Six Degrees of Lost

by Linda Benson

  Everyone else has been figuring out my life for me, and everyone—Pendleton, my Aunt and now even my own mother—has turned out to be a liar.

  I fling my new hooded jacket down into the closet. I throw the box of new boots Aunt Trudy bought me against the wall. How can I get out of here?

  I look at my suitcase, neatly packed on the chair in the corner. I can barely carry it by myself. I flop on the bed and think for a minute.

  I rummage around under the bed and grab the zip-up bag that I smuggled Rags in when I rode the bus up here from California. I take out the blanket she laid on, and repack it with two pairs of underwear, two Tshirts, one pair of shorts, and my flip-flops. I can wear my heavy pants and my tennis shoes.

  I pick the bag up, testing the weight. Better. Even though it’s only late afternoon, I crawl into bed and pull up my comforter. Rags can’t come with me this time. She’s happy here, for now, playing with the other cats. I’ll leave her my patchwork comforter to sleep on, so she’ll feel like home, at least until I can come back for her.

  I close my eyes and think. It’s a long way to California, but I know how to get there. My mother will probably still be at Lily’s house, and that will be a good place to look for her first.

  She can’t just dump me off like that, out of her life, like I’m a stray. I can go with them to Las Vegas and we can make a new life for ourselves over there. I listen to the rain pounding against the roof. This stupid place. Washington. My mother was right. It does rain here all the time.

  44-David

  I leave the house Monday morning without talking to my dad or my mom. My dad left a note in the kitchen for me. Don’t forget—3:00 meeting with Senator Hyster. Yeah, yeah, I know.

  Took bus to school, I scribble at the bottom.

  I hustle down to the bus stop in the driving rain, with my book bag slung over my shoulder and the present for Olive hidden under my jacket. It’s not much, and I didn’t even wrap it, but I did find a yellow bow to stick on top. I’m not even positive that she’ll be on the bus. But I hope so.

  I mount the four steps and glance toward the back of the bus. She’s there! But she sits huddled against a window and doesn’t look up.

  What’s different about her? I slide over next to her. She’s wearing only a light jacket, and her clothes are damp from the rain. I search her face, but find only a faraway look in her eyes.

  “Olive?”

  She glances up once at me and shivers.

  “So did you have a nice birthday party?”

  She just shrugs her shoulders. Is she mad at me?

  “Sorry I couldn’t make it.”

  “It’s all right,” she says in a small voice. “Hardly anyone else came anyway.”

  “I thought your mother was going to be there.”

  She shakes her head. “No. She…wasn’t there.”

  That must be why she’s so sad. Her mother got held up or something. Maybe her airplane got delayed because of all the rain. No wonder she’s so bummed—she hasn’t seen her mother for a really long time.

  “Hey, I got you a birthday present.” I fish around under my jacket and pull it out. “It’s not much,” I say, suddenly realizing what a dumb gift it is.

  As she reaches for the present—with the yellow bow stuck on top like an afterthought—a tentative smile creases the corners of her mouth. “Olives? You brought me a jar of olives?”

  “Pretty dumb, huh? I couldn’t find anything else, and I didn’t know it was your birthday until the day before, and then…”

  “No, I love it,” she says, clutching the glass jar against her chest. “It’s like, the very best present I ever got.”

  “Really?” I realize I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for Olive’s response. “I don’t know if they’re still any good to eat. They’re some special kind of olives from a fruit stand my parents stopped at a long time ago, but they look kind of cool in that jar…”

  “Oh no,” she says, shaking her head vigorously. “I would never eat them. I’m putting them on my dresser and saving them, forever.” She opens a purple zipper bag sitting on the ground, and stuffs the jar inside, wrapping it in an old T-shirt.

  There’s barely room in the bag for the olives, because it’s filled with clothes, like an overnight bag. Is she going somewhere?

