Page 14

Past

I took the hiking trail that runs adjacent from our land into town.

I stayed in the shadows. I couldn’t think of anywhere to go that would be safe, so I settled myself under the bridge where I jumped from, just the other day.

I finally let my eyes close as the darkness under the bridge shrouds me.

The river is low compared to the other day and the sound echoes off of the arches.

I’m exhausted and chilly, but I clutch the backpack to my chest, gun still clutched in hand.

My eyes slip shut for a moment.

“What’re you doing here?”

I startle and withdraw deeper under the bridge. “Go away,” I say, but there’s little conviction. I hold the pistol out in front of me and aim toward the shadowy figure in front of me.

“Dude! Put that thing down. What the hell is wrong with you?

I recognize the boy from the bridge, Truman, as he steps toward me into the light.

“Sorry.” My voice wavers as my hands begin to shake. I put the gun down next to me and sob.

He leans forward and squints through the darkness at me and then glances all around us. “What’s up? You’re kinda freakin’ me out.”

I look over at him. He’s seated himself a couple feet to my left but looks hesitant. “I…I’m in trouble, I guess.”

“Any particular kind of trouble?” he asks genuinely looking concerned.

I can’t stop my body from shaking. “Men came up to the cabin.”

Truman furrows his brows. “Guys wearing suits and fancy shoes?”

I nod my response.

“I saw them in town yesterday. Looked shady. Did they hurt you? Where’s your dad?” he asks.

I suck in a deep breath and prepare myself to say the words out loud. “He’s dead. They shot him.”

Truman seems shocked. “We should call the police.” He moves to stand but I stop him.

“No!” I say. “I’m never supposed to call the police. It’s a rule.”

He gives me a funny look but doesn’t say more about it. “Truman, remember?” he finally says and scoots over to me so close that our thighs touch. His skin lingers with the heat of the day. The warmth feels good.

I nod. “Yeah, I remember.”

Silence seems to expand between us. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know up from down right now. I sit sniffling while Truman quietly stares at me. Finally, he speaks.

“Well, we can’t stay here.” He inhales a deep breath. “Come on…”

“Kid, my name is Kid.” He slaps his thighs and stands up.

He looks at me, slightly baffled a beat and then, “Come on, Kid, looks like you’re staying at my house tonight. Hope you’re hungry; we’re having Chinese tonight.” He shrugs and walks out from under the bridge and waits.

I decide I’ll take my chances with Truman.

I get to my feet and sling my backpack over my shoulder. Truman’s hands are dug deep into his jeans’ pockets as he strides up the wooded path to the street. I scurry behind him to keep up—exhausted.

They have cast iron radiators that steam angrily as we walk into the house.

“You can stay here tonight. I promise it’s okay with my parents.” I watch him as he makes himself comfortable.

He’s got an aggressively sexual face, I decide. His golden-skin, deep-set smoldering green eyes and full sensual lips somehow make him seem like the perfect crush or the perfect best friend. Neither of which I need at the moment.

“So, Kid, huh? That’s a weird name.”

I furrow my brow. “Is it?”

Truman laughs and nods his head yes. I shrug. A woman walks through the door carrying two white plastic bags.

“I swear the summers here are bipolar. Eighty-nine this morning and down to forty-five already. God damn, oh,” she says when she sees me. She looks at Truman, eyes widening. “You didn’t tell me were having guests.”

Her blonde hair looks soft. It hangs near her breasts as she cocks her head at her son. She looks suspicious and suddenly I’m hit with a pang of grief. I’m not welcome here. I might not be welcome anywhere.

“Is it okay?” he asks.

She stalls for a moment but ultimately nods her head and gives a quick verbal ‘sure’ before heading into the kitchen.

The kids set the table with paper plates, and we pick what we want from the white takeout containers.

Truman has a younger sister named Kenzie who doesn’t look too much younger than us and an even younger brother named Nate.

They all have the same smile, complete with matching dimples.

Their mom, Mrs. Biggins, says grace. They all try to bring me into the conversation as we eat, asking me questions, but I try to stay out of it.

