Hitchhikers (8 page)

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.

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.”

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.

“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.