The Other Way Around (9 page)

I roll my eyes. There it is. That's the push. “Mom, I'm not coming home. Not right away.”

Her voice gets instantly cold. “What do you mean, Andrew?” I can hear the headmistress coming out in full force.

“I met some people, some kids, and they offered to give me a ride so I'm going to go with them.” Even
I
realize how bad this sounds. I try to make it a little better. “Don't worry, Mom; they're straight edge,” I tell her, trying out my new terminology. “You know, no drugs, no alcohol, they don't even eat meat.”

“And this is supposed to make me feel better? You're getting a ride home with complete strangers, and I'm supposed be
glad that they're vegetarians?! Where in God's name did you meet these people?”

“In the bus station.”

“In Cleveland? But you just got there.”

“My bus got in early,” I cover quickly. “I was hanging out talking to them. They gave me a sandwich and offered me a ride.”

“Andrew, this is ridiculous. You don't even know these kids. Who are they? Where are their parents?”

“They're around,” I say. “Look, Mom, I know this doesn't make a lot of sense, but it's just what I need to do right now.”

“What makes you think you know anything about what
you need
to do right now?”

I'm silent because we both know I can't answer that. All I know is that something about what I'm doing right now feels right. But I know there's no way Mom is going to get that.

“You know who you sound like, Andrew?”

“Dad,” I say. There's a pause. I'm sure she's surprised. But I'm not going to let her beat me to that punch line. It's just too obvious.

“Is this about Mima?” Her voice is softer now.

“Partly. Yeah, partly it is.”

“This isn't going to bring her back, Andrew.”

“No kidding, Mom, I'm not a moron. Look, you always said I was sensible, right? And you always say I'm mature. Do you really think I'd go running off with a bunch of terrorists or child traffickers?”

“This is ridiculous. I can't believe we're even arguing about this. You need to march yourself over to that ticket counter and get on the next bus home. Immediately.”

I don't answer right away. I know and she knows that I am about to openly defy her. I try to keep my voice calm. “I'm not going to do that right now,” I say simply.

“I could call the police, Andrew.”

“Yeah, you could. But I wish you wouldn't, Mom.”

“When will you come back?” she asks. Her voice sounded small and broken. I have to get off the phone before I lose my nerve.

“I don't know, probably Monday, okay?”

“No, it is most certainly not okay,” her voice bristles. “I insist that you be back in this house by Monday, and I will expect to hear from you every night between now and then.”

“My cell phone doesn't have that much power left, and I didn't bring my charger.”

“There's still such a thing as pay phones, Andrew.”

“Right,” I say. “Well, I'll try to call.”

“Do you even know their names? These people you're running off with. What are their names?”

“Jesse, Lyle, Tim, Emily, and G. I don't know their last names,” I admit. “But I'm fine, Mom, everything is going to be fine.” I try to sound as reassuring as possible.

She sighs loudly into the phone. “I hope you know this is the worst decision you've ever made.”
This is the only decision I can remember making in the last three years.
“This is certainly not how I raised you.”

“Yeah, right, Mom. Look, I gotta go. And I'm going to turn my phone off so the battery lasts longer. So don't freak out when you can't get through.”

“Don't tell me how not to freak out. Not when my teenage son has just decided to run off with some vagrants he met
in a bus station. I understand that you think you've got all the power in this situation. But
do not
tell me how to feel about it.”

“I gotta go, Mom.”

“Andrew,” she says sadly, “Please call.” I nod, but of course she can't see that, and hang up the phone.

The van door slides open behind me. Tim steps out wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, boxer shorts, and a pair of thick wool socks. He stretches his hands over his head and rips another cataclysmic fart. I snicker and walk over to the van, hoping the odor will dissipate before I get too close.

“Don't worry,” he says, “my morning farts never stink.”

“No, but there's enough left over in here from last night to make up for it,” Lyle's voice comes out muffled from inside the van. He and Emily are still curled up together. His arm is wrapped around her middle. I feel a tiny pang and a tug under my ribcage at the sight of his hand resting on her bare stomach.

