Follow the Sun

by Sophia Rhodes

  Minutes went by before Rosario spoke. “So you’re planning to stare at me the whole way home?”

  I nodded. “That’s the plan.”

  “Suit yourself.” She glanced at me briefly before turning her gaze to the road. “So what story are you going to tell your parents about tonight?”

  “I went to the movies with a girlfriend.”

  “It’s nearly one, Diana.”

  It must have been her concerned tone that finally brought me back to reality. The realization of how late it was knocked the wind out of me. “Are…are you sure?”

  “Look at your watch.”

  She was right. And as certain as the tiny hands were on my little watch, so was I of the beating that would follow as soon as I walked back through those doors. My body started to shake.

  “Are you still cold?” Rosario asked.

  I shook my head, starting to nibble nervously on a fingernail. I mentally leafed through every excuse I could think of – I was sick, Maureen was sick, there was a family emergency, our ride took off at the diner – all useless. The theatre and diner were within walking distance of home, and if Mo would’ve had some sort of emergency, I ought to have telephoned. As it was, in the aggravated state mother was sure to be in, she wouldn’t fail to ring up Mo’s mother even at this late hour to verify my tale.

  I don’t know why I had ignored my watch throughout the night – being in that nightclub had been so much like stepping into a parallel universe, so oddly different than our own that on some level I expected that time outside would remain suspended, like a motionless bug caught in a spider web. I must have turned pale as a ghost, because Rosario nudged my arm.

  “You all right? Do you feel sick? I can pull over –”

  “Oh my gosh,” I breathed. “My mother is going to kill me.”

  “You’ll be all right,” she said. “Everyone thinks that but it’s never that bad.”

  “What do you know?” I snapped at her and felt a tear rolling down my face. Soon the tear turned into a flood. I cupped my face into my hands and sobbed.

  “Diana, what is it?” I heard Rosario ask. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” I managed to squeak. Taking the longest breath of my life, I finally got the outburst under control. “It’s nothing at all.”

  Rosario looked uncertain but chose not to probe further. A couple of intersections later we pulled up on Freemont. “Which one’s your house?” she asked and I pointed to it. She turned off the engine two houses down, not right in front but close enough to watch me go in.

  “Here we are,” she said, giving me a look-through. “You sure you’re all right now?”

  I nodded. Why burden her with my fate? I was never going to see her again. “Thanks,” I mumbled as I reached to open the door.

  Without warning, her hand touched my shoulder. “Let me give you my number,” she said.

  She couldn’t be serious. I thought she’d wanted nothing more to do with me. I watched her as she scrawled it on a piece of paper she pulled out of the dashboard.

  “Here.” She handed the note to me, scrutinizing my face. “Just in case.”

  Just in case of what? I thought. I didn’t dare question those words in fear she might change her mind and ask for the number back. I took it and bit my lip.

  She waited.

  I looked to the house, then back at her again. I really didn’t want to get out, but get out I did, and after I’d crossed the street I turned around once and waved goodbye to Rosario, then braced myself to stare death in the eye.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I could see the lights on in the living room as I walked in. Mother sat stiffly on the sofa, wearing a pink housedress and curlers in her hair. Her eyes dissected me coldly, like a jungle leopard about to tear into the flesh of her prey.

  “Don’t insult my intelligence with lies,” she started as soon as I closed the door behind me. “I can tell you’ve been out whoring with god knows who.”

  “I’m sorry about the time,” I began to say. “I can explain –”

  “I said, don’t bother. Just go to your room. You’re lucky Albert’s gone off to bed. He waited up until a half hour ago to give you a strapping. But that’ll have to wait until the morning.” She scowled. “I hope you’re ready for what’s coming to you.”

  I stared at her in consternation before I started to shake my head. “So you don’t even care to know where I was before you let him try to attack me?”

  “You obviously didn’t learn your lesson the last time,” she snorted. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Diana, but you need to appreciate that you can’t go off gallivanting until one in the morning dressed like a slut and not expect a thrashing.”

  She ran a file against a cuticle and blew away the nail dust. “He’s going to whip you after breakfast.” She paused. “Where did you ever get such a stubborn streak?” she demanded to know, her voice harsh with anger.

  I continued to watch her but she refused to acknowledge me, going back to filing her nails as if I wasn't standing there right in front of her.

  That was my mother. Giving more attention to her cuticles than to her own daughter. How did she ever turn out this way? I wondered. How could she have lost all affection she’d ever held for me? Had she ever really loved me?

  I closed my bedroom door and leaned back against it, shutting my eyes tightly. Panic set over me, a heart-pumping adrenaline shot of sheer fright. The muscles in the back of my knees twitched involuntarily. Beads of cold sweat appeared on my forehead.

  The slow-healing bruises along my back throbbed as though having made contact with the belt buckle all over again. In an instant, all the pain and rage that had coursed through me on Monday night returned with a vengeance.

  I couldn’t take another beating. I just couldn’t.

  Fear descended over my ribs like a mist, turning my skin clammy and porous with apprehension. I felt as though I stood at the top of a lonely ragged peak, facing an abyss that opened out onto the sea: there was only one way out, to jump.

