Run Delia Run

by Cindy Bokma

  I found this rural sprawl, stumbled upon it online, one day at the public library. Libraries offered use of computers and I moved from town to town, never using the same computer twice and always clearing my history. Wearing disguises I sat at the library while Will was at school. I had hats, wigs, glasses, large sweaters and jackets. Clothes I’d never wear in front of Leo. I bought clothes for cash from the Goodwill stores, or Salvation Army then donated them right back. In the back of my closet, underneath the gowns, I hid the second hand clothes. It was a concern that Leo would watch me; the cameras were up all over the house, so I’d change in the car.

  If anyone noticed me in the library, it wouldn’t really be Delia Kubias they saw, it would be the woman in the frayed sweater and the corduroy pants with the black hair. I signed in using different names, I was Mary or Susan or Jennifer. Never the same name twice.

  One of the domestic violence counselors told me if I was going to run away, I’d need a detailed plan. “No room for error,” she said gravely. “You have one chance to do it, so you have to do it right.”

  It took me a long time to work it out and prepare. Now, here we were, putting the plan into action.

  After our last uncomfortable, stomachache-inducing bus ride, Will turned to me and asked, “Can we stay in one place?” The exhausted look in his eyes clouded me with guilt. I had been dragging the poor kid around and it was wearing him down. So, when the bus stopped with a lazy moan, we did, too.

  Luckily, at this stop was a motel, another small, one story building with dusty windows and a dirt yard, tall palm trees on either side of the gravel parking lot, and a view of mountains in the distance. Four beat-up, rusted out American made cars sat in the hot sun, parked in front of the gray doors with the peeling paint.

  I checked in, sliding cash across the counter to an old man wearing a navy blue bandana around his head, his skin the color of my morning café de olla. He didn’t speak English, I only spoke few words of Spanish, but I got my point across and he offered us the key to a room with a double bed and a warped mirror. Suspicious looking mold grew on the ceiling of the bathroom, but I didn’t care. Will was happy to have a home, however temporary. The motel offered air conditioning, a restaurant, a bar, telephones, and housekeeping. I was glad to have a bed and clean sheets; I didn’t need more than that right now.

  We passed the time playing cards, doing crossword puzzles, and taking walks to the nearby convenience store where we bought old-fashioned glass bottles of Coke and small containers of Pringles. Leo never let us eat junk food, so it was a treat. Will happily munched along on the walk back to the motel.

  I bought him Carlos V chocolate bars and Duvalin Candy creams, Mexican candies we discovered recently. He asked about his father in passing and I gently reminded him this was a mom and son trip. At night, when the sun went down and the sky was black with a billion twinkling stars, I waited for his cries to ring out, the night terrors to return. But the screams never came. I noticed he was not sucking his thumb either. Every other hour it seemed like I second guessed my decision to leave Leo, but seeing Will sleep through the night peacefully confirmed I did the right thing.

  A few times a week we walked to the mercado. Smaller than other ones we had been to in some of the other towns, we enjoyed strolling through and browsing the handmade pottery, woven blankets, and silver jewelry. Occasionally, I let Will choose a small, cheap toy. My suitcase was going to bust at the seams if I continued to buy him trinkets. His favorite was a carved wooden fish painted in bright blues and pinks. I purchased a couple of gauzy white tops with embroidery around the neck and loose skirts, happy not to be wearing the jeans and tee shirt I’d been living in. It was invigorating to have shorter hair and naked hands, no ridiculously large diamond wedding ring on my finger. Delia Kubias, wife of Leo, was no longer alive. To me, that person was dead.

  Every morning while we stayed at the little motel, we walked to the Panaderia. Will and I were partial to the pan dulce, which did nothing to help the hips that Leo so often complained about.

  “Can’t you do something about this?” he asked one day when I was getting dressed. “It’s not healthy.” He reached behind me and grabbed a handful of flesh. “You need liposuction. I know of a plastic surgeon that comes highly recommended. We could whittle away that chin fat, too. Not that you aren’t gorgeous. But improvements can be made.”

  I frowned and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Chin fat? Angling the mirror so I could see my profile, I touched my chin, my jaw. It looked normal to me.

  Opening my mouth to defend myself, I quickly shut it. What good would that do? Leo wanted me to look a certain way and I suspected I’d never be pretty enough or thin enough to make him happy.

  He shook his head and continued getting dressed, slipping on his Gucci loafers and putting his silk tie around his neck. His commanding presence and critical eyes made me feel inferior. After he left the dressing area, I checked myself out in the full length mirror wishing I had been born with smaller bones.

  In Mexico, I didn’t think about my weight or my looks. I enjoyed the food, the cheeses and beans, the corn tortillas warm off the griddle and spiced meats. Will refused to try the Nopalitos that the waitress in the open air restaurant offered us.

  She was amused when I choked on the powerful vinegar taste, I hadn’t been expecting it. “You no like?” she asked, grinning, her white teeth fanning over her lower lip like a skirt. I gulped my water and shook my head while Will laughed at my red face and watery eyes.

