THE JOURNEY
Bruce
A. Borders
Copyright 2006,2011, Bruce A.
Borders
Smashwords Edition
Cover design Copyright 2011,
Bruce A. Borders
Borders Publishing
This is a work of
fiction.
All references to persons living or dead
is purely
coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Chapter
1
Chapter
2
Chapter
3
Chapter
4
Chapter
5
Chapter
6
Chapter
7
Chapter
8
Chapter
9
Chapter
10
Chapter
11
Chapter
12
Chapter
13
Chapter
14
Chapter
15
Chapter
16
Chapter
17
Chapter
18
Chapter
19
Chapter
20
Chapter
21
Chapter
22
About
The Author
Other
Books By This Author
Fifteen years old and on my own. My first taste of freedom. An open road ahead and a lot of trouble behind. No one but myself to please or obey. No parents griping or teachers nagging me. On my own. The way life was meant to be lived.
And it's all perfectly okay with my parents. Hey, it was even my dad's idea! Really! He's the one who told me to do it. Well okay, not exactly. What he actually said was, "If you don't want to live by my rules, go ahead and try to make it on your own."
So, here I am, walking down the highway into the sunset with not a care in the world. It's all pretty exciting really. Though I'll admit, I'm a little scared. Now don't go assuming I'm a chicken because I said I'm scared. I'm not afraid. It's more like a fear of the unknown. Worried, that's it. Or, maybe somewhat apprehensive. Definitely not scared. Not in the usual sense of the word. Either way though, I'm all right. I have some money and I'm not exactly the dumbest guy in the world, so I'll make it. Sure, it might be tough at times but that's just the way life is. I'm a man now and I know I have what it takes to survive.
I guess I should introduce myself and then start from the beginning. My name is Kyle Davis, and like I said earlier, I'm fifteen years old, living on my own. Up until yesterday, I'd lived with my Mom and Dad, Cheryl and Franklin Davis, all my life in the same house in Collinsville, Missouri. I should mention that I have two sisters, younger sisters. Tara is twelve and Jodi is ten, almost eleven as she is always quick to mention.
We never really had much. My dad works at Crown Corrugated, a cardboard manufacturing plant in town; he's been there for the past twenty-some years, and they don't pay a whole lot. So, I know what it's like to live without any money.
Mom works cleaning people's houses and doing things like that. She and my dad will both go to their grave just as they are now, with nothing to show for their entire life's work.
That's why I knew I had to get out. If I stayed, I'd become exactly like them, working for someone else and ending up with nothing.
This whole thing started when my dad was teaching me to drive. On my fifteenth birthday, I got my permit and we went out that evening in his car. Like everything else in my dad's life, the car was the same old ugly junker he'd had since I was five years old!
Before he let me drive, he had to give me a lecture of course, going over the same stuff again and again. Stuff I already knew. I'd read the driver's manual so, I knew all the rules. All I needed was a little practice, if he would have just let me. But up to that point, I hadn't even been allowed in the driver's seat. All I wanted was to drive and there he sat, wasting time, just talking. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he let me get behind the wheel.
"Put your foot on the brake," Dad instructed. "Then pull the shift lever into drive."
"I know," I said. How many times is he going to say the same thing?
It all went fairly well in my view, considering it was my first time driving, but dad got all excited when I gave the car too much gas and drove over a curb. Then, instead of stepping on the brake, I hit the gas pedal again and almost ran a red light. The whole time he was yelling at me to stop.
When I finally did manage to park, I didn't get far enough over for him. Infuriated, he told me to get out and then he drove us home. He didn't say another word until he'd shut off the car in the driveway. Then he let loose with a berating lecture that I knew he'd been brooding over all the way home.
"If you want to learn to drive, you're going to have to listen to what I tell you."
"I know how to drive," I insisted.
How hard could it be? Just because I wasn't as practiced and smooth as he was, he thought I didn't know anything. It wasn't a fair comparison; he had a lot more experience than I did.
"No you don't," he said, reminding me that he was the one in charge. "You think you do, just like you think you know about everything. You never want to listen to what your Mother or I tell you."
I didn't argue. I could have but I knew he didn't care what I had to say. In his mind, there was only one explanation for the way things were; I was too young to understand.
However, I did understand. A lot more than he was willing to give me credit for. I was fifteen, and that's nearly a man, but not in my dad's eyes. To him I was still just a kid.
It wasn't just the learning to drive, which caused our disagreements. Almost anything we did or discussed ended up the same way. He and my Mom had all these stupid rules and ridiculous ideas about how I was supposed to act, dress and even how I should talk. It was like I was still three years old and we all lived in the fifties. Like when they were kids.
Both of my parents are from the old days, when everyone just went along with the system and never questioned anything. They always followed the rules, even if it made no sense. That just wasn't in my nature.
See, I'm part of the younger generation of Americans. We've progressed past the old culture; we don't want to be slaves all our lives. We want to live; to be free and to be our own person, not just blindly follow what our parents did. But dad didn't understand that. He still thought if anyone was going to succeed in life, they had to fit into the same pattern he had used. Yeah, like that was going to get me anywhere!
