Rats Saw God (29 page)

“Yes.”

“Call me from the road if you run into any problems,” the astronaut instructed as he circled the car.

“Okay.”

He stood next to me now. “College should be the time of your life. Make the most of it.”

I got in the car and pulled out of the driveway. In my rearview mirror I saw Sarah returning to the house. The astronaut was still standing in the driveway, following my progress down the street. I glanced down at the sweatshirt. This was one gift I was sure the astronaut had picked out, not just purchased. Neither my sister, nor my mother, would have chosen this one. Underneath a fierce-looking husky, the University of Washington mascot, were the purple-stitched letters that reflected the abbreviation commonly used within the state for the name of the school—U DUB.

“You get away from there, boy!” The voice was angry and authoritative. I figured it must be a cop. “What in the hell are you doing, anyway?” I turned directly into the glare of a flashlight.

“Painting.”

“Don't you kids ever get tired of vandalizing public property?”

I assumed the question was rhetorical. I mean, what would be
the correct answer to that? Ignoring the trooper, I turned back around and faced the Yakima Valley. The huge hills that surrounded the town were barren and treeless, the Cascades preventing all but the most dogged rain clouds from entering eastern Washington. Below me, the lights of the city twinkled. They thinned as neighborhoods turned into orchards and farmhouses. I could see the white water reflection of the Yakima River where highway lights illuminated bridges. A stiff wind kept blowing my bangs down into my eyes; it smelled of apples and dust. The crunching of boots on gravel approached the spot where I was kneeling. I appraised my handiwork. The law had come too late this time. I was finished. The beam of the flashlight moved across the fresh paint I had applied over faded, peeling original lettering.

“Birthplace of Alan York.”

The trooper could read.

“I'll be damned. If this don't puzzle the shit out of me.” He clicked off his flashlight and knelt beside me. “What are you? Some kind of good Samaritan? Next are you gonna go down in the valley and fix some of the traffic lights? My squad car here needs a good waxing.”

I turned and faced him, but I had nothing to say.

“Who is Alan York, anyway?” he asked.

•   •   •

The next day I checked into Lander Hall. A sheet of notebook paper was taped to the door of my dorm room. B
OYD,
N
ORMAN
/Y
ORK,
S
TEVEN
was written in black felt tip. I went inside. Norman wasn't there, but the bottom bunk had been made, the desk nearest the window was claimed, and a Cindy Crawford poster was up next to the mirror by the sink. I set my
computer on the free desk and threw my suitcase into the empty closet. I walked down the hallway to the pay phone I had passed on my way up.

Sarah answered the phone.

“Hey, this is Steve. Is Dad there?”

Sarah didn't answer immediately. “He isn't home from work yet.”

“Just tell him I made it. Tell him I'm safe and sound.”