by Pete Hautman
Gaia and I texted a few times while she was gone, but she had to paddle a canoe halfway across the lake to get a cell signal because the resort was in the middle of nowhere. I guess it must be hard to text from a canoe, because she didn’t have much to say. Her brother caught a bunch of walleyes. It was cold at night. She got bit by a horsefly.
The last text I got was the Friday before Labor Day. She said she’d seen a moose, and her battery was almost dead and she’d forgotten to bring her charger. I texted back for her to call me as soon as she got home. I don’t know if the text went through.
I didn’t hear from her on Labor Day. I walked over to her house after dinner, but they weren’t home yet. That night I called her at least a dozen times. Nothing.
In the morning I talked my mom into letting me use her car to drive to school the first day.
“It’s my birthday,” I reminded her. It took a lot of whining, but she finally agreed.
• • •
I had a plan. Gaia and I would skip school and spend the whole day together, just the two of us. I got there early and waited outside where the buses unload. When Gaia’s bus arrived, she didn’t get off.
She must have missed it, I thought. Or maybe she had caught a ride from someone. I tried calling her. I sent her a text. No answer either way. I decided I might as well go to class—there was no point in skipping if I couldn’t do it with Gaia. Maybe she was already in school.
All through first period I kept sneaking looks at my phone. No reply.
Between classes I asked a bunch of people who knew her. No one had seen her.
I was getting worried. What if she was sick? What if she’d had a car accident?
I went into second period—calculus—in a sort of daze. I had signed up for it because I’d thought Gaia would be impressed.
Jason Herter was sitting across from me. Jason was one of Saint Andrew Valley’s resident geniuses, and also a total asshole.
“Gabel?” he said. “What’re you doing in calc? Didn’t you practically flunk trig?”
“Yeah, but I made up for it at Screw U,” I said, which made no sense at all, but Jason was a total priss-butt, and I knew it would shut him up. He was right, though. I had no head for math. I basically spent the whole period tuning out Mr. Nestor and peeking at my phone.
At least, I did until Nestor’s snappish voice cut through my haze.
“Mr. Gabel!”
I looked up. He was holding out his hand.
“Your phone, please!”
He waggled his fingers. I imagined three months of listening to him drone on about calculus, then stood up and put the phone in my pocket.
“Mr. Gabel!”
I walked out of the room. I half expected him to come chasing after me, but he didn’t. Why should he care? He was probably relieved I was gone.
• • •
On the way to Gaia’s house I thought up a hundred reasons why she wasn’t texting me back. Lost phone. Stolen phone. Battery dead. Phone confiscated by her dad. Deathly ill. Mad at me for something. Cell tower out. Fingers slammed in door. . . . I cycled from angry to scared to hopeless to worried and back again, and by the time I got there, I was a complete mess.
I rang the doorbell. It took about half a minute for the door to open. It felt like an eternity.
It was Derek, but not the confident, smiling, friendly Derek I was used to. This Derek greeted me with a blank, unwelcoming look.
“Oh,” he said. “Gabel.”
“I’m looking for Gaia,” I said.
He just stared at me, and my stomach started floating like coming up over the top of the highest hill on a roller coaster.
“She wasn’t in school and she’s not getting my texts,” I said.
“Wait here,” he said, and half closed the door. I stood where I was for a minute, then another minute, heading downhill on an infinitely high roller coaster.
The door opened. I almost didn’t recognize her. She was wearing a light blue cotton sweater. She did have her new black jeans on, but instead of her usual black boots, she wore blue leather sneakers.
“Gaia?” I said.
She looked straight at me. She was wearing no makeup at all, and she didn’t smile.
I moved toward her. Her eyes watched me coming.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She smiled, but it wasn’t quite the smile I’d been hoping for.
“I’m fine,” she said, and took my hand.
“You look different. I mean, you look great. I like it.”
She squeezed my hand, then let go.
