(Little Bobby’s)
jacket can make me feel alert.
I never paid attention to the dates, not during that whole time I lived with Bobby. The reruns on TV, the repetition of our every day routine made it feel like a time warp. Time didn’t pass there.
It isn’t until later, on toward dawn, watching frost form on the roadside grass, that I become aware of how long I stayed at Bobby’s. September is gone. Any chance of Indian summer erased. Those warm days when I slept outside with Lila under a lilac bush are gone. I pull my knit hat over my ears and suck my chin into the collar of my jacket.
Winter is beginning already.
Up ahead, Lila turns and passes under a sign that says Route 36 West. West toward home. How does Lila know where to go? I’m so tired I don’t care. The sunrise isn’t beautiful. It stabs my eyes and makes me squint, and makes me want to fall down and sleep.
A truck with a bed full of chicken coops rolls up.
“You need a ride?”
The man is short a few teeth, but Lila hops into the truck bed, and I follow suit. The chickens cluck their disapproval.
The smell of chicken shit in my nose and my head clanging against the rail, I stumble into sleep.
* * *
I wake in a cold sweat, the words
happy birthday to me
echoing in my head. The truck has come to an abrupt stop, but luckily the toothless wonder driving hasn’t come round to check on me yet. I pick myself up, let Lila lick the salt off my face, then we disembark the chicken mobile.
“Thanks for the ride,” I manage to say before heading down the road. Unfortunately the sun tells me that we’ve only been driving about an hour, and the lack of sleep is killing me. It’s too bright. My eyes feel gritty and my mouth tastes like dirty socks. I didn’t think to pack toothpaste.
There’s no place to sleep here. It’s another country road, lucky to be paved, stretching as far as I can see into the distance. Fields of wheat blowin’ in the wind. The kind of road where trucks whip by, their drivers half asleep. I can smell the road kill already. Not safe to sleep on the side of a road like this. Not safe to sleep in the fields, either: it’s near reaping time. Machines cutting down the fields.
An hour north from Kansas might put us in Missouri, or it might put us still in Kansas.
Lila is tireless. She runs ahead, then returns to me, prodding me with her nose, barking if I seem to be sleeping as I walk. “Yeah, yeah,” I tell her, shuffling along. I think I must sleep as I walk, as there are periods of time I cannot recall. Or maybe the landscape is that repetitive.
I am ready to collapse in the road when Lila bolts into a group of trees.
“Come back,” I say, half-heartedly.
My feet slog along after her. Suddenly in the shade, it feels like darkness has descended. Nighttime, time for sleep.
Lila has found me a nice bed in a pile of leaves from the neighboring farm’s yard. I collapse and we twine ourselves around one another and sleep away the day.
-23-
I had forgotten how being on the road gives you infinite time to think. I imagine Bobby’s face when he woke up that morning to find me gone. His reactions range from immediate sadness to anger. Once I imagine that he might be happy I left. “Good riddance,” he says when he looks around and sees that I’m not there. “Kid was costing me too much money.”
Is it my ego that makes me think he could never react this way?
It is day three since we left Bobby’s house, and I have yet to be lucky enough to get a ride. Mostly that has to do with Lila leading me through the woods instead of by road.
The forest used to have this pull on me that made me afraid, but it’s not so bad out here. It’s not real forest, anyway. Just bunches of trees that divide up farmland. It’s nice not to have to worry about people, cops or otherwise, but after three days my food is running low and I’m tired. Hiking (I guess that’s what you would call it) is a lot harder than just walking along a road. On the road I might get a ride, a chance to rest. Lila is tireless. Even if I tell her I’m taking a break, she come back and haunts me, licking my face and barking and jumping around until I finally get up and get moving again. “What’s the rush,” I complain.
My stomach is complaining now too. At this point, I’m not sure where the road is. I keep stumbling and tripping over tree roots and Lila runs on ahead. Why am I following a dog? I start looking out for any sign of a road through the trees, but by nightfall on that third day I still haven’t seen anything.