"Are you listening?" my dad bellowed, snapping my mind from its wandering rumination.
"Yeah," I said.
"You're never going to get anywhere in life if you can't pay attention and listen. You think you have all the answers but you don't. The way you're going now, you are never going to have a job, a family, or anything."
"Dad, that's just it," I said. "I don't want to be trapped in a dead-end job, working all my life, and end up like you."
"What's wrong with the way I am?" he demanded, proving yet again he really didn't get it.
Well, he asked so, I told him. "You're so, uh, so old-fashioned. You go to work everyday, you're barely able to pay the bills, and you don't have anything."
"I'm happy with my life. I have a lot more than my parents did, when I was growing up," Dad said. "And I don't work near as hard or as much as my dad did."
"What do you have?"
"A steady job, a house, car, electricity, heat, air conditioning, groceries, health insurance," he paused, and then finished with, "and a happy family."
He'd gone through the list like he was actually proud of it! All the while I was thinking, Wow, a boring job, a plain house, an old clunker you claim is a car, and the rest of it means nothing.
Rolling my eyes I said, "Everybody has all that. It's no big deal."
"Not everybody," my dad countered. "But, the ones who do, work for it."
I strained to look at him in the dark. "I'm not going to work for somebody and spend everyday of my life trying to please them. What makes them better than me? I shouldn't have to live my life serving someone else. Slavery was outlawed in this country a long time ago."
"You don't necessarily have to work for someone else, you could always start your own business. Either way, it still takes hard work," Dad said. "If you do work for someone, that doesn't mean they're better than you. However, since they provide you the job, and give you a paycheck, they should be entitled to a little respect."
"That's fine for your generation," I told him. "But, I'm not going to be tied down like that."
"You'll change your mind when you grow up."
"I'm fifteen," I reminded him.
"I know how old you are," Dad said. "I also know you haven't grown up yet. Your attitude reflects your immaturity."
"Just because I don't want to be stuck in the same rut like you makes me immature?" I asked with a bit more arrogance than I should have.
"No," Dad answered. "What makes you immature is the unrealistic expectations and selfish demands. As long as you keep that attitude, I won't be able to teach you anything, including how to drive. Maybe in a month or so we'll try it again."
"But, I have a right to drive," I protested. "I'm fifteen!"
"Driving is not a right, it's a privilege."
"Same thing."
"Not exactly. In fact, not even close," Dad said. "Part of the problem with kids today ironically is, the successful outcome of the American economic system has clouded the younger people's perspective. You have an expectation that everything will just be handed to you without having to earn it. In the real world, that isn't the way things work. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you'll grow up, and develop a decent work ethic."
Work ethic! That's code for mindlessly falling into line like little robots - precisely what I was trying to avoid. Dad seemed to think his life had been a success, but I knew better. Sure, he worked hard, he had that part right, but that was about it. He hadn't given me much. About the only thing I stood to inherit when he died was a life full of misery. No thanks!
Someday though, I'd show him I was right; and that he was wrong. My way was better and I knew it. I was betting it wouldn't take me long to prove it.
Dad was still talking.
"So, until I see some indication of your attitude improving, you won't be driving."
"But I…"
Dad silenced me with that look he gets when he's made up his mind about something. "It's not open for discussion, and that's final! If you don't want to live by my rules, go ahead and try to make it on your own."
There it was. The green light to do it my way. Maybe he did understand a little. He was practically forcing me out.
That was the last time I spoke to my father before leaving. I didn't talk to Mom much that night either, and by the time I went to bed, I'd already made up my mind to go.
Both of my sisters knew something was up, but they were too young to realize why I was leaving. I think my Mom knew; knew I was leaving and why. But if she did, she never mentioned it. A few days passed before I actually did leave, but I didn't change my mind.
One morning, I waited until my dad left for work before getting out of bed. Then, I threw a couple pair of jeans and some T-shirts into an old backpack. Almost as an afterthought, I grabbed some underwear and socks. Being the dead of summer, I didn't need a coat but I knew fall would be coming so; I found one in my closet and stuffed it into the bag.
The piggy bank I'd had since I was two years old was bulging with dollar bills and weighted down with coins. A collection of birthday and Christmas money from my aunt, and my grandparents before they'd died. I dumped the change into my backpack and put the dollars, all thirty-three of them, in my wallet.
Looking around the room, I didn't see anything else I'd need. Like I said, I didn't have much and I could live without all the junk the rest of my family believed to be so important.
Listening for my Mom to go into the kitchen, I slipped on my backpack. Tip-toeing down the hall, I left the house out the back door.
The walk down to the bank was ten long blocks, and under the hot June sun, I worked up quite a sweat before I made it there. Wiping my face with my sleeve, I thought I'd better get used to it. A nagging feeling told me I'd be doing a lot of walking for the next few weeks. At least until I got to where I wanted to go. I wasn't sure yet just where that would be, for now I was intent on getting away without being caught.
"Do you want to close the account?" the teller asked when I stated I wanted all of my money.
"How much do I need to leave in the account to keep it open?"
"There's a ten dollar minimum," she said.
"Okay, I'll take the rest."