“New year, new look.” She stepped outside and sat down on the steps. I sat next to her, not quite touching because I was afraid if I did, she’d move away.
“You weren’t in school,” I said.
She nodded, staring at a box-elder bug crawling across the sidewalk a few feet in front of us.
“I’ve been texting,” I said. My voice sounded shaky and far away.
“I know.”
“I walked out of calculus.”
I thought she’d ask me to explain, but she just pressed her lips together.
“It’s my birthday,” I said.
Her face seemed to shrink in on itself.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a voice so small, I could barely hear her. “I’m changing schools,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“I’m moving.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. Had she said “moving”?
“Moving where?”
“I’m going to stay with Maeve.”
“But . . . didn’t she move to Wisconsin?”
Gaia nodded, still watching the bug on the sidewalk.
“Gaia?”
She turned her head and looked at me. You know that look a person gets when they are crying but have no tears? I saw it on my mom after Dad died, like her heart, brain, and face had completely disconnected.
That was what I saw on Gaia.
She said, in the flattest, driest voice imaginable, “I have to go.”
She stood up and went back inside and closed the door softly. The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot.
“In the Cold, Cold Night”
The White Stripes
2:58
I get to the Greyhound station after dark. It’s not a regular bus station. The sign on the building says MIDWAY TRAVEL PLAZA. There are no buses, just some cars out front, and a couple dozen semis parked in back. It’s more like a truck stop. The travel plaza has a restaurant, with a bar and a tattoo parlor called Under the Gun on the second floor. There’s a cowboy boot store behind the building, and a Budget Inn across the parking lot.
I think I must be in the wrong place, but after walking around a bit, I spot a blue-and-silver Greyhound sign hanging on the wall next to the restaurant. A waitress in the restaurant assures me that I’m in the right place, and tells me I can buy a ticket in the convenience store.
I buy a ticket for the morning bus, then wonder what I’m going to do for the next twelve hours. There isn’t anything resembling a waiting area. The restaurant is open twenty-four hours, but I don’t think they’d want me sleeping there. I cross the parking lot to the hotel and go inside. It’s even cheaper-looking than the last hotel, and I’m a little relieved when the guy at the counter tells me they’re booked.
Back outside, I walk over to the cowboy boot store just for something to do. Not that I’m in the market for boots. Anyway, it’s closed.
Back at the travel center, the bar upstairs is blasting country western music. Three guys and two girls are standing under a light outside the restaurant, smoking. I check my iPod for the time. Ten thirty. The bus is at nine forty-five in the morning. Eleven hours and fifteen minutes to go.
In the store where I bought the bus ticket, I kill half an hour looking at T-shirts, trucker caps, and key chains. I buy a bag of smoked almonds and go back outside. The music from upstairs is louder, and the lights are on in the tattoo parlor. I
think about getting a tat. On my forehead. Life Sucks and Then You Die. I think about what it would cost, and how much it would hurt. Maybe not.
I walk around to the back and sit on the asphalt with my back to the wall and eat my almonds slowly, one at a time, chewing each one to paste before swallowing it. I look at my iPod. It’s a few minutes after eleven.
At eleven thirty I go into the restaurant. The woman at the cash register gives me a blank look and waves her hand at all the empty tables.
“Wherever you like, honey. It ain’t like we’re busy.” She looks like she might be about forty, or maybe older.
The only other customer is a skinny old long-haired guy at the counter hunched over his plate. He has his left arm wrapped around the plate like he’s afraid somebody’s going to steal it. His other arm is shoveling biscuits and gravy into the hole between his beard and his mustache. I don’t think he has any teeth, but it’s hard to tell.
I sit at one of the booths along the opposite wall. Above the booth is a display of old hubcaps. I look over the menu. Biscuits and gravy is three ninety-nine, but I don’t want that. The woman—I guess she’s the waitress—is sitting on her stool scrolling through her phone. I’m in no hurry—I plan to sit in this booth for as long as they’ll let me—but it seems kind of rude that she’s ignoring me.
