by Linda Benson
“What are you doing here?” I ask. My insides feel all shaky—scared and happy mixed up together.
David grins. “My friend Sherman drove. We came on the freeway. There was a lot of water on the road, though, and it was kinda freaky. But hey, I made it.” He gets all serious for a second. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
I feel a slow blush spread up along my face. “That guy was so creepy,” I say softly, nodding toward my previous seat. Willie glances back at us with a disgusted look on his face.
“He doesn’t look so tough to me.” David puffs out his chest and makes a fist. “Want me to go punch him for you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, no. We might get kicked off the bus.”
David looks relieved and settles back in the seat next to me. “They took your aunt to the hospital.”
“What? How do you know? Is she okay?”
“I think it just happened. Swede was at the Chevron station getting diesel and he was on his way to see her. You never told her you were leaving, did you?”
“No. I—” My brain is spinning. Aunt Trudy’s in the hospital again? And I’m on this bus trying to get to California without enough money, and I don’t have an address to contact my mom, and now Aunt Trudy…
“I was mad at her,” I spit out, “because she didn’t tell me that my mother—”
“Where is your mother?” asks David, his green eyes peering directly into mine.
“She—” I remember what I told David before, that she was taking a class. And a bunch of other stuff that I can’t really think about right now.
I close my eyes. The entire conversation with my brother Pendleton plays back in my head, and memories float across my mind. My mother’s drinking, how she was out late every night in bars and hardly ever home, Pendleton burning the macaroni and cheese he tried to fix for dinner, and how we ate peanut butter sandwiches instead.
“She was in jail,” I say. “All summer. That’s why I was staying with Aunt Trudy.”
“Jail? What did she do? Kill somebody?”
“See? That’s why I never told anyone. They think the very worst. Or else they make fun of me. No, she never hurt anyone. She stole a credit card out of this lady’s purse she found, okay?” My voice has somehow gotten louder, and the people seated in front of us turn around and stare. “And she went to jail for fraud.”
David continues to stare. I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have told him.
“Wow,” he finally says. “That’s tough. No wonder you never wanted to talk about it. But she was a good mother, right? I mean she used to make you all those gourmet meals, and—”
“No.” I stop him in mid-sentence. “It wasn’t really like that at all. I just made up all of those stories because it made me feel good about her, and…I thought it might impress you.”
“Impress me?” He laughs, short and hard.
“See? I knew you’d laugh at me. If you knew my mother was in jail, you’d probably never have talked to me at all.”
“That’s not true,” he says. “I would have talked to you. Because you’re cute. And because you like animals.”
I look down at my hands, feeling embarrassed and pleased at the same time.
“So are you still going to meet her? Your mother?”
“I was.” I swallow, feeling suddenly foolish. “But I don’t know where she is for sure. I think she’s still in California, but she might have gone to Las Vegas to look for a job. I got a letter from her, but she got out of jail last month.”
“What does the letter say? Did she give you an address? Or a phone number?”
Tears well up in my eyes. “I just looked at it again, and there’s really no way for me to find her. It was such a stupid idea,” I blurt out. “Getting on this bus. I took forty dollars from Aunt Trudy’s purse, and now she’s in the hospital and she’s never, ever going to forgive me. Stupid,” I repeat. “I am so stupid.”
“Hey, I don’t think you were stupid,” says David. “I mean, you missed your mom, okay? No matter what, she’s still your mom.”
I sniffle. “Yeah.”
“Anyway, I’m pretty stupid, too.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, I blew off my dad, who had this meeting set up with some senator to help me get into the Air Force Academy. Instead, I talked my sixteen-year-old friend, who just got his license, into driving illegally through a total downpour on I-5 where we almost got in a stupid wreck. Then I lied about my age to hop a bus with a runaway girl. They’ll probably never let me into the Academy now, and I don’t even give a flying flip-flop.”
“What do you mean you lied about your age? Did she ask you if you were fifteen?”
David nods. “Hey, I look fifteen, right?” He sits up really tall. “But I’m really only fourteen, same age as you right now. I won’t turn fifteen until next month—December.”
I start giggling, and I cannot stop.
“Shh,” David says. “Everybody’s watching.”
I laugh until tears run down my face. David starts cracking up, too, and every time we look at each other, it bubbles up all over again. The bus driver shoots us weird looks from his rearview mirror.
The fact that we’re both only fourteen is hilarious. In fact, it sounds like the funniest thing I’ve ever heard and I can’t stop laughing and crying at the same time, and finally it turns to straight tears, because Aunt Trudy’s in the hospital again and I’m stuck on a bus to Portland, Oregon, with only five dollars left of the money I stole from her purse, and I have absolutely no idea what I’ll do when I get there.
50-David
As the bus rumbles down Interstate 5 toward Portland, Olive finally stops crying and falls asleep against my shoulder. My arm falls asleep too, with the weight of her. I try to shift position a little, and I flex my fingers, but every time I move she makes little whimpers like she’s dreaming, so I just sit there. I can barely see out the windows, and the gray skies seem to engulf us as the long afternoon wears on. I can just make out the water of the Columbia River on our right.