  “Hey,” I say. “I have to meet my dad after school today. But are you going to be here tomorrow? I mean, you said you might be leaving, and I just wondered—”

  “I…” Olive averts her eyes and doesn’t answer my question. “I’m going down to see my mom,” she says in a small voice. “She couldn’t make it to my party, so I’m going down to meet her. But you can’t tell anybody, all right?”

  “Umm…okay.” Who would I even tell? I mean, I’m sure her aunt knows, right? Maybe she just doesn’t want her teachers to know she’s cutting class to take a trip to see her mom.

  So we sit there like that, next to each other, real quiet, all the way up the highway to the middle school, and never say another word. I really want to ask her about her mother, or how’s she’s getting down to California, but I can tell Olive doesn’t want to talk about it.

  As the school bus drives through town, we pass the Rite Aid store, and the Safeway, and the Chevron station. I reach over and take Olive’s hand. It’s small inside of my strong fingers and it feels cold. I hold her hand the entire time until we reach the middle school and the bus driver opens the front doors and everyone stands up to hustle toward class.

  45-Olive

  It’s like torture to sit in class all day. I can’t focus on anything my teachers say. I just keep thinking about this afternoon. And I keep thinking about David, holding my hand on the school bus.

  I mean, maybe he’s not my official boyfriend, but he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to one. It was hard enough giving Goldy a kiss goodbye this morning. And then I picked up Rags, who was purring, and settled her back down on the comforter, telling her I would see her soon, when I really don’t know how long it’ll be. But then after David gave me that jar of olives and reached over to take my hand, I could not even speak.

  But I have to go. The southbound Greyhound bus leaves at two forty-five this afternoon, and I’m going to be on it. I borrowed forty dollars from Aunt Trudy’s purse when she went out to feed the horses this morning. I’ll send her a note when I get to California, saying I’ll pay her back. But I couldn’t leave a note that says where I’m going or she’d try and stop me. I just got on the school bus like normal this morning so she wouldn’t be suspicious. I’ll have to leave school early to walk to the bus station. But it’s not that far.

  The only one who knows I’m leaving is David. I shouldn’t have told him at all, but he saw the clothes I packed. He won’t tell anyone. I know he won’t. Besides, he has a meeting with his father right after school. By then I’ll be almost on my way.

  U.S. History is last period. I totally forgot we have a test today. I was so excited about my mother coming up for my birthday that I never cracked a book all weekend. The teacher passes the test out, and I move my pencil restlessly around the paper, unable to answer any questions at all. What difference does it make? I won’t even be here tomorrow to get my grade.

  The teacher, Mrs. Finch, wanders down the aisle.

  I am sprawled across the desk, barely able to grasp my pencil. All I can think about is what I’m about to do.

  “Feeling all right, Olive?” she asks.

  I shake my head. My stomach is in knots. I didn’t eat breakfast, and only a tiny lunch at the cafeteria, but the greasy food now wallows around inside.

  “Do you want to call somebody, dear? Go down to the office?”

  I nod and put my pencil down. I leave my history book right on my desk. I mean, it doesn’t matter, does it? I won’t be back to this classroom any more.

  I wander down to my locker. The corridor is empty and there is still fifteen minutes before school is out. I pull my purple bag out of the locker and it seems to wei
gh twice as much as it did last night. I unroll the T-shirt from around the jar of olives David gave me. The glass jar is heavy and breakable, and I probably should leave it behind. Instead, I roll it back up in the T-shirt, pack my pair of pants gently around it to cushion it, and hoist the whole thing up in front of me.

  I shut my locker carefully and glance down the corridor. If I go out the front doors, the secretary will stop me and want to see a pass. What will happen if I exit by the side doors? Will an alarm go off? I don’t know. I walk quickly to the side doors, push through, and suddenly I’m standing on the athletic field in the driving rain.

  I wish I had on my new jacket with the hood, but I left it behind. Maybe Aunt Trudy can take it back to the store where she bought it. I won’t need such a heavy coat when I get to California. I shiver, walking quickly across the play field to a gate in the chain-link fence.

