggle up beside her on the couch, and she’d pull me in close and quietly sing to me.
A mighty fortress is our Lord
A tower of strength ne’er failing
How measureless, how strong our Lord
I raise my song to thee.
I thought she had the most beautiful voice in the world.
Life wasn’t all bad at home. In fact, it was pretty good a lot of the time. We’d go on camping trips, with a tent for each mom and her kids. My father and brothers and I often fished for rainbow trout at the lake on summer evenings. We’d go on long road trips to conferences where people of our faith from all over the country would gather to meet and socialize. In the car, we made up all kinds of games and pranks to amuse ourselves.
And cousins! There were enough for full soccer games on Sunday afternoons. I can’t believe that I’ll never see any of them again. Maybe I should have turned a blind eye to the discrepancies in our religion—what Jimmy calls hypocrisies. Then I’d still be part of my family. That counts for a lot.
Matthew and Selig stomp into the house. I shut off the TV. Matthew gives me a puzzled look. “You okay, Jon?”
I can only shrug. The thoughts of my family and Celeste have settled over me, pressing me down. My body feels like dead weight.
I even miss my chores. They gave me something useful to do to pass the time.
“Why don’t we shoot a few baskets?” Matthew asks gently. He calls out to Selig. “Come play Around the World with us.”
“Around the World?” I ask.
“Basketball for three players. We’ll show you.”
“Good news,” Jimmy says, passing me a plate of lasagna. “My supervisor says we can go out to the job site on Saturday and take whatever scrap lumber we need for your planter boxes. He’ll also find us some leftover paint.”
“Cool.” I try to muster up enthusiasm as I spear a cherry tomato from my salad. Building the planters doesn’t have the same appeal tonight.
“You also have a meeting with the high school counselor next Monday,” Abigail says. “She’s going to run you through some tests, see where you’ll fit in.”
“They’re not so bad,” Matthew says, reading my face. “I took them too.”
“I thought they were bad,” Selig says. Matthew kicks him under the table.
“And what about you?” Abigail turns to Taviana. “Have you sorted anything out?”
Taviana shakes her head but doesn’t look up. Everyone else grows quiet and focuses on their food too.
Taviana opens the bag of potato chips and hands it to me. “Salt and vinegar,” she says. “C’mon. Try one.”
I slide a chip onto my tongue and am assaulted by the strong flavor. “Yuck!”
Taviana laughs. “Maybe you’ll like the plain ones better.”
We’ve tak
en the bus into the town center so Taviana can use the library’s computer to search for jobs and places to rent. I’m looking forward to going to the library to learn more about computers.
As soon as we walk through the door, the woman at the desk calls Taviana over. “Your card is ready,” she says.
“All right! Now I’m going to read every single book in this place.”
I look around, amazed at the rows and rows of shelves, stacked from top to bottom with books. Is Taviana serious?
She introduces me to the librarian, Audrey. “Would you like a library card too?” Audrey asks.
Taviana answers for me. “Yes, he would.”
Audrey hands me a sheet of paper and tells me to fill in the information. Just basic stuff, like my name and birthdate. Taviana supplies me with Abigail’s phone number and address.
“It will take a couple of days to process,” Audrey says when I hand her the completed sheet. “You should have a card by early next week, if not sooner.”
Taviana shows me around the library.
“Are there books on cars?” I ask.
She leads me to a shelf. “Voila!”
I read the titles on the book spines. Off-Road Giants! American Auto Legends. Fix It! Automotive Wiring. I choose a couple of books from the shelf and leaf through them.
Time disappears as I flip through the pages. There are lots of glossy photos. I read small sections, but slowly. I had no idea there was so much a person could learn from a book. I wish I could read faster. Everything I know about cars I learned from watching my father work on them, but there is so much more to know.
My eyes burn. I’m not used to so much reading. I return the books to the shelf and wander over to where Taviana sits at a screen.
“This is a computer,” she tells me.
“I know that.” I’ve seen them, but I’ve never used one. “What’s so great about them anyway?”
“The Internet. Name something you want to learn about.”
I think for a second. “Inuksuk.”
Taviana positions me in front of the computer beside hers. “Type it in,” she says.
“How do you spell it?”
As she tells me the letters, I push down on the keys, using one finger.
Lost Boy Page 3