Giving only basic information. The bare minimum.

Survival means keeping to yourself and minding your own.

Kenzie speaks rapidly, gesticulating wildly, making faces to emphasize her points. It’s comical to observe. This family’s dinners are so much different than mine and Papa’s. Loud, talkative, gluttonous.

“No one is going to believe this. The crazy chick is eating at my house! I’m so instagraming this!” She holds up her phone and snaps a picture of me eating. I’m bewildered. I don’t know what she’s talking about, and my confusion must show.

“Quit it, Kenz!” Truman says and swats at her phone. It bangs on the table loud enough that I jump in my seat. He snatches it up and does something to the little white box that makes Kenzie whine.

I stare at their interaction bewildered. I’ve never used a phone. I’ve only read about them in my books.

“It’s a smartphone. You don’t have one?” I shake my head and he pulls his from his pants’ pocket and hands it to me.

I turn it over in my hands. It’s thin and small and doesn’t look like much of anything at all really. I’m not sure what the fuss is about. Is it a weapon? Or a book? Like what makes these things so special?

“Neat,” I say. I set it on the table and pick up my fork.

“We can go over smartphone basics after dinner,” Truman says.

Confused, I shrug. “Sure.”

“Dude, you don’t know what a smartphone is?” Kenzie asks blinking rapidly.

Nate smacks her shoulder. “What?” she says looking around the table.

“Do you like Chinese?” Mrs. Biggins asks.

I point to my plate with my fork and she nods. “Yes. Thank you. It’s very good.”

“You’ve never had it before?” she asks.

“Um, I’ve heard of it, but no, Papa and I make our own meals, and I wouldn’t have known how to cook this up.”

“Where is he now, honey?” she asks.

My fork stops midway to my mouth, hovering with an orange glazed morsel of chicken skewered on the tines.

“He went away for a couple days. Kid got nervous up there all by herself and I saw her wandering around town and thought I’d invite her over,” Truman babbles.

I stare at him. He lies to his family? Papa would never tolerate that. But I appreciate he didn’t rat me out either. She would surely want to call the police.

“Uh huh,” his mother answers. “Well, you can’t stay in those shorts. You’ll freeze tonight, even with the heat on. Kenzie will let you borrow some yoga pants and socks.”

Kenzie rolls her eyes at her mom.

“Thank you,” I answer.

After dinner, Truman tells me that his father works the overnight shift and won’t be home until six am. Everyone treats me like a scared animal, and it makes me feel like one.

I want to go home. I want to sleep in my bed in my house with my familiar belongings and sounds.

Kenzie and Nate are watching television and I find myself entranced at the flat, large screen.

Truman watches me when he thinks I won’t notice. But I do. I want to look at him, too, but I don’t think it’s for the best, so I let myself be in awe of the television instead. So, this is what I’ve been missing .

True to his word, after Kenzie and Nate have been sent to bed, Truman sits with me on the couch and shows me his phone, while his mother searches for some spare blankets and a pillow. With a no more than a fingertip brushed across the glass you can access almost anything.

Books, music, videos, and what Truman calls, the internet .

It kind of blows my mind. A tiny stab of anger pokes my gut, seeing all that Papa kept from me, followed by a surge of guilt.

Papa.

Truman’s eyes narrow as he takes me in. “You look like you’re about to freak out,” he says.

“I feel like I might,” I admit and run my fingers through my snarled hair.

“This day has been kind of…I don’t know.

It was all so normal until after lunch. Papa’s gone.

I’m alone. And now, now, I’m sitting here with you, and watching a television and eating new food and learning what’s so special about these phones everyone seems to use non-stop.

” Embarrassed, I slap a hand over my mouth to shut myself up. I didn’t intend to babble like this.

Truman grabs my hand and pries it away from my face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’d probably be overwhelmed, too if I had to experience all those new things in one day.”

I let him just hold my hand. I focus on our hands clasped together between us, and it’s comforting in the strangest way.