  If I jumped, at least there was a chance that I may live. Submerged under the icy waters of a desolate sea, there was still hope, however slight, that I may resurface. But if I stayed on that lone cliff, my death would be as certain as my next breath.

  Shaking, I raced to the closet and fell on my knees, digging deep behind until I reached it: my battered, tan leather travel bag. Barely the size of a king-size pillowcase, it was just big enough to hold three dresses, a blouse and skirt, one nightgown, a couple pairs of underwear and socks. I dashed over to the dresser and threw in the following: my hairbrush, a small travel case of makeup, a tiny vial of perfume, a toothbrush. From the nightstand I fished out my journal and a handful of photos of me when I was little. My eyes watered as I saw my favorite picture, my father and I at age seven. My hair tied in braids with white ribbons, I smiled broadly at the camera, oblivious of a missing front tooth. I was held securely on my father’s lap as he sat on a stone balustrade in front of our Florida holiday resort. After gazing at them for a moment, I tucked the photos inside the journal cover and placed it in my travel bag.

  My eyes did a final sweep of the room – did I miss anything? On the floor next to the bed, I spotted my fallen copy of Great Expectations. It took a bit of jostling to get it into the bag, but I was thankful for not having forgotten it – a present from my grandmother for my ninth birthday, the book had sustained me through so many happy and sad times.

  Satisfied that I missed nothing which could not be replaced, I zipped the bag shut, put my purse next to it after checking that my wallet and all important documents were inside, and sat down on the edge of the bed, giving my pulse permission to return to normal.

  I didn’t know where I was going. None of that mattered, though; scaling mountains and crossing oceans was a piece of cake compared to the hurting I would feel if I stayed here. It wasn’t only about the beating to come; rather, I feared their determination to break me down at any cost
and mother’s threat to send me away to a juvenile delinquent girls’ home until I turned eighteen.

  And yes, in the end it was also about the belt.

  Exhaustion seeped in my bones. I considered catching some sleep for a few hours, but the horrific thought of being awoken by Albert and his belt made that prospect null and void.

  I glanced at myself in the dresser mirror for the last time. My disheveled hair was an awful, tangled mess. I still wore the burgundy dress, its shock of color in striking contrast to my pale skin and the heavy circles under my eyes. Almost unrecognizable to myself, I spotted fear staring back at me from behind wide, unblinking green pupils.

  I turned off the lamp, put my sweater on and opened the window as quietly as I could. A dog barked in the distance, and the night was blacker than I ever saw it before, the moon hiding behind a cloud as though it feared a beating too. Barely able to see a thing, I eased the travel bag and purse over the windowsill and down on the ground on the other side. Then I hoisted myself over the ledge and carefully pulled myself across and out.

  I picked up my things and tiptoed across the garden lawn, past the communal swimming pool which always reeked of chlorine and through to the back gate. I lifted the squeaky latch bit by bit, slipped through the gap and finally I was out onto the street. It was maybe about three in the morning and I was alone for the first time in my life.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  My feet took me as far as Sepulveda before I started trembling. The entire world was asleep and it gave me an eerie feeling, as if everyone had fallen under some alien spell and I was the sole survivor. Shivering, I looked left and right for a spot where I could huddle for the night and hide from any derelicts until the buses started running again first thing in the morning.

  Where are you going? the voice of reason in my head piped its ugly head. It’s not too late to turn back. I shook the thought out of my head, terrified of the consequences if I got caught. I went over my options: in my hurry to get out, I’d made a vague plan to head down to the train station. I now realized that I didn’t have enough cash to buy a ticket back to Boston – not even to someplace halfway. And what if I managed to find myself back in Boston, then what? The first thing Dad would do is telephone Mother, who would demand I come right back here. Even if perchance Debbie was back in town rather than sailing on a yacht in Europe somewhere, the first thing her mother would do is get on the phone with my mother, and then I was sure to be shipped off to the nearest delinquent girls’ facility.

  None of my Cambridge friends’ parents would harbor a runaway. They were respectable, law-abiding folk who would not go out on a limb for someone who wasn’t their flesh and blood. Not even my uncle would take me in for longer than about a week, and then what would I do?

  I really had to think about this.

  I dragged my suitcase all the way to the Panorama Theatre and sat like a beggar right on the ground under the black awning. Drawing my knees to my chest, I tried to appear inconspicuous and blend into the wall. I prayed that time would fly by quickly and morning would arrive in a heartbeat. Exhausted, I closed my eyes. I managed to doze off for a few precious minutes, until the roar of the street cleaners shook me awake.

  At about five-thirty in the morning, I noticed a police cruiser pass by and made myself as small as possible, praying I hadn’t been spotted. When he was out of sight I breathed a sigh of relief, deciding that it was time to scoot out of that corner before the cruiser made a comeback. Heaving the bag over my shoulder, I began to walk south on Sepulveda along the bus route, headed nowhere in particular. My eyes were dry and dusty and I had to blink a few times to adjust to the rays of sun just breaking through the grayish dawn.

  Every muscle in my body hurt. My back throbbed through all the bruises and I longed for a long, hot bath to soothe the aches. Where are you going? the voice inside me screamed again. Have you lost your mind?