She counted out the bills, all twenties. Five hundred twenty dollars to be exact!
"Thanks," I told her putting the cash away. I left the bank feeling a little smug. Who needs a job? I now had more than five hundred fifty dollars in my pocket!
Next stop, the train depot. Well, not the station, since our little town didn't have a passenger train service, I mean the freight yard. I sauntered down the tracks for a half a mile or so and when I was out of sight of prying eyes, I slipped between the boxcars.
Stumbling over the tracks, I climbed aboard one of the empty cars. I'd lived here all my life, watching the trains roll in and roll out, so I knew which track would be heading west. If my timing was right, the train should pull out soon; within about ten minutes, I figured. I'd been on board for no more than half that when I felt a jolt as the engines began to lumber forward.
By now, the sun was high enough to heat everything up, especially the inside of a boxcar. I sat down on the floor, wishing I had something to drink. I'd been so busy getting ready to leave that I hadn't even eaten breakfast.
As the train got up to speed, the intense heat inside the metal walls to made me tired, especially after all the walking I'd done. I stretched out on the floor, lying with my head on a makeshift backpack pillow. I figured I had a few hours before the westbound train reached it's next stop.
I'd heard stories about people being arrested for riding trains and hoped I would wake up when we stopped. Although, there was really no reason why I would be caught, all a guy had to do was get out before the car made it into the rail yard.
I must have been extremely tired, because when I woke up the train was no longer moving. Peeking out the door, I saw an unfamiliar setting. Row after row of train cars blocked most of my view of the strange town, but I could see a two-lane highway winding its way to the west. Thankfully, no one was around. Now would be a good time to get off, I thought. Almost forgetting my backpack, I scooped it up and jumped down to the ground.
I wasn't sure where I was, probably somewhere in Kansas, but how far from Collinsville, I didn't know. Not wanting to chance running into someone who might know me, I headed across the field to the highway I'd seen from the train.
The day had turned awfully hot, and I was starting to feel it. I was extremely thirsty. My mouth was dry and I found myself trying to work up some spit just to have something to swallow. I guess I hadn't thought things out too well when I got off the train. I should have tried to find something to eat before taking off down this road, or at least something to drink. I plodded on hoping I'd come to a creek or some source of water soon. An artisan well would be nice, but I didn't actually think I'd be that lucky.
In the distance, I saw a sign that I hoped would provide some clue as to where I was. Not that I cared, it didn't really matter. However, it would help so I could decide where it was I was going.
The closer I got to the sign I could begin to make out what looked like a small bridge. Maybe there'll be some water, I thought, hurrying on ahead. Feeling lightheaded and sweating like a horse, I was in bad need of a cool refreshing drink.
Finally, a few yards away I made out the sign; Dawson Creek. Now all I had to worry about is if it had gone dry. I felt like I'd walked for miles, but behind me I could still see the town where I'd left the train. I was a little surprised that no traffic had come by. Must be a road that goes nowhere.
For some reason I kept looking down at my arm, trying to see the time. You'd think after not seeing the watch the first time, I'd know it wasn't there, but I kept forgetting. Just like I'd forgotten the watch. I knew where it was; I'd left it lying on the counter in the bathroom. I made a mental note to get another one. A cheap watch wouldn't break me. That is, if I ever found another town!
By now, I was close enough to smell the water. A little further and I could hear it running. What a welcomed sound! Actually, the whole thing is sort of funny; I've never even liked water that well, but now I couldn't wait to get a drink. I could almost taste it and I licked my parched lips again. What's that called? I wondered. Salivating, yeah, I thought to myself as I swallowed another mouthful of dusty saliva. That only made things worse, but as I scrambled down to the creek, it no longer mattered.
Laying my backpack on the bank, I knelt down, cupping my hand to get the water. The first little crisis of my new life was solved, and I felt much better. Except that now I noticed, the hunger pangs were stronger. A guy can't win!
Wishing I knew how far it was to the next town, I stared off to the western horizon. "I didn't plan on walking all the way to California," I grumbled.
Hey, there was an idea! Maybe I'd go to San Francisco, or San Diego. Anywhere would be better than the dry desolate place I was stuck in right now. The West had plenty of cities, and I could go to any of them I chose. I still couldn't get used to the idea that I was on my own. My own boss, no responsibilities. I could decide everything for myself without checking with anyone else, or even worrying what they thought.
I started walking again, staring into the sun. Judging by how low it was getting, evening should be here soon, but I sure couldn't tell it from the temperature. The setting sun brought up another problem. Where was I going to spend the night? Alongside the creek back there would probably have been the best choice, but the desire to get somewhere had pushed me on without having time to think about it. If they would have ever had a sign on this blistering road I could've seen how far it was to the next town; but so far, no luck.
I continued to walk along slowly. The soles of my feet were becoming sore and I finally sat down on the side of the road. Resting only for a few minutes, I struggled to my feet. Gingerly, I plodded on.
Then at last, up ahead I saw another sign. This one looked like a highway sign. Now maybe, I'll find out where I am, I thought. At least I'd know what road I was on. I still hadn't seen a soul and I'd been walking on the same highway for more than three hours.