Several minutes pass. I read the menu, looking for something that will take me a long time to eat. Finally she puts her phone away, hikes her butt off the stool, and walks over to me. The way she walks, I’m guessing she’s older than I thought.
“What can I get for you, honey?” She sounds tired.
I haven’t decided. I ask her if I can have a Coke while I peruse the menu. I actually said “peruse.” I didn’t even know I knew that word.
“Pepsi okay, hon?”
I say that’s fine. I peruse the menu some more and decide on a cheeseburger and fries for seven ninety-nine. While I’m waiting, another customer comes in, a younger guy, maybe thirty. His black hair is sticking out from under a Jayhawks ball cap, and the sleeves of his blue sweatshirt are pushed up. His forearms are covered with tattoos. He hasn’t shaved for a few days. I touch my face. I haven’t shaved since I left Minnesota, but on me it doesn’t matter so much.
The waitress is coming toward me with my Pepsi. He catches her eye, and his face transforms into a world-class smile that makes Allie’s smile look like nothing. His whole face goes into it. The waitress can’t help but smile back.
“How you doing tonight?” he asks her. I get the feeling he isn’t just making a polite noise; he really wants to know.
“I’m getting by, doll.” She stands up a little straighter and touches her hair. “How are you?”
“Fantastic!” he says. “I’m a little hungry, though. You think you could help me out with that? Maybe a cup of coffee to start?”
“Sure thing. You just sit yourself down however you like, and I’ll be with you in a jiff.”
He watches her set my Pepsi in front of me. He looks right at me, smiles, and nods. It’s impossible not to smile and nod back. He looks over the room and checks out the long-haired guy at the counter.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he says.
The guy at the counter gives the newcomer a suspicious look and shrugs.
“How them biscuits?” the new guy asks.
“I had worse,” the guy at the counter says.
The new guy laughs, and gets a gaping smile out of the counter guy. Turns out he has teeth after all. Two of them.
The new guy looks over the tables and chooses one in the middle. The waitress pours his coffee as he is sitting down. She starts pouring with the pot close to the cup, and as she pours, she raises the pot up about two feet, then brings it back down.
“I like the way you pour!” the guy says.
“Never spill a drop,” she says proudly.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?”
The waitress giggles, which is a strange thing to hear from an older woman.
“I’m Jill,” she says.
The guy grins. “Perfect!” he exclaims. “My name’s Jack! Jack and Jill!”
Jack and Jill laugh as if their names are the most wonderful things in the world. To my surprise, I’m smiling too.
Jack orders breakfast, even though it’s almost midnight. He doesn’t even look at the menu. “Two eggs over easy, bacon, sausage, a couple of them biscuits. . . . You have grapefruit juice?”
“We sure do!” She is delighted to be taking his order.
“Fantastic! And a short stack of pancakes.”
She takes his order back to the kitchen. He sips his coffee, then looks over at me.
“Excellent coffee!”
I don’t know how to respond, so I just smile back at him and nod.
“I love these old-school truck stops! And this one even has a bar upstairs.”
“Are you a trucker?” I ask.
He grins. I think he must be the happiest guy I’ve ever met.
“Lost my license,” he says happily. “But I get around.”
The waitress, Jill, returns with his grapefruit juice.
“Perfect!” he says. “Thank you!”
The waitress beams. I wait for her to look at me so I can order, but it’s like I’m invisible. She goes back to the kitchen to oversee the rest of Jack’s excellent fantastic perfect breakfast.
I think I should hate this guy, but I don’t.
“Do you live around here?” I ask.
“Yes! Well, Kansas City. I was just down in Jeff City visiting my brother Trent. He’s in prison, but he’ll be out in five years. That’s not so bad, right?”
“I guess it’s better than ten years.”