  Although we loved Mexico and even liked staying at the motel with the dim light bulbs and green shag carpet, it was time to go back to the United States. I was out of my element. I missed the USA and the comforts of home. Plus, I needed to stick to my plan. I didn’t have the luxury of doing things on a whim, like staying in one place longer than necessary. I learned from the domestic abuse counselor that I needed a plan and I had to stick to it. Thinking back to that day, I remembered her clearly, her serious face and wise eyes. I remember the brochures she pushed across the desk to me.

  “You know, statistically, the punisher will often harm the child as a way to hurt the victim,” she had said, motioning to baby Will who was snug in my arms. I took him with me as much as I could, only asking our neighbor to watch him occasionally.

  It was one of the things that stuck out and when I got home, disguise removed, I couldn’t stop my brain from cycling through worst case scenarios involving anything and everything that could happen to Will.

  We passed through border patrol without incident, but the moment I stepped in Texas, I began to shake as fearful images built in my mind. Leo’s voice echoed between my ears.

  “Don’t ever try to leave me. I’ll track you down and you’ll never see Will again.”

  I looked over my shoulder, adjusting the woven hat I picked up while in Chihuahua. Just thinking about the man created a knot of fear in my stomach. I looked over at Will who carried his backpack and munched on a candy. His skin grew tanner during the past month. His hair was longer. We were not totally unrecognizable and that worried me. It was impossible to steady my erratic pulse as we weaved in and out of tourists with their suitcases and bags, their sombreros bought as tokens of their time in Mexico. Outside the immigration building, I flagged down a cab and we packed the suitcases in the trunk. I asked the driver to take us to the city of Zapata.

  I did my research and found that Laredo International Airport was close. If I had an easy escape, then I would feel more secure. Being in a place where people were coming in and out of town would, hopefully, help us blend in.

  Peeling billboards advertising political candidates whooshed by the window as we drove down the highway. We passed large magnolia trees, brick buildings, small shops, and several feed stores. The sky offered patchy fog, the air was warm and thick.

  “Where are we going now? What are we doing?” Will asked, bouncing in his seat as we hit a pothole.

  “You’ll see.” I glanced out the w
indow.

  Were we being followed? I noticed a black car behind us since we got in the cab. Panic gnawed through my system, my face grew red as I put a protective arm around Will. Could it be Leo? But how would he know where we were right now?

  “Mom,” he whined, “you’re hot. You’re making me sweat.” He wiggled from my grasp and stared at the window, fixing his gaze on something in the distance.

  “Sorry, honey,” I murmured, thinking once again of his father, standing over me as I lay on the king size bed, tears wetting my face, dripping onto the designer comforter.

  “Don’t ever question me, got it? What I say goes. Who do you think you are? You’re a stupid, stupid woman to ever ask me that! Nobody questions me!” he glared at me with a clenched jaw, his steely eyes full of fury. The muscles in his face twitched. I braced myself for what came next.

  I attempted to wipe the memory from my mind and gazed down at Will. He was so innocent. I had to protect him at all costs. How could I live with myself if Leo lost his temper and hurt him? I saw glimpses of his rage brewing when Will got on his nerves. I braced myself each time Will made a mistake, looking quickly at my husband to gage his reaction. It was no way to live. I kissed the top of Will’s head.

  The black car was still behind us. Tinted windows disguised the inside of the vehicle.

  It had to be him. I licked my lips and cleared my throat. What if he was paying someone to follow me?

  “Excuse me,” I called to our driver, raising my voice over the music he played. “Can you pull over to a McDonald’s or something? I need to get a drink.”

  “Ah-right,” he answered, chomping on a toothpick. There was a southern twang in his voice.

  He maneuvered the car into the parking lot of a hamburger joint and I told him to keep the meter running while we ran inside.

  “I’m not hungry. Wait, yes. Fries! I want fries . . . can I have some Mom?” Will asked, his eyes pleading. Fast food was not something Leo wanted Will to eat and it was a rare occasion that we would go thru an In N’ Out and get a Double Double and fries dripping with the special sauce Will loved.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said absently, peering out the window of the restaurant, looking for the black car. I didn’t think it followed us.

  My whole body was tense and I bit my nails as we waited in line. I ordered a soda and two large fries without looking at the teenager taking my order. I didn’t even pay attention to the words leaving my mouth and had no recollection of getting back into the car. My mind whirled and spun with thoughts of Leo, of being followed, of the hell to pay if he caught up with me. I kept looking back and forth, scanning the restaurant as we waited for our fries; anyone could be undercover, tracking and watching my every move. A cold sweat dotted my shirt, I couldn’t stop biting my nails. Will gave me a funny look and I smiled at him.

  “How long has it been since we ate fries from a place like this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Where’s dad?” He crinkled his nose and looked around the restaurant.

  “He’s not here,” I answered. Will shrugged and asked if we could get ice cream later. I nodded.