  I look back over my shoulder and see no one blowing a whistle, no one motioning for me to come back. The bell will ring soon enough for school to be over, so I’m only cutting out a few minutes early to give myself more time. I follow the fence line to the end, and wind up on the main street of town. I walk toward the Chevron gas station where me and Pendleton first stepped off the Greyhound bus last May.

  My bag weighs a ton. I need everything inside of it, except the jar of olives. I am not giving that up, though, no matter how heavy it feels.

  As I approach the service station, I can see the bus hasn’t arrived yet. Good. I’m on time, at least. There are several people huddled under the overhang waiting—a young Hispanic couple with two small children, an elderly man, and a skinny dude with greasy long hair and wrinkly clothes. A sign on the door says Buy bus tickets inside.

  I push past the people and through the entrance and approach the counter. A dark-haired man with slicked-back hair looks me over from top to bottom.

  “Help you?” he asks.

  “How much is a bus ticket?” I say.

  “Where you headed?” He looks bored, and keeps glancing around at the other people in the store, and out to the cars filling up at the gas pumps.

  “California.”

  “Where abouts in California? It depends on where you’re going.”

  My mind races wildly. If I can make it to Los Angeles, that’s only about twenty miles to Long Beach, where my mom’s friend Lily lives. A knot of panic forms in my stomach, but I’ve come this far. I can’t chicken out now.

  “Los Angeles,” I say.

  He studies a chart on the counter. “One hundred twenty-eight dollars.”

  A hundred and twenty-eight? I don’t have that much. What should I do? I shiver, and for some reason think of Rags, lying on my warm comforter on the bed at Aunt Trudy’s. I flip through the paper bus schedule on the counter, stalling for time.

  The man waits on two customers buying gasoline and candy bars. He glances once at me, and then up at the clock behind him. “Bus arrives in five minutes,” he hollers in a loud voice.

  The skinny dude with greasy hair who was waiting outside pushes open the glass doors. He stands next to me at the counter and fingers a rack of cigarette lighters. It smells like he hasn’t washed in a week or more.

  “How much is it just to Portland, Oregon?” I ask, trying to get the man’s attention again. If I can just leave this town, get out of Washington, at least I’ll be on my way. Maybe I can call Lily from somewhere on the road, if I can find her number, and my mother can buy me a ticket for the rest of the way.

  “Thirty-five dollars to Portland,” says the man behind the counter, without even looking.

  I dig into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out the two twenties I borrowed from Aunt Trudy. “Okay, I’ll just take a ticket to Portland.”

  The cashier puts the money in his register and begins to write a paper ticket to use on the bus. He turns his head sideways, and looks at me through half-closed eyes. “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen,” I lie.

  “Traveling alone?” he asks. “You’ll need permission. And some ID.”

  “I—I don’t…” I don’t have any ID. Why didn’t I think of that?

  The greasy guy looking at the cigarette lighters leers at me. He picks a red lighter with flames on it and lays it on the counter, along with some dollar bills. He has deep pock-marked skin, but I think he’s probably only in his twenties.

  “She’s with me,” he says. “This is my little sister.” He reaches down to hoist my purple bag.

  “Well, you just made it,” says the cashier, sliding over the ticket and my change. He points out the window. “Here comes the bus now.”

  46-David

  The school day crawls along. Algebra II, Biology, English. I keep thinking about Olive and how she stuffed those olives into her pack. She acted so strange on the bus. In fact, she seemed kind of different all weekend, like something was really bothering her. I wish I’d asked her more questions about when she’s leaving and where she’s actually going.

  Finally it’s last period, when I usually take a bus with the basketball team over to the high school for practice. But since my dad is picking me up after school, I figure I’ll just stay in class. I haven’t talked to him since he screeched the Lexus out of our driveway yesterday, and I get a lump in my throat just thinking about it. He’s so set on this conference with the senator.

  Three of the guys on my team stand up from their desks to leave. “Hey,” one of them says. “You coming?”