“Hey, you know it's freakin' cold out there. You could shut the door,” Lyle says.

I reach for the door, but before I can close it, Emily throws Lyle's arm off and sits up in the van. “Don't bother, Drew, we should get up anyway.”

Her eyes are gray in the morning light. Last night, under the bus station's fluorescent lights, they looked blue. She's wearing a tissue-paper-thin white tank top, and I look away so I won't stare at her nipples poking out the fabric.

“I'm hungry,” Emily comments. “Anyone want some oatmeal?”

“Me!” five voices, including my own, call out.

Emily pulls a thick wool sweater out from one of the duffel bags and slides out of the sleeping bag and into a pair of jeans
that are more holes than fabric. She uses a green elastic band from around her wrist to lift her thick dreads off the back of her neck. “Ah, that's better.”

I smile and look away, hoping she hasn't seen me staring.

A camping stove emerges from underneath the passenger seat and she proceeds to assemble it in the parking lot. Slowly Lyle, Jesse, and G emerge from the van in various stages of undress. They pull on layers from what seems to be a communal clothing supply. I jump up and down wearing a thin fleece jacket—the only coat I had bothered to bring with me.

“Here, throw this on.” Jesse chucks a thick wool shirt my way: a button-up with green and black checks. It's the kind of thing a lumberjack wears; a little itchy around the collar, but it's warm. It smells like wood smoke and the spicy smell of the van. Lyle produces a soccer ball, and we all start to kick around while Emily makes the oatmeal. I can't juggle, but I can pass the ball around without embarrassing myself too badly. Lyle can bounce the ball easily from one foot to another, on his knees and off his chest. In daylight I can see that even though he's short, he's pretty well built. Jesse and G seem pretty athletic too. Tim passes the ball along if it comes near him in kind of a disinterested way. His pants sag off his hips, and when he trots to get a missed ball he has to hold them up with one hand to avoid losing them altogether.

As we wait for the water to boil, the morning clouds begin to thin and breaks of blue sky are visible overhead. A few cars begin trickling into the parking lot, and Walmart workers in their bright blue smocks file into the store.

“Come and get it,” Emily yells. She is pouring the steaming oatmeal into an odd assortment of ceramic and plastic bowls. There are only four.

“You can share with me, Drew,” she says. “I always eat out of the pot.”

“It's
Andrew
,” G says a bit forcefully.

Emily ignores her. “Do you mind?” she asks me.

“Not really,” I say truthfully. I look away to avoid catching G's eyes.

Everyone grabs their share and finds a corner of the van to eat in. Emily thrusts the pot handle and two spoons into my hands and grabs a sleeping bag out of the van.

“Come on,” she says. I follow her around to the other side of the van, where she sits down next to the back tire and spreads the sleeping bag over her lap. The sun is shining brightly now, and on this side of the van it's actually warm. I just stand there like an idiot, holding the pot of oatmeal.

Emily looks up shielding her eyes from the sun. “Put the pot down,
Andrew,
and come sit next to me.” She holds the sleeping bag up on one side like an invitation. I put the pot down on the ground and sit down next to her. She pats the sleeping bag over our laps, closes her eyes, and leans back against the bus. “The sun feels good.”

“Uh-huh,” I agree. It's the only response I can manage. Our legs are touching under the sleeping bag. Actually, to be more specific, her knee is touching my thigh. I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face. If this is life on the road, I think I could get used to it.

We sit there like that for several minutes until Emily says, “It's probably cool enough now.”

“What?”

“The oatmeal.” She giggles. “It's probably cool enough to touch the pot.”

“Oh, right,” I say. I grab the pot by the handle and hand her one of the spoons. With my free hand I spoon warm oatmeal into my mouth. I always thought oatmeal had a bad, slimy texture, but this is incredible. It's sweet and warm, and as it slides down my throat it seems like every painful moment of the past twenty-four hours is erased. I smile at Emily. “It's really good.”