  I asked the driver to stop at a hotel with a pool so Will at least could splash around. He clapped his hands and wanted to change into his swim trunks right away. With a shaking hand, I filled out the paperwork so we could check into the hotel. I paused for a second at the unfamiliar name I signed, Grace Jensen. Grace Jensen was a medium sized, short haired, brown eyed single mother who wore loose fitting white Mexican blouses and flip flops. She was not to be confused with Delia Keaton Kubias, who employed a personal trainer, a housekeeper, wore designer clothes on the red carpet, and got her hair cut and highlighted every few weeks by a top Los Angeles stylist. That person was gone.

  Laredo, Texas. Owasso, Oklahoma. Wichita, Kansas. Poplar Bluff, Missouri. We were constantly on the move. We got used to rental cars and cheap hotels. We ate dinners in places off the beaten path, breakfasts in fast food restaurants, drive-thru’s so we were forced to pull over and eat under the shade of a tree, crumbs from our biscuit sandwiches getting all over the interior of the anonymous, economy gray cars I always chose to drive. Our suitcases barely fit in the trunk. The air conditioning offered chilly, stale air. Will sat in the backseat, complaining of motion sickness.

  “I’m bored,” he said. “I’m tired. Where are we? When can we stop? Never? I miss my friends. I miss the house and my room. I want to go back to school.” He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, his lower lip sticking out. School was out for summer break but I pulled him out a few weeks early so at this point, I knew he needed the routine and structure only school could provide. Only a little while longer and we’d be settled if everything went smoothly.

  “Oh come on, this is fun. An adventure!” I answered, trying to keep my voice upbeat as I fumbled with a map of the interstate. My cheap phone for emergencies didn’t come equipped with maps and directions.

  “Not another hotel,” Will groaned. “I want to go home.”

  “We’re going to find a new home. It’s going to be great, you’ll love it.” I kept my eyes on the road in front of me and eased the car into the parking lot of another place.

  “Noooooo.” He made a face.

  “Come on Will, look at the bright side. You’re marking off a lot of places on your map, not many kids have been to so many states, right? And I think it’s time for your new name, remember what it was?”

  “Ethan,” he muttered. It was imperative he knew we had new names now. I tried to make it fun, a game, but he rolled his eyes and continued to pout.

  I purchased a large map of the United States for Will hoping he could mark it up with all the places we visited. At first he liked the idea, but now he moaned.

  We met a lovely family by the pool at the inn we stayed at in Oklahoma. The father had been transferred and they were new to Owasso. At first, I tried to politely avoid the mother, but she was determined to talk, blurting out her life story within the first ten minutes of meeting.

  “And you are?” she prompted. Julie squirted a blob of sunscreen into her hands and smeared it on her arms. She was energetic and young.

  “Grace,” I said, turning back to my book though behind my enormous sunglasses, my eyes never left Will.

  Silently I watched him, nervous he would say something about Leo, nervous he’d blurt out that we were from California.

  “Wouldn’t it be cool to say we were from Florida?” I asked him on one of our long drives. “Let’s make up a story about being secret spies.” I glanced at Will in the rearview mirror as I drove on a long stretch of open road. The window was cracked and my hair blew around my head.

  Will came up with a long winded tale, I tried to guide him into the story I had already carefully prepared for us, letting him believe most of it was his idea.

  “You’re going to have to have a complete back story,” one of the domestic abuse counselors told me. Leading up to our escape from Leo, I donned a disguise and went to talk to the counselors who offered a wealth of help and information.

  “Drill it into your son so he knows. He’s going to be a huge liability. Kids love to talk and they tend to tell the truth.”

  The name Grace Jensen grew like a vine in my brain, wrapping itself around me and blooming until I no longer identified with Delia.

  For one week I saw Julie by the sun heated pool while our kids splashed around in the water under the hot sun. At first he was shy and timid, but then Will warmed up to the other children and enjoyed playing with friends, boys his own age to joke with and relate to. I sat on pins and needles as I waited for him to blurt something out about California or his father. At night, we went over his new name.

  “I know, Ethan! Can I watch Planet Earth now?”

  “And we are from . . . ?” I prompted, holding his iPad above my head, trying to make it a game.

  “Florida!” he yelled. “I want my iPad.”

  The sun w
as warm, the sky blue, and a light breeze ruffled my hair as I watched Will, but though the atmosphere was perfect, I couldn’t completely relax. When Julie held out a magazine so I could see a picture, my eyes barely registered what she was trying to show me, I didn’t dare take my eyes off my son for even a second. Was this how it was always going to be?

  Julie and her boys left for the afternoon and I made Will get out of the pool so we could do a little reading back in our room.

  I purchased workbooks, crossword puzzles and word searches to keep him busy. I sat down and went over as much as I could in the mornings, after our fast food run but before our lunch. He stumbled on words and stuttered, his reading was taking a turn for the worse and when he became frustrated, I put the