As I neared the sign I saw it said Highway 22, but the color and design sure didn't look like a Kansas highway sign. I hurried closer and in stunned surprise read the state. Nebraska!
"Nebraska?" I said to no one. The sound of my voice spooked me a little. I hadn't heard another human voice for hours now, since making my withdrawal from the bank.
So, this is Nebraska? No wonder it was so hot! That also explained why I'd seen no cars on the road. Who wanted to live in Nebraska?
Now, don't laugh, but I quickly realized I could've gone into that town back there, without anyone recognizing me. I didn't know even one person in Nebraska. I was two states away from home. Well, not home, I guess. Not anymore.
I suppose it wasn't too late to go back, not back home, back to the town, but that would have meant a lot more walking, just to get back to where I'd started. On the other hand, I considered, the next town in the direction I was heading might well be twice as far, or three times.
California, as far as I knew, was still west of Nebraska, and since that was where I was headed, I chose to go on. Soon, I saw a green sign in the distance. The kind with towns and mileage listed. I trudged on.
The sun had finally set and I looked forward to the cooler air. It would've been smarter I guess, to have waited to do my walking during the nighttime hours. The going would have been much easier, but the thought of being alone in the dark on a deserted highway wasn't at all appealing to me. A guy never knew who might happen by. Just my luck it would be an escaped convict – a murderer! He'd kill me before I'd had a chance to see what life was like as an adult.
I suppose I shouldn't have been thinking thoughts like that, because when the lights of a car topped the rise ahead of me, I panicked. Jumping into the ditch, I landed face down in the dirt, and just stayed there, hugging the ground. I could hear my heart pounding over the sound of the car's engine.
"I'm not too proud to admit I was scared. The afraid kind of scared this time. I know it sounds childish but I had a good reason. It would have been sort of hard to explain what I was doing there all by myself. A fifteen-year-old boy from Missouri, walking down a highway in Nebraska! They'd probably report me and just like that, I'd be taken right back home.
I needed to go somewhere that I could blend in with the crowd. Okay, I guess that could be a little difficult, since I don't really look all that old. I did look older than fifteen, though. I think. I could maybe pass for eighteen, if I grew a mustache. All the guys at school always said a mustache would make you look three to five years older. Hey, at that rate I could pass for twenty! That'd be cool, in another year; I'd be able to buy a beer! Imagine that. A sixteen-year-old teenager buying a six-pack, while the store clerk doesn't even question a thing. I'll have to remember that.
The car was gone and I raised my head up from the ditch to have a look around. Dusk had settled in and I needed to get to that mileage sign before it was too dark to read. I wanted to see how far I was going to have to walk.
A full moon began moving across the sky and it was a good thing it did. By the time I'd walked close enough to read the sign it was fully dark. Straining in the dim light, I could barely make out the letters. "Westland, twenty-three miles," it said. Whoa! I didn't want to walk that far! It was already dark!
I sat down right there on the ground. Now what was I going to do? No matter what I did, it looked like I'd be spending the night out here on this country highway. That's not quite what I'd planned, but it was okay. I'd slept outside plenty of times. My dad used to take me camping once in a while; I could handle it. Of course, we'd had a tent to sleep in, and a fire. But hey, my friend Al and I used to spend the night out in the backyard with just our sleeping bags! This wouldn't be that much different; I just needed to find a place to lie down. Somewhere away from the road, I decided. Out of sight, so I didn't wake up to cops standing over me.
Actually though, I'd slept all the way across Kansas, and I realized I wasn't really very sleepy. My feet and legs were tired from walking, but who says I needed to go to bed? Even taking my time, I could get back to town in a few hours, probably before midnight. If I got too tired or sleepy, I could always stop for a nap on the way.
I hadn't known how smart I was. By going back, I could stop at Dawson Creek for another drink. I guess I could even sleep there, but only if I really needed to, of course.
With the sun going down, the air felt pretty good now, I must have gotten a bit of heat exhaustion or something earlier, because I was still extremely thirsty. At least I was moving faster now. It took only a little more than an hour to get back to the creek.
Hearing another car coming, and this time not being so scared; instead of diving headlong into the dirt, I sat down on the creek bank. Waiting there calmly, I was fairly confident no one would be able to see me.
It must have been the same car, going home this time. That was discouraging. They had already been to town, done whatever it was they'd needed to do, and made it back here. Meanwhile, I was still at least two hours away from the rail yard. Probably more.
"Oh well," I sighed. "It's not like I'm on a time schedule." I had as long as it took to get to California. Come to think of it, I could take as long as I wanted to get back to town too. Three days if I chose. No one could tell me otherwise. Well, except for my stomach, which suddenly growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since last night.
My legs and feet weren't the only parts that were sore by now. My back ached; my chest felt like I was pushing a ton of bricks with every breath, and my head was sort of spinning, like I had the flu. Why did I walk this far in the hot summer heat? I asked myself. I'd made it all the way across Kansas without moving a muscle. I should have just stayed on the train. I could have been halfway to California by now.