I wonder what time it is, and what my parents are doing. When my dad gets done being ticked off that I didn’t show up for the appointment with Senator Hyster, will he wonder where I am? Maybe he’ll just think I went to basketball practice. Will he even go look for me?
It’ll probably take half an hour, maybe more, before we cross the big bridge into Oregon. And it’ll be evening when we get there. Then what?
I have three dollars left, and I don’t know if Olive has any money. When I bought my ticket to get on the bus, I never actually thought about the fact that it would be dark when we reached Portland.
Olive stirs against me and opens her eyes. “Where are we?” she asks.
“Still on the bus, headed toward Portland.”
“Oh.” She sits up straight again and runs her fingers through her hair. “I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, me too.” I think about my backpack that I left at the Chevron station, in my mad rush to catch Sherman after school. I had an energy bar in there, for after basketball practice. I sure wish I had it right now.
“I hope Aunt Trudy’s all right,” says Olive.
“Yeah. Swede said he was going to the hospital. At least he’ll be with her. He told me to go help you take care of the animals.”
“No one’s taken care of the animals?” she asks. “The puppy needs food, and the horses, and those dogs in the back yard—”
“Well, we can’t do anything about it until this bus stops again,” I say.
“David, I need to go home,” Olive says.
“Home…?”
“I want my cat,” she chokes out. “And I need to see how Aunt Trudy is.”
“What about your mother?”
She shrugs her shoulders, looking defeated. “I don’t know where she is. Just like my dad. My dad was always gone, traveling, and no one could find him. I can’t believe it’s turning out that way with my mother, too.”
&nbs
p; “But probably only for a little while, huh? Until she gets a job.”
“Maybe. I need to go back to Aunt Trudy’s. Maybe Swede can come down and get us. What d’you think?”
“I don’t really know how to reach him,” I say. “Anyway, he’s probably still at the hospital with your aunt.”
“What about your parents?” Olive asks.
I’m trying not to think about my parents. Facing my dad’s wrath seems almost worse than being alone and hungry in Portland. Maybe it even is worse. I’d rather try to get ahold of Swede instead.
“Portland, five minutes,” the driver announces over a loudspeaker.
I look at Olive and she smiles. “We made it.”
“Yeah, to Portland,” I say.
I carry Olive’s bag as we shuffle down the stairs of the bus and into the Portland bus station. It’s a huge drafty building with tall ceilings. The scruffy guy, Willie, exits in front of us and doesn’t even turn around. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and breathe a sigh of relief when he shoves through the doors marked Exit and disappears from view.
“Now what?” asks Olive.
“I don’t know.” The room is filled with several rows of hard benches. There are people sitting or curled up sideways dozing on almost every one of them.
“I’m starving,” Olive says. “Can we get some candy?” She points to the vending machines along the wall and we wander over.
Coffee, pop, candy, nuts, and some ancient-looking sandwiches are displayed for sale. “How much money do you have?” I ask her.
“A five dollar bill,” she says, her lip quivering.
“Here, I’ve got a dollar.” I set Olive’s bag down on the floor and fish one out, counting in my head. Only two left. I slide it into the machine, but it comes back out again. I try it front ways, back ways, but the stupid vending machine keeps spitting the dollar back out. I pound my fist, harder and harder, on the front of it, but nothing. “Stupid thing,” I yell. A couple of people on the benches glance up, and a janitor-looking guy, with a broom and dustpan, eyeballs us.
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” says Olive.
“Okay. Maybe there’s some fast food around here. That’d be better anyway.”
I shoulder her bag again, which seems to get heavier by the minute, and head for the exit. As we push through the double doors into the dark parking lot, the low bass of a hip-hop song blares from a car cruising slow, and taxis honk and jockey into position at the curb.
“Which way?” Olive asks.
I have absolutely no idea, but I turn to the right and she follows me down the sidewalk. As we reach the corner my stomach roils. Clustered in a circle stands a group of guys. One has a shaved head and a motorcycle jacket, and one wears a shirt with the sleeves cut off and has snake tattoos up both arms. But the last one has long, greasy hair and looks familiar—Willie.
Olive hesitates next to me. If we turn around and head the other way it’ll look like we’re scared, so we just quick step toward them. Maybe they won’t even notice us.
Willie’s smoking a cigarette, and as we approach he flicks the ashes on the sidewalk, leers at Olive, and smirks. “Well, if it ain’t my little sister.”
51-Olive
“Shut up! I’m not your little sister, you idiot!” I shake all over with the force of my words, and I don’t know where they come from.
“Ooh, a little spitfire,” says Willie, and the other two men laugh.
“Come on,” says David, and we just keep walking. Fast. The buildings rise tall on either side of the street and drivers gun their engines as they race from stoplight to stoplight, screeching their brakes at every corner.
I look back over my shoulder, but see no one following us. The dark buildings and the night surround us like a cave. We’ve already walked several blocks and we pass signs that read “Bail Bonds” and “Tattoos” and a bar where laughter and loud music drift into the street. An image of my mother in a place like this, propped at the bar with a drink in her hand floats across my mind, but I blink my eyes and try to make it go away. I shudder, trying to imagine myself alone in this city.