  My escape was hopeless without a solid plan. But with no money in my pocket and nobody I knew in the Los Angeles area, it was only a matter of time before I was declared a missing person and pulled over by the police.

  I suddenly stopped in my tracks. Wait, there was someone I knew here.

  The very thought of appealing to Rosario flooded me with intense shame. I didn’t even know her, and she thought my life was a bed of roses. Thinking about her seeing me like this made me turn red all over. What would she say? What would she think of me?

  I walked for a half hour, the back of my patent shoe digging into my heel. By the time I reached the next block, I was inundated with the certainty that of all people I knew, Rosario was the just the right person to ask for advice. She would know what to do.

  I crammed into the first telephone booth I ran across. Digging in my purse, I pulled out a nickel and her folded note. I looked at my watch: six a.m. – ridiculously early. Should I wait another hour? Looking over my shoulder at the rumble of a passing motorcycle, I decided against it and dialed her number carefully. I didn’t want to misdial and lose my last nickel.

  “Hello?” a sleepy voice answered on the other line.

  I bit my lip. “Uh, yes, may I speak with Rosario please?”

  “Un momiento.” I heard the voice call out in the background: Rosa, el telefon.

  Her voice was comfort to my ears. “Yes, hello?”

  “It’s Diana. Sorry to call you so early.” I cringed, forcing myself not to hang up.

  Silence. Then Rosario spoke, “Diana, what’s wrong?”

  I hesitated, then suddenly burst out, “I need to see you. If you can.”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Uh…let me see.” I peered at the street signs at the end of the street. “The corner of Sepulveda and Roscoe.”

  “Wait for me. I’ll be there in half an hour,” she said.

  “Okay,” I replied, cradling the receiver back on the hook. My heart beat furiously in my chest, threatening to burst. I walked over to on a green upside-down milk crate, sat down and waited, hand cupped over my forehead to shield my eyes from the fiery sunrise, until the familiar red Studebaker pulled up in front of me.

  Rosario watched as I approached, disheveled and dirty, wearing the same dress as last night, two bags in hand. “Hop in,” she said as I neared the truck. “We’ll talk over breakfast.”

  I opened the door, threw my things in the back and closed my eyes as we sped away from Panorama City.

  We drove to Rothbards Diner on Van Nuys Boulevard. It had a black and white checkered floor, pink leather booths and waitresses wearing pink kerchiefs and overstuffed poodle skirts. Rock and roll blasted through large speakers mounted on the walls. Rothbards wasn’t far from the Bob’s Big Boy drive-in burger joint, where Albert had taken us soon after moving to LA. Just like Rothbards, it was in vogue on account of their enormous double-deck hamburgers, generous portions of French fries, and shakes "so thick you can eat ‘em with a spoon", all for seventy-five cents.

  I went into the bathroom to clean up while Rosario sat in a pink booth and studied the menu. Seeing my reflection, I was aghast: beside the dirt-smudged cheeks I was pale as a ghost, and the dark circles under my eyes had graduated to the black rings of a raccoon. I gargled, splashed cold water my face and pinched my cheeks to bring some color back in. Smoothing down my hair, I walked back to our booth. Rosario was sipping on an odd-looking green shake.

  “Chocolate mint,” she said, noticing my glance. “The best. Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  She motioned the waitress over and ordered me a shake, along with breakfast for both of us. Leaning back, she watched me sip thirstily from a long straw that curled on the end. She wore a navy blue zip-up blazer and her hair was so black it looked blue.

  She waited until after we were served and I’d had a few bites before questioning me. “So what’s going on?” she asked.

  “I had to leave,” I said, tearing into a piece of toast.

  “I figured as much. Why?”

  I shrugged. “It’s
a long story.”

  She scoffed at the answer. “You dragged me out of bed for this? Let’s hear it, I’ve got all day.”

  I didn’t want to cry on her shoulder. “It’s complicated.”

  “Do your parents know you left?”

  “I was going to write them a letter. Eventually.”

  Rosario looked stern. “They’ll have the cops out looking for you. Don’t you think you owe them an explanation?”

  “They know exactly why I left. We had an argument.”

  “If any other girl called me up the way you did, I’d suspect there was much more to it than just an argument.”

  I glanced down at my fried eggs. “What do you say we leave it for now?”

  “We can’t do that, Diana.”

  I looked straight at her, an uncomfortable silence falling between us. I could hear myself breathing hard. After a moment, tears welled up in my eyes and I whispered, “I can’t go back there.”

  It was all I could say without breaking down. If forced to speak another word, I couldn’t have held back. There must have been something in my voice that caught Rosario off-guard, because her eyes softened.

  “All right, eat.” She motioned for me to continue and picked up her own fork. We were halfway through breakfast when she asked what I planned to do next.

  “I’m not quite sure,” I answered. “I would’ve liked to go back to Boston but I don’t know anyone who won’t turn me in.”

  “Do you have any money?”

  I mentally counted the change in my purse. “Maybe ten dollars.”

  She shook her head. “Diana, are you sure you wouldn’t rather –”

  “No. I’m not going back.”

  “So what are you going to do?”