I decided then and there, that the next afternoon - once I'd had something to eat - I was getting back on the train. No more of this senseless walking in the heat, or taking chances on sleeping in the wild with who knows how many snakes, bugs and other creatures.
Now, don't get the idea that I'm one of those city slickers. I'd grown up in a small town in Missouri, remember? We had our share of the creepy crawlies. I don't mind snakes and bugs to a point, but I don't relish the idea of sleeping with them. Raid was invented for a reason!
My stomach was growling again, and I started walking toward town once more. The dread of sleeping outside pushed me on and the train yard looked more inviting with every step I took. It didn't look like rain, but knowing my luck as soon as I closed my eyes out in the open, it would start. A boxcar, though dirty and uncomfortable would keep me dry, I thought.
See? I was beginning to get the hang of this. Making decisions and thinking things out. My dad would have been proud of me. Yeah, right! Who am I kidding? Knowing him like I do, he'd probably say something about how dumb I was for walking miles in the hot sun, without food or water, and then turning around and going right back. Actually, I guess that was pretty stupid.
But, everybody makes mistakes, don't they? Why should I be any different? At least I learned from mine. And it hadn't taken twenty years of slave labor in a factory for me to figure it out either.
As I neared the edge of town, I felt like I'd been walking forever. I figured it had been over a couple of hours since I'd stopped at the creek, but I couldn't be sure exactly how long without my watch. I estimated it was past midnight, though the only thing I could use to base my guess was my own overactive imagination. It looked like I was almost back to where I'd crossed the field earlier, but it was hard to tell in the dark. I could see the boxcars though, and that was a big relief.
I stumbled my way back through the tall grass to the train tracks. Wearily, I crawled up into one of the musty smelling cars. I hadn't been sleepy before, but I sure was now! I hoped there weren't many night trains that came through here, or I'd be just as tired the next morning.
Using my backpack as a pillow again, I laid down, closing my eyes. The day hadn't been a total loss, I guess. I'd managed to make it here, to some place in Nebraska. And hey, I'd even learned a few things; to eat breakfast when I had a chance, not to walk in the summer sun without water, and to use my brain before doing anything.
"I really should call my mom," was the first thought on my mind when I woke up. She'd probably like to know how I was doing, but I knew if I called her, my dad would have the number traced and find out where I was. Sitting up, I yawned and then laughed, "Maybe I should call, and they could tell me where I am." All I knew was that I was in a railroad boxcar outside of a town somewhere in Nebraska.
But I knew I couldn't call, not yet anyway. Maybe later. Besides, a payphone would take a lot of money, and there was no way I was calling collect. That would be like admitting I needed help, which I didn't.
I could write a letter, I guess, that would only cost me the price of a stamp. But they'd still know where to look for me, thanks to the postmark. Although, by the time they received the letter, I'd be long gone.
"Maybe I can get a pen from the restaurant, and write on a napkin," I said to myself, climbing down from the boxcar. Then I realized I'd need an envelope too. "Oh well, forget that." I decided I'd figure out something later, right at that moment I was starving, even worse than the night before. On the bright side, I had managed to get a decent night's sleep. The warm sunshine and rumbling of the trains were what had finally roused me.
A boxcar wasn't a bad place to sleep, I guess, if a bed wasn't available. Being able to just wake up, grab my backpack and take off was cool. I'd been up for less than ten minutes when I opened the door to the little cafe.
Food at last! After more than twenty-four hours without eating, anything on the menu would've tasted delicious. I didn't even look at it though. "Two eggs, ham, hash browns and gravy with white toast," I told the waitress. "And some pancakes. Oh, and a glass of orange juice."
She didn't seem surprised by my order. Writing it down she said, "Okay." Then she took the ticket to the kitchen.
I looked up at the clock. It was six thirty a.m.! Why on earth was I up so early? Oh yeah, the trains and the sun. I'd have to remember to find a better place to sleep. A secluded place. One with a little less activity.
The cafe was empty, except for me. I suppose that was a good thing. Unless everyone in town knew something I didn't, I thought. "Must be too early for the usual crowd," I said aloud without really meaning to.
"Too late," the waitress corrected. "They've come and gone."
"At six thirty?" I asked incredulously.
"Some of us have to get up to go to work," she answered, giving me a stern look.
In my most mature sounding voice I said, "Uh -yeah, I've been there myself." Well school is work isn't it? All right, so I'd never gotten up at six thirty for school, but the principle was still the same. Anyway, she didn't know me, so it really didn't matter.
"How'd you get here?" she asked. "You walk?"
"Yeah," I said. Uh-oh, here come the questions.
She gave me a strange look again. "The freeway is thirty-five miles from here. You didn't walk all that way."
I smiled at her. "No, I didn't. My dad dropped me off so I could eat while he went to get the car fixed."
Whew! That was a close one, but I'd managed to pull it off, I thought, breathing a sigh of relief. What was that my dad used to say about not being able to lie your way out of a lie? Well, I just had, and pretty well too, I might add.
"It'll be a few minutes for your food, if you want to go wash up," the waitress said.
I shot her a puzzled look. I could never remember a waitress telling the customer to wash their hands before eating. That sounded like something my mother would've said. "Why?" I asked with just a hint of arrogance.