“Truth!” His face goes slack, and it’s like the lights dimmed. It lasts only for a second. He sips his excellent coffee, and his smile returns. “Heading home tomorrow to see my girl. Prettiest girl in the state!”
“On the morning Greyhound?”
“Yes!”
“Me too.”
“Fantastic!”
Jill appears with two plates and sets them before him. He tells her how fantastic everything looks.
“How late is that bar open?” he asks.
“One, but they usually keep serving until two.”
“Plenty of time!” he says with a grin.
“You enjoy your breakfast, doll.” Jill pats Jack on his shoulder, then notices me staring at her and comes up to my booth. “What can I get you, honey?” I’m pretty sure “doll” ranks higher than “honey.”
I order the cheeseburger and fries. While I wait, I watch Jack eat. He enjoys every bite, with lots of lip-smacking and mmmm. By the time my food arrives, Jack has finished his late-night breakfast. He radiates contentment, as if he’s just eaten a ten-course meal in the finest restaurant on the planet.
My cheeseburger has no cheese, and the french fries are limp.
“That looks fantastic!” Jack says. I think for a moment that he is being sarcastic, but he’s not. “Nothing like a truck stop burger!”
I take a bite. It’s pretty good.
• • •
It’s a long night. Jill lets me hang out in the restaurant for a couple hours. Jack put her in a good mood, and even after he leaves, she seems happy. Other customers come and go: a couple of weary-looking truckers, a drunk guy from the bar upstairs, and two women dressed in skin-tight jeans, halter tops, and thick layers of makeup. I fall asleep in the booth for a while. I can’t help it. I didn’t sleep so good last night, with rain seeping into my tent and me thinking about my car being gone.
It’s one o’clock when Jill shakes my shoulder. I was dreaming about Gaia. In my dream she wanted to show me a two-headed cow, and we went inside this barn that had glass doors like an office building, and my dad was standing there, but he didn’t recognize me.
“Honey, I’m going off shift in a minute,” Jill says in a low voice. “Daryl over there is taking over.” She points with her chin. Daryl, a slouchy, sour-
faced fellow, is sorting through the cash register. There are no other customers. “You’re going to have to order more food if you want to keep holding down this booth,” the waitress says.
I’m still half in my dream, but I think I understand what she’s saying.
“Uh . . . okay. A cup of coffee?”
“How about a piece of pie with that?”
“Sure.”
I take about an hour to eat the pie. Daryl keeps giving me the stink eye, and he won’t refill my coffee after the third time, so I pay my bill and go back outside.
It’s gotten colder. I zip up Bran’s hoodie and pull the hood over my head. The bar upstairs is closing, and the last few customers walk unsteadily down the stairs and head back to their trucks or the hotel. Jack comes down last, wearing a loose, crooked smile. He stumbles past without noticing me and weaves across the parking lot to the hotel.
I stand there listening to the hum of traffic from the freeway and wondering how I’m going to pass the rest of the night. After a while I walk over to the hotel, hoping they’ll let me sit in the lobby for a while. The door dings when I enter. No one is behind the desk. I sit down in the tiny lobby on a cracked vinyl couch between a fake palm tree and a rack of brochures, and look for a Wi-Fi signal on my iPod. There’s a signal, but I need a password.
A minute later a sleepy irritated-looking fellow comes out from the back room and asks me if I’m a guest.
I think of that guy Jack, and I force my face to smile. “I tried to be,” I say. “I was here before, remember?” He clearly doesn’t. I’m not even sure he’s the same guy. “But you didn’t have a room. Is it okay if I just hang out here for a while?”
He examines my smile, thinks for a second, then says, “Lobby’s for guests only.”
“I’m kind of stuck here, waiting for the bus.” I give my smile all I’ve got. “I won’t be any bother.”
He sighs and looks at the clock. Three a.m.
“A couple hours,” he says. “But I want you gone when our guests start checking out.”
“Fantastic!” I say.
Five minutes later I’m slumped on the vinyl sofa sleeping like the dead.