It happens as the last of the sun winks through the branches overhead.
Nausea dizziness blackness
blankness
* * *
When I open my eyes it doesn’t make a difference. It’s still dark. I wait for my eyes to adjust and listen feel smell until I know.
Still the forest, still nighttime. My head is buzzing but I can hear the silence beyond it. No one around.
Nothing around.
Where is Lila?
I sit up. I feel the leaves and dirt beneath my hands, and little sharp things. Twigs
(bones)
Smell of rotting. The buzzing isn’t from inside my head. There are flies everywhere, zooming around my head, hunting down that slimy stickiness that covers me. It’s an agonizing long time before I have enough light to see, but by then I know at least it wasn’t human, and it wasn’t Lila. Lila’s scent trails away from me like a path through the woods. The bones are small. Squirrels or rabbits or prairie dogs.
At least I’m not hungry anymore.
Slowly I begin to see the tree branches pressed against the night sky.
“Lila?” I ask the darkness.
No matter how hard I strain my ears, I hear nothing but the quiet chatter of insects. No birds, no rustle of leaves where small creatures scurry. No sound of a dog breathing, waiting quietly for her companion to stop devouring all living creatures that venture nearby.
It is only when I stand up that I realize something else is missing.
My clothes.
Yes, you’d think that would be something I might notice right away, considering the chill in the air. Immediately I crouch down to hide myself, then realize that no one is around to see me. I stand up, feeling strangely exposed despite the cover of night.
I always suspected that most of my blackouts occurred when I was naked. How else do you explain me killing people in the violent way that I do and waking up with clothes that are no dirtier than they were when I blacked out? Granted, there are exceptions. That golden retriever, for one.
Still, it’s a little weird to think of myself blacking out, and THEN getting undressed so as not to dirty my clothes. And putting them back on after I’ve cleaned myself, before I regain consciousness?
The scent of death marks my path, and I begin to follow back to where my clothes (hopefully) still are, careful not to put my bare feet down on any bone fragments.
It’s not normal. I always kind of imagined myself in some killing frenzy when I blacked out, like some psychotic part of my mind took over. But a killer in a frenzy wouldn’t think about the mess. Unless he was an entirely separate personality.
It could be a medical condition. There are symptoms, the hunger, the dizziness, the feeling like I’m gonna throw up. A rare medical condition that makes me eat people.
I alternate between having a medical condition and a psychological disorder until I realize I’ve been walking for a good long while and I still haven’t found my clothes. I can still smell the trail (and yes there are still little animal bodies to avoid in the darkness).
And still no Lila.
Suddenly it all weighs down on me and I stagger like it’s a real weight. I should never have left Bobby. Things might have worked out, if I stayed full all the time, and Lila was there. Now because of some stupid dream, some childish impulse to go home and see my mommy, I have nothing, literally nothing. No clothes. No backpack full of supplies. No Lila. I’m in the middle of
the godforsaken forest like I’ve just been born.
A grey glow is creeping over the sky, the early stages of dawn, but it doesn’t help me see because I’m crying like a
fucking little baby
snot dripping from my nose and my hands under my armpits to keep warm
doncha know men don’t cry? you’re not a man
my sobs echoing in the empty forest
you’re a fucking little crybaby, aren’t you?
And when I stumble over my clothes, neatly folded in the crook of a tree, my backpack hanging from a branch, it’s a slap in the face
Say it, little baby. Say it.
“I’m a fucking crybaby.”
-24-
Lila finds me right around the time I find the road. It took just about every ounce of concentration to find it, hearing that faint rumble of trucks, smelling the wisp of exhaust fumes. Trekking through the woods and farmland wasn’t nearly as hard. I’m full and I have shoes on again, a warm coat, and my face is clean, all the snot and tears erased.