She pointed to my clothes and said, "You look like you've been rolling around on the ground. I just thought you might not want all that dirt and grime falling into your breakfast."
I looked down. She was right. I did look filthy. Sleeping in a boxcar twice, lying in a ditch and all the walking I'd done, had left me covered with dirt from head to toe. The layered grime had mixed with my sweat and made for one nasty sight.
"Sorry," I muttered, my ego a little deflated. Then thinking fast I said, "I spent most of the night under my dad's car. Where's the bathroom?"
Silently, she pointed across the room.
Taking my bag, I sheepishly hurried in the direction she'd motioned. In the bathroom, I looked in the mirror and got the shock of my life! It was worse than I'd imagined, worse than the waitress had described. I wasn't just dirty, I was black! My hands and arms, my face and even my clothes were black as tar. My hair was another sight. Mussed and matted with dried sweat; caked with what looked like mud.
Should I change clothes, I wondered? No, I decided. The waitress would then wonder why I had extra clothes with me, instead of leaving them in the car. I cleaned up the best I could and would've combed my hair but I didn't have a comb. Add that to the growing list of things I'd forgotten.
Looking only slightly more presentable, I walked back to the dining area. The waitress was just setting my plate on the table. "A little better?" I asked.
"A little," she smiled.
I must have seemed like a hungry bear to her, the way I wolfed down the food. Gulping the last of my juice, I sat back and took a deep breath. It's amazing what a little food will do for a guy who's starving!
"What's wrong with your dad's car?" the waitress asked, placing the check on the table.
"It's old," I said without hesitation. This was becoming easier all the time! I paid the bill, grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
"You want some advice?" came the friendly voice of the waitress.
I stopped, turning around. "I guess," I answered half-heartedly, not sure where this was leading.
"Go home."
I frowned and gave her an indignant scowl. "What do you mean?"
"You know very well what I mean, young man," she said. "Your mother is probably worrying herself sick over you."
I looked down at the floor. The game was up; she knew. But how? What had given me away? I finally looked up. "How'd you know?"
"I'm a mother, we just know," she said. "If you don't take my advice, the least you could do is write and let her know you're okay."
"I already thought about that," I said seriously.
"But you haven't done it."
"Not yet," I admitted. "But I will."
"Promise?"
"Promise," I said. Geez, it was like I'd never left home, the way she was nagging me. "You're not going to turn me in are you?" I asked worriedly.
"No," she said. "I don't know why you ran away. Maybe you had a good reason. I do know it's usually not half as bad as it seems."
A lot she knew, I thought.
"When you do decide to go back, just be a man, swallow your pride and go," she added.
"Thanks," I said. She thought I meant for her advice, but I was more thankful she wasn't planning to report me.
I left the restaurant a little wiser. If I were going to pull this off, I needed to work on my act. Polish it up. Iron out the wrinkles. A guy simply couldn't go through life with every female who is a mother being able to read him like a book.
The first stop in my new quest was a department store. I could change clothes, and then buy a bunch of stuff I needed. An early drawback to my plan was the nearest store turned out to be about a mile from the cafe. Unfortunately, walking appeared to be the only way I was going to get there. Sure seemed like I did a lot of that lately.
The trip took a little longer than it should have. The way my feet were aching, I knew I was going to have to learn to pace myself. If this walking thing continued, I'd have to build up the muscles and learn to have a little endurance while my feet toughened up. I finally did make it to the store.
"Excuse me sir, you can't bring that bag into the store." The woman was standing directly in front of me, blocking my way to the restroom.
"But I need to change my clothes," I protested. "I'm filthy." Motioning to my dirty clothes I said, "My dad won't let me in the car like this." There! Was I getting better at this lying thing or what?
"You can take the clothes out of the bag and go change, but you'll have to leave the backpack at the service desk."
"Okay," I said, thinking this had to be some kind of violation of my constitutional rights. I wasn't sure which one though. I'd never really paid that much attention in school. I took out my pants and a shirt and then set the bag on the counter.
"What's your name?" she asked, pen poised over the paper.
"Kyle," I answered without thinking.
"Last name?"
"Jenkins." Aw, that sounded lame. I needed to come up with a better fake name. One that sounded real.
"Okay," the lady was saying. "I'll tape this to your bag and it'll be under the counter. When you're ready for it, just ask whoever is working the service counter."
"All right," I said. I guess she was friendly and polite about it, but it was still a dumb rule. I bet if an adult walked in, they wouldn't have to leave their bag at the counter. What about all the old ladies carrying those huge purses? Why is that okay? Sometimes it seems like the whole world is against kids, teenagers anyway. It's like we are playing with a stacked deck. There's no way to win until we reach that magical age of eighteen, or maybe twenty-one. The day before his birthday a guy isn't trustworthy, the next day he is. What difference can a day make anyway? Age has nothing to do with it, they just don't like kids.
I spent half an hour cleaning up, washing my hair and changing clothes. Noticing an empty plastic bag in the garbage, I pulled it out and stuffed my dirty clothes down in it before going to do my shopping. The bag might help keep the rest of my clothes from getting dirty.