  I start to shake my head, but movement out the side window catches my eye. Someone is crossing diagonally over the athletic field. It’s a girl, and she’s clutching something heavy. Olive. She’s cutting out of school early, but where is she going?

  Without even thinking, I grab my book bag, slide my jacket off the hook, and walk out of class with the rest of my teammates. I follow them out the front doors of the school, just like normal.

  On the sidewalk, guys on the team are boarding a bus for the short ride to practice at the high school. “Dude,” one of them shouts. “Hustle up.”

  “I—I’ve got an appointment with my dad,” I stammer. Which is true, but not for another twenty minutes. As the bus pulls away, I cut around the side of the building and walk quickly down the fence line that surrounds the school, heading in the same direction as Olive. When I reach the main street I catch sight of her, but she’s about two blocks ahead of me—too far to hear me if I call out.

  It’s drizzling, just enough to dampen my clothes. I really should head back to school so I’m there when my dad shows up. If he can’t find me he’ll be totally ticked off. But where’s Olive headed? To meet her mother? I have a bad feeling about this. How come she left school the back way, across the field in the rain? If I hurry, I might have time to see what’s going on and still make it back before my dad arrives.

  I break into a jog. The rain wets my face but it doesn’t bother me. I’m trying not to lose sight of Olive. Up ahead, she turns into the Chevron station. Maybe she’s going inside to buy a pop at the mini-mart. I glance back over my shoulder toward the middle school. My dad probably won’t be there for another ten minutes. I still have time.

  As I get closer, a huge Greyhound bus turns across the highway right in front of me. Belching black smoke, it pulls into the wide parking lot at the side of the Chevron station. A huge picture of a running dog almost leaps off the side of the bus. I think about the yellow dog, and for a fleeting moment wish I could jump on the bus and run away like he did. Away from my classes, away from my meeting with the senator.

  I slow to a walk when I reach the Chevron station. Where’s Olive? A small group of people mill around under the eaves, but she’s not there. As the bus comes to a halt, the people waiting collect their belongings and walk toward it, forming a line to get on. I pull open the glass doors of the mini-mart just as a long-haired guy with a pock-marked face shoves through.

  “Watch it, dude,” he snarls as he pushes past me, heading toward the line of people waiting to board the bus. Oliv
e’s purple zipper-bag hangs from his shoulder.

  Right behind him is Olive, and she almost runs into me. “David? What are you doing here?”

  “What’s going on?” I say. “Are you leaving?”

  Olive hesitates in the doorway, like she doesn’t know what to do. “I’ve gotta go,” she finally says, in barely a whisper.

  The bus driver stands in the drizzle at the doors to the bus, gathering tickets from the passengers. There is no shelter, and they hurry to get on, clambering up the steps.

  The long-haired dude is almost to the front of the line, still holding on to Olive’s bag. “Are you coming, sis?” he shouts.

  Olive nods at him. “Bye, David,” she says and hustles toward the bus.

  “But wait,” I say, quickstepping alongside her. “Who is that guy? That’s not your brother, is it? I thought he was in the Army?”

  This guy is definitely not in the Army.

  “No,” she says. “He’s…just some guy.”

  I have a very bad feeling about this. Is Olive running away? Going to meet her mother? I need to talk to her some more, convince her to stay, or at least find out where she’s going, or make sure she’s all right.

  But my dad is picking me up in like four minutes. Or maybe less. I have to be there, or I’ll definitely never hear the end of it. I mean, he already rescheduled this conference with the senator once.

  “Olive, where is your mom?” I say, feeling desperate. “I thought you were meeting her…”

  Olive hands her ticket to the bus driver. She’s getting on the bus now, mounting the steps. I might not ever see her again. Ever. “I’m going to find her,” she says. And she waves. A small pathetic wave.

  I don’t wave back. I just stand there rooted to the ground as the bus driver mounts the steps and closes the doors of the big Greyhound. Through the tinted windows, I see Olive walk down the aisle and take a seat—next to the guy with greasy long hair, who is definitely not her brother.