“Do you think we came the right way?” I say. I see no grocery stores or fast-food places anywhere.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think we should go back,” says David.
I shake my head, imagining creepy Willie and his friends.
David stops at a red light and sets my bag down on the grungy sidewalk. “Geez, what have you got in this thing?” he asks.
“Clothes,” I say. “And my birthday present you gave me.”
“You still have those in here?” he laughs. “Maybe we should take ’em out and eat them. It would make this bag a whole lot lighter.”
“No!” I say. “I love my jar of olives.”
We walk four or five blocks more blocks and find nothing. My stomach rumbles with hunger, and I think about all of the animals at home with no food.
“Maybe we should go back the other way,” I say. “Willie’s probably gone by now.”
“Hey, look.” David points ahead to the next block, and I recognize the golden arches of McDonald’s. I’ve never been so glad to see anything in my entire life.
As we cross into the parking lot, David stops at a pay phone and opens the folding doors. I glance over his shoulder.
“It takes quarters,” he says, “and I don’t have any. Do you?”
“No. Are you going to call your parents?” I ask him.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t anyway. Look.” He points to the cord that should be holding the receiver. It’s broken in two, and the phone lies cracked and useless on the ground.
We wander into the brightly lit McDonald’s and the smell of food overwhelms me. David slides into a booth, setting my bag on the table, and I move in across from him.
“What should we get?” he asks. “I’ve got three dollars left,” he says, digging into his pocket.
“How are we gonna get back home?” My voice wobbles. I’m worried about Rags and Goldy, but mostly about Aunt Trudy. What if something really bad happened to her, like she had a heart attack or something?
“I don’t know. Let’s eat something first.”
“Okay.” I fish around in my pocket for the folded-up five-dollar bill that I have left of Aunt Trudy’s money, and slide it across the table. “Here,” I blubber. I feel like a thief. No better than my mother, stealing from someone’s purse.
David counts the money. “I’ll get a few things off the dollar menu,” he says. “You like hamburgers, right?”
I nod.
David comes back with a tray holding two hamburgers, two orders of fries, and two small cups. “I figure we can just drink water and hang on to some money,” he says, handing me the change.
I take small bites out of the hamburger, but can barely swallow. I’ve made such a mess of thing. I eat a couple of French fries and they go down better. “I never should have left at all, especially now that Aunt Trudy’s in the hospital. It was so stupid. We don’t have enough money to get home, and it wasn’t even my money in the first place.”
“Hey,” David reaches his hand across the table and takes mine. “You’re not stupid, okay? You didn’t know anything was going to happen to your aunt.”
I swipe at the tears dripping off my face. “Could we hitchhike?” I shiver as I say the words, imagining the dark night. What if somebody like Willie offered us a ride?
“No,” says David. “We’re not going to do that. I wish I had a cell phone.”
“To call your parents?”
“I guess. I don’t know who else to call.”
“They’ll come down and get you, won’t they? And give me a ride, too?”
“Yeah, probably.” He bangs his head on the table, once, and then looks up. “It’s just that I’m already in so much hot water. Look, you’re not the only one who messed up, okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how I was working for Swede all t
his time—rebuilding his barn, and then delivering hay?”
“Yeah, you told me. Community service, right?”
“No.” David clears his throat. “I was in the barn with a couple of my friends that day, lighting firecrackers. And the barn caught on fire.”
“What?”
“I mean, we didn’t do it on purpose or anything. But we didn’t tell anybody, and then we got in a whole bunch of trouble when they found out. So I had to work for Swede so he wouldn’t press charges.”
“Press charges? You mean like you’d go to jail?”
“No, like to juvenile hall,” he says.
I can barely believe this. Boys like David never get in trouble. They have big houses and plenty of money and everything goes right for them. At least that’s what I always thought.
“So if I call and tell my parents I’m stuck down in Portland with a girl, can you even imagine how that’s going to look?” he asks.
“Bad?” I want to crack up, break out laughing, because all this time I was afraid to tell David about my mom being in jail, and the reason David was working for Swede was so he wouldn’t go to juvenile hall. But when I look over at David, he doesn’t look like it’s funny at all. In fact, beads of sweat break out on his forehead.
A businesswoman with high heels and a black raincoat takes a seat in the booth across from us. She whips out a cell phone and intently glances at the small screen.
“Hey,” I whisper. “She’s got one. Maybe she’ll let you use it.”
52-David
I know I need to call my parents. I’ve been racking my brain about who else to call, but it’s raining and dark and I can’t think who else would drive all this way to get us. Plus my parents might be worried about me by now.
I try to catch the lady’s eye in the booth across from us, but she looks tired and stressed and keeps scrolling through things on her cell phone. Finally I rise and take a couple steps across the aisle.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“We—I mean, I was just wondering if you could make a call for us?”
“Who do you need to call?” the woman replies. “Someplace nearby, or…”