I didn't need to buy much really. A watch, a comb and a box of envelopes made up my list. I did grab some paper too, and a couple of pens. I was on my way to the check stand when I thought of how I'd spent the whole previous day, with no water. A canteen would sure come in handy.
Heading back to the bicycle department, I picked up a water bottle. Retracing my steps to the front of the store, a display of jerky caught my eye and I took three packs, adding them to my cart. I had a long train ride to California ahead of me. If the cowboys of the old west could live on jerky, then so could I.
The total for my purchases came to more than I'd expected - over twenty dollars. With the cost of my breakfast that was more than thirty bucks spent in just one day, and it was only nine o'clock in the morning! However, since I shouldn't need to buy anything else for a while, the rest of my money ought to be safe.
The same lady was still at the counter when I claimed my backpack. As I walked out of the store, I tore off the nametag. I didn't need anyone looking at my bag and seeing my name, even just the first name. For all I knew, I could have been on the news by now. Besides, I was trying to look older, not like a little kid in kindergarten with his name printed on all of his things.
A passenger bus rolled by on the street and for a split second I considered just buying a ticket to L. A. I'd certainly get there faster, and with less hassle, in better style too, not to mention comfort.
Almost immediately, I decided against it. For two reasons. First, there was the money issue; being a hobo and catching a ride from the train was a lot cheaper. More importantly however, was keeping my identity a secret. I had no ID, and even if I did, I sure wouldn't be showing it to anyone.
Back at the cafe, the waitress was kind enough to fill my water bottle with ice water. I showed her the envelopes and stationery I'd bought.
"See, I'm keeping my promise," I told her proudly.
Handing me the water bottle she asked, "Do you have a stamp?"
I just stood there with a dumb look on my face. "No," I finally admitted. I'd completely forgotten about that. At home, anytime I needed to mail anything, I just got a stamp from my dad's desk.
"Let me get one for you," she said and disappeared through the batwing doors. In less than a minute, she was back. "Here are two. Write her again in a month. And when you find some place to settle down, write her often."
"Okay," I said meekly.
"What's your name?"
"Kyle," I answered honestly, and this time I knew what I was doing.
She nodded. "Nice to meet you, Kyle."
"What's yours?" I asked.
"Sheryl." She pointed to her nametag.
I blinked and looked closer. "That's my Mom's name," I told her. "But she spells it with a 'C,' that's kind of strange."
She smiled warmly. "You'll find life's like that. No matter how far you run, you'll never get away."
This time I was much better prepared for my trip. I had water; that by itself would have been a big improvement. I also had the jerky and a watch. Oh yeah, and a letter to write. Writing the letter should keep me busy for quite a while.
Reaching the train yard again, I climbed up into a boxcar and waited, not knowing how long it would be before the train left town. Remembering how filthy I'd been earlier, I looked around and found a clean place to sit. Well, as clean as a boxcar can be.
An hour later, the train lurched forward and I was on my way. Chewing on a piece of jerky, I started my letter. I only made it to the greeting, and stopped. What should I say? Should I tell her why I left? Should I say I'm sorry for leaving? I knew I couldn't mention where I was or where I was going. Should I make up a story? The questions were endless. A formal letter, or keep it personal? Do I make it long and detailed or short and sweet?
I ended up shoving the paper back in the plastic and putting it away in my backpack. It was just too much hassle. I'd write the letter later; after I'd had time to think about it. That's one thing I would have plenty of, time. I wouldn't be able to mail it anyway, not until I reached the next town, so there was no rush.
The hour was past noon now, and the air was heating up again. A full stomach and the heat, combined with the rhythmic motion of the train riding down the rails, were making me sleepy again. I figured I might as well take a nap. At the moment, there wasn't much else I could do.
I still wasn't sure where I wanted to go. California for sure, but I hadn't decided on the city yet. "Maybe I'll just ride the train to wherever it takes me," I mumbled as I drifted off to sleep.
Some time later, the train coming to a rapid and screeching halt jarred me awake. It was still daylight, but I didn't see anything except mountains outside. The air was saturated with the strong smell of pine and I noticed a small grove of evergreens lining the track.
"I wonder why we stopped?" My voice echoed in the empty boxcar. There could only be one reason and I decided we must be waiting on another train to clear the tracks. Why else would a cargo train stop in the middle of nowhere?
I felt another lurch and the train once more began rolling, but backward. They're switching cars! I knew I had to get off the train, unless I wanted to be stranded. That was dumb, I thought. There were at least twenty cars behind the rusty rattletrap I'd selected as my private carriage. If they dropped a few off the end, it wouldn't affect me. Now that I was off the train though, I decided to wait until it started rolling again to get back on. The boxcar was extremely hot! Then too, if they happened to do a security check I wouldn't be a sitting duck. I couldn't take a chance on being discovered. The railroad wouldn't be nearly as understanding as Sheryl back at the restaurant.
I must have twisted my ankle a little when I landed, because for some reason it was suddenly awful sore. I could still walk though, so I didn't think it was broken. I hobbled over behind some trees. I had to stay hidden. At any moment, the engines would pass by and I didn't want to be spotted.
