Wanderlust

“I do, Mama. Because you’ve told me every day that I can remember. Well, do you think nothing bad ever happens here? That I’m safe just because I’m trapped here? What about Allen?”

Her head jerked back as if I’d slapped her, and in a way, I had. We never talked about that, not even to the counselor.

Mama had dated a few men when I was very young, when she still left the house. The last man she dated was Allen. He had been so very understanding of her desire to spend nights at home instead of going out for dates, even if it meant her young daughter was in the way. My mother would take her pills and go to sleep and he would slip into my room.

One night, she caught him in the act. She’d kicked him out of the house the next day, and that fall, I’d stayed home to be homeschooled instead of going to ninth grade.

She had stopped dating altogether. She stopped going outside too. The world was too scary. Well, I was a little scared too, but I was even more terrified of rotting here. At least her isolation had led to me getting my driver’s license and the rust bucket I used to get groceries each week. It was a pumpkin turned into a carriage, ready to take me away from here.

I softened my voice. “I’m not mad at you for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

Her nostrils flared. “You ungrateful bitch. I picked you over him. Is this how you pay me back? By leaving?”

I steeled myself. “I’m going now. I’ll call in a few days to let you know I’m settled.”

A plate landed at my feet like a Frisbee, clattering harmlessly to the floor, shatter-resistant. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked to the door. A bowl of oranges spilled around my ankles. A mug thudded against my leg.

She screamed at me, and I kept walking. I wanted to be smug. I was finally getting what I wanted. I had done it. It was a victory. But I couldn’t shake the feeling I had left something important behind.

Not all those who wander are lost. I knew that, I believed it, but just now, with my mother sobbing obscenities while I drove away in my ten-year-old Honda, I felt very alone and a little bit lost.

CHAPTER TWO

The Niagara Falls mark the border of Ontario, Canada and New York, USA.

By late afternoon, I knew I’d taken a wrong turn. I’d only driven two hundred miles away from home. The three-lane highway had narrowed to one lane on either side, flanked by deep ditches and wide fields.

I’d only run occasional weekly errands in my car, and now I was driving across Texas—which felt as broad and wide as the world. The signs changed as soon as I left our small city. Different colors, different markings than the maps, and I soon found myself turned around and twisted.

I considered going back but I’d been driving this way for two hours. By the time I got back to the main freeway, it would be dark. I might miss it again and make everything worse. Besides, I was tired, hungry, and I really had to use the bathroom.

An exit sign had little pictographs for food, gas, and lodging. I pulled onto a smaller road, also devoid of cars or buildings. The pavement was smooth enough. The little reflective lights in the middle were comforting, like maybe I couldn’t be too far from civilization if they’d bothered with safety features.

Eventually I saw a complex up ahead, several buildings clumped together with a row of semi-trucks parked by the gas pumps. It looked like an all-in-one business, with hot food specials listed next to the gas prices and a vacancy sign for rooms to let.

Inside the tiny gas station building, a large balding man sat behind the counter while a tiny fan blew directly at his face. He looked me up and down in a way that made my skin crawl.

“How much?”

“I’m sorry?” I stammered.

Somehow, my mind had made a leap to something inappropriate, as if he were asking how much I would charge to have sex with him.

Crazy thought.

“How much gas?” He nodded toward my car at the pump.

I exhaled, feeling silly. Why had I even thought such a dirty thing? I felt bad for doubting him. That was the anxiety talking, secondhand anxiety leftover from all the lectures my mother had ever given me. Brushing off the embarrassing dust of fear, I paid for my gas and rented a room for the night.

Forty dollars made a sizable dent in my small pocket of cash, but the musty bed and aging particle board furniture would be more comfortable than the back seat of my car. Even better, the door had a thick, shiny lock that looked like it had been replaced recently, as well as a latch that only opened from the inside. After examining all the entry points, I berated myself for paranoia again.

My stomach growled. The soda I had bought wouldn’t tide me over all night. Maybe I’d pick up some chips to go with it. My jeans and a T-shirt seemed stale and a little constricting after the long car ride.

I put on a loose-fitting sundress that fell below my knees. It was white and airy, darke

ning to baby blue at the hem. I had bought it on impulse from the Walmart about a month ago but never worn it before today. My mother would have said it invited men to sin with me. I thought it was pretty and normal, and hopefully it would help me fake my way to confidence. Slipping twenty bucks into my coin purse along with the room key, I set out.

My car cooled in the night air right outside my door, but there was no point driving such a short distance. The buildings of the gas station, the diner, and the motel rooms were nestled together amid a wide expanse of concrete in an even larger plain of empty farmland. The other motel rooms I passed seemed vacant, their windows dark and parking spaces empty.