“Yeah,” she says in between mouthfuls, “I got a way with the Quaker Oats Man. That, and maple syrup. Maple syrup makes everything taste better. Nature's candy.”

“I thought raisins were nature's candy,” I joke.

“What?”

“Never mind,” I say, embarrassed by my dorkiness. “So how did you meet these guys anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” she says, like this is a perfectly normal way to live. “I was hanging out in Burlington, and Jesse and G and Lyle were busking and doing their act. I can juggle and do the hoops, so I started working with them. When they decided to leave, I went with them.”

“So is that where you're from? Burlington?”

“No, I'm from a little town called Kingfield. It's near Burlington, but it shouldn't even really be called a town. It's like a town hall and a convenience store and a volunteer fire department. It's the kind of place people go to get away from it all.” She holds up her fingers in quotations and rolls her eyes. “I had this boyfriend for a while and he lived in Burlington, so I started staying at his place a lot. Then we broke up, but he still let me crash there. It was all right, but I was ready to move on.”

There's a mechanical way in which she recounts this information that makes me think there's more to the story. “Do your parents know where you are?”

“Bird and Darryl?” Emily snorts. “Kind of.”

“Do they care?” I ask quietly. Suddenly I'm feeling sorry for myself, and I can't really explain why. “Wait, your parents' names are Bird and Darryl?”

“Bird's my mom. I've never met my real dad. I don't even think Bird really knows who he is. Darryl's like her common-law husband. They met on a Phish tour. They had the twins and then they just had another baby. So yeah, they kind of know where I am. I'll send them a postcard when I get around to it. They've got their hands full at home anyway.”

“What about school?” I'm guessing that Emily is close to my age.

“Neither of them is in any position to lecture me about dropping out,” she says. “School's overrated anyway. I
was
going to this pretty amazing place called Milestone. It's like this alternative school where you pick what you want to learn about and the teachers—well, they don't call them teachers, they're called facilitators—so the facilitators help you figure out how to access that knowledge. And that was all right. But then after Baby Lucille was born my mom had to quit her job. The healthcare system in this country is completely messed up. You know there are some places like in Europe where women get a year off from their job so they can raise their kids?”

I nod like this is something I might be even remotely aware of. Emily goes on, “They couldn't swing the tuition, so I had to go back to public school. I can't take the institutional bullshit of those places. So here I am. The school of life. Accessing the knowledge of the world.”

We lean back against the van, eating mostly in silence, enjoying the sweet oatmeal and the warm sun. After we scrape
the pot clean, Emily sighs and rests her head on my shoulder. I always thought dreadlocks would be dirty and smelly, but Emily smells great—like really strong peppermint soap. I breathe little shallow breaths so I won't move and end the moment. This could be me. Me and Emily and no institutional bullshit. I think I know what she means by that. Either way, this is definitely the closest a girl has ever been to me in my life, and I'm not going to break the spell for anything.

“Andrew!”

I jerk my head up at the sound of G's voice and shield my eyes so I can see her. Emily doesn't move. G's eyes flick over to Emily and then back to me. She sighs loudly.

“Come on. we're going in.”

“In where?” I ask.

“Hellmart,” G says. “I wish there was some way around it, but you need your own sleeping bag. I shared with Jesse last night and either his feet were sticking out or my head was completely covered. It wasn't fun.”

“Sorry. I didn't know I was using his sleeping bag.”

“It's not a big deal, but we need to get you your own for tonight. If you're staying with us, that is,” she says.

“Yeah, okay.” Reluctantly I slide out from under Emily's sleeping bag and walk away with G.

“You guys check out the back while we're in there, okay?” G calls to Lyle, Tim, and Jesse. Before I can ask her what she means, the magical mechanical doors swing open and the smell of stale air and fake buttered popcorn assaults my nose. We both smile politely at the elderly gentleman assigned the task of greeting us.

“I hate this place,” G mutters as we study the blue-and-white signs hanging from the ceiling at the entrance to each aisle.