On second thought, maybe the bus would've been a better choice. No, I reminded myself, they wouldn't have even sold me a ticket. Although I was on my own, I was still a minor.
I found a big rock so I could sit down, and waited. About five or maybe ten minutes passed before I heard the low rumble of the engines and felt the ground vibrate as the train rolled forward again.
Seeing no one around, I made a run for it, the ankle didn't seem to bother me anymore. I was intending to get back on the train and resume my trip. Strangely though, the car in which I'd been riding wasn't moving. Neither were the next two. Instinctively, I ran in the direction of the departing train, trying vainly to catch the last car. As it picked up speed, I realized I'd never make it. If I did catch up, it would be going too fast for me to make the leap from the ground. The realization brought a sinking feeling.
Out of breath, I slowed to a stop, watching helplessly as my only means of transportation slowly disappeared into the sun, leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere. Now what?
Peering, despondently in the opposite direction, I wondered what lay behind the small hill the abandoned boxcars wrapped around. Might as well find out, I thought. There weren't many other options. Maybe I'd get lucky and find a pickup or something. One with the keys in it would be nice. "Keep dreaming," I muttered, as I remembered I didn't even know how to drive.
Following the row of train cars, I was careful to keep out of sight. Rounding the bend, I saw that I shouldn't have worried. Two small buildings sat on my side of the tracks, but I could see no vehicles, and the place looked deserted.
With my view blocked by the train cars, it never occurred to me to see what lay beyond the other side of the tracks. I wandered over to the closest building. It looked like an office from what I could make out through the lone window. Through the flimsy curtain, I could see the outline of two desks and what seemed to be an old computer. The far wall was lined with filing cabinets.
I was startled by the distant sound of an engine roaring to life. A car's engine. And it was coming from across the tracks! Diving headlong into the weeds, I subconsciously held my breath. The sound of the motor faded as I lay on the ground and soon the low-pitched whine was replaced by an eerie silence.
I crawled forward to the tracks and eased myself up onto the nearest boxcar. Peeking around the edge of the car, I saw why so many train cars had been left here. A large field was lined with row after row of rocks, stacked and banded on pallets, ready to be shipped. Large slabs of shale, the kind of rock used to decorate gardens and line walks. Apparently, I'd been exiled on a rock farm.
Looking to the distant hills, I could see the vehicle that had scared me half out of my wits, winding it's way up the mountainside, climbing the switchbacks on the dirt road. Waiting on the end of the boxcar a few minutes longer, I jumped down on the other side. The main rail line was ten feet away and as I stepped over it, I saw only one other vehicle. An old and banged up, blue dump truck with Wyoming plates was parked near the pile of uncut rock. A forklift sat beside it, but as far as I could tell, no one else was around.
Well, I'd made it to Wyoming, I thought. I couldn't be too far from a town, but on foot even a few short miles was too far. It might as well be a hundred. I'd learned my lesson, no more walking long distances in the hot sun. I felt weak just thinking about it.
Recalling my unpleasant adventure of the day before made me thirsty and I reached for my bottle of water. Taking a drink of what by now was lukewarm water, a sudden panic struck. I realized I wasn't much better off than yesterday! A quick check of the water bottle showed it was less than half full, and I could see no stream or pond where I'd be able to refill it.
Taking another small swallow, I replaced the cap, making sure it was tight! I couldn't afford to lose a single drop, warm or not! The situation was made worse by the knowledge that I had just one pack of jerky left, and though I knew it was only a trick of my mind, I was suddenly very hungry. This time however, the plight I faced wasn't my fault. Not entirely anyway. If things had gone according to my plans, I'd be on the train, miles from this Godforsaken place. How was I supposed to know the stupid train was going to stop out here in the deserted mountainous plains?
Figuring to wait until late afternoon or evening before setting out on yet another long trek, I decided to finish checking out the two buildings as I'd started to do earlier. Maybe one of them would be unlocked and I could find something useful inside. I might get lucky and discover some food and water.
I tried the door of the office, which I'd peeked into earlier, and it was locked. It didn't look like it would take much effort to kick in the flimsy wooden door, but I couldn't do that. It just wouldn't be right. I should at least check the other building before I even considered such a thing.
Walking all the way around the smaller building, I saw no windows and only one undersized door. Checking the lock, I was thrilled to find it was open. Pushing my way inside, I was rather disappointed; the building was nearly empty. A big engine of some kind sat right in the middle of the five by five shed.
That had me a little perplexed. Why would anyone build a shed for an engine? What was it used for? I felt kind of stupid then as it hit me that it was a generator. Most likely, it provided power for the office in the other building.
Just then, I felt the ground start to shake. The first thing I thought was that I was right in the middle of an earthquake. As the vibrations grew stronger, I could hear the low rumbling and I knew it was a train.
My heart pounded and my mind raced. This could be my ticket out of here! Running from the shack, I climbed up between two of the boxcars on the siding track. Grinning from ear to ear, I waited as the engine came into view. I was eager to get on the train, but I held back, not wanting the engineer to see me.