“Where have you been?” I ask as she trots up, her mouth smiling. She keeps her head down.
“So it’s like that, huh?”
I try to ignore her, even telling myself I’ll hitch a ride and leave her behind like last time, but when a sedan pulls up, a tired-looking man in a business suit asking me if I need a ride but “I don’t have room for your dog,” I shake my head and say thanks, anyway.
“That doesn’t mean you’re forgiven,” I tell Lila. To further explain myself to an animal who has no idea what I’m saying, “You can’t do that, let me get too hungry. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”
She leaps at a crow pecking at roadkill, snapping her teeth as it flies off.
“I’m serious! And no more going through the woods. We stick to the roads. I can find food on the road.”
Trotting back to where I’m walking along, Lila licks at my hand. I snatch it away. “I’m still mad.”
My stomach full of woodland creatures keeps almost all day. Until we hit a diner planted in the middle of a barren stretch of road, and the smell of burgers on the grill reminds me that I haven’t eaten since about 3 a.m.
There’s no sign on the door to say otherwise, so I let Lila in with me, and we seat ourselves at a booth in the corner. Lila curls up on my feet under the table.
Two men at the counter, sitting a couple of stools apart. Both sport the flannel shirt and down vest combo of truckers. One of the other booths holds a teenage couple sitting across from each other. The boy’s wearing a football jersey. There’s a family at another booth, a mom with stringy hair wearing a waitress uniform and two squirmy kids dipping French fries into ketchup. I can only see the back of the dad’s head but he’s got a large bald patch.
As I look around at all of them, I begin to realize that most of them are looking back at me.
The waitress finally sees me. She has bright red hair pulled up and heavy eyeliner, and she’s wearing the same brown and tan uniform as the lady sitting with her family. I order a burger and fries and a large soda. “Can I have another burger just plain? Like no bun or anything else?”
She looks down at my feet and suddenly I fear I’m going to get kicked out of this place.
“Sure.”
When she walks back behind the counter I watch her conferring with a woman in back wearing an apron. I close my eyes and listen to their low voices under the clink and clatter of the diner.
“Hey, Donna, that kid’s got a dog in here, under the table.”
“Is it a service dog?”
“No… It looks like some stray. But who knows. The dog’s got no collar, and he looks like he’s been sleeping in the woods.”
“Where is he? Oh. Well, I don’t see what harm it can do to let him stay. The dog’s lying down.”
“Isn’t it unsanitary?”
“We have to let service animals in here… it’s not any more unsanitary than that.”
A big sigh. “You’re the boss…”
I whisper a thank you and open my eyes. Everyone has stopped looking at me. Maybe they’ve also overheard the conversation between the waitress and Donna, or maybe I’m not all that interesting. I’m just some homeless kid with a scruffy mutt. They probably think I’m going to run off before I pay the bill.
“Here you go, hon.” A plate slides in front of me. Hot food. I shove a bunch of French fries in my mouth even as I’m reaching for the ketchup. Then I see the waitress sliding into the seat in the booth opposite me.
“You got a place to stay tonight?” she asks in a low voice. She can probably feel the eyes of the other people in the restaurant on the back of her neck. Now I can see that her name tag says Beverly.
“I’ll be okay,” I answer, which I know isn’t really an answer. My stomach gurgles with nervousness.
Not here not now
“I’m just passing through.” I try to appear confident when I say this, like I’m older than sixteen
(or fifteen)
“I don’t want to hear that someone’s found you dead on the side of the road.” Beverly steals a French fry off my plate. “Donna’s a bleeding heart, but mine’s not made out of stone either. And I’m not letting her take you in for the night, her being all alone. My husband will be here to pick me up around 9. If you’re still here you’re welcome to stay with us.” She sniffs as she slides out of the booth. “You could certainly use a shower.”
I don’t answer. I don’t think Beverly needs or wants me to. I mull it over in my head as I scarf down my burger and sop up every ounce of juice and salt and ketchup with my fries, and slip the plain patty down to Lila when no one’s looking. Beverly keeps my soda topped off, which is why I’m still sitting there an hour later, when she brings over a slice of cherry pie and the check.
“The pie’s on the house,” she says.
“Thanks.”
She turns and walks away. “At least you’ve got some manners.”
I pull out my money and count out the exact amount. I know you’re supposed to leave a tip but it’s been so long since I’ve eaten in a real restaurant, and even then it was with my parents. How much money do you leave? I count out one extra dollar and tuck the roll of bills away.
The jock and his girlfriend are looking at me. I squeeze the money in my fist, hoping they hadn’t seen. The guy is big, that bulked up football build. He could probably crush my head between his hands. Well, unless I black out. Then he’ll be the one with a crushed head.
This thought immediately puts me in a bad mood. What am I thinking, sitting here, waiting for some guy I don’t know who doesn’t know me to come and bring me back to his place? Even if Beverly is okay, I don’t know her husband.
I can’t be that lucky, to find decent people to stay with twice.
I get up and leave, Lila at my heels, and head outside. I know why I was sitting inside. It’s sharply cold out here, and dark. My breath rises into the air in a hot cloud.
Behind me I hear the shuffling sounds of people getting up and following me out.
Fuck.
-25-
“Hey, kid.”
I bury my face into my jacket and attempt to keep walking.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!”
(ignoreignoreignore)
A heavy hand on my shoulder, pulling me around. I jerk away. “Hey.” The jock is smiling. Smiling? “Hey, no need to be rude, huh?”
“Yeah, we’re not gonna hurt you.” His girlfriend walks over. She’s one of those confident girls who knows she’s hot with her highlighted hair and perfect makeup. Maybe not so perfect makeup. Her eyes are ringed with liner that looks a few days old.
“We noticed you had some cash on you and we thought you might be looking for a good time.” He’s still smiling.
A good time? I stare at him.
“What do you say?” he asks.
“Yeah.” The girl saunters closer, brushes her hand against my cheek.
I back off like she?
??s burned me. No one’s touched me in a long time.
“Touchy, touchy. Don’t you want to relax for a little while?”
She smiles at me. There’s something empty in her eyes, but she seems interested in me. Maybe I was wrong, and the jock isn’t her boyfriend.
“I guess,” I say.
“Well come on, then.” She takes my hand – her skin is smooth and warm. I feel my palms start to sweat almost immediately. She leads me to a beat-up van in the parking lot, not white like Paul the Pervert’s van, but brown and covered in bumper stickers. The guy trails behind.
Lila’s whining. “It’s fine,” I tell her.
“What’s your name?” the girl asks, spinning to face me as the jock opens up the back of the van and climbs inside.
“Dan,” I say. I wait for a moment, but she doesn’t tell me her name. She just climbs on into the van and tells me to hurry up.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to relax in the cramped back of a van, even if there is a bunch of cushions on the floor. It smells in here, a smoky smell but not like cigarettes. A warm, earthy smoky smell. I’m getting a headache.
The girl pulls the door shut in Lila’s face.
The inside is lit up by the dome light and that smell has just gotten a lot stronger. I don’t know why it smelled sweet before; it smells like a skunk now. I watch the girl, but she is watching the guy so I do too.
Now I understand.
He’s got a joint and he’s flicking the lighter to start it up. My stomach starts feeling queasy. This isn’t what I meant when I said I wanted to relax. I was thinking a warm bed. I was thinking a girl who liked me and who wanted to be with me.
The guy takes a few hits off the joint, exhaling his foul smoke into the air. My eyes water. “Come on, Matt, pass it already!” the girl whines.
He chuckles and takes another hit before he puts it in her waiting fingers.
“This is the life Dannyboy,” he says.
I’ve gotten better at not reacting to that name
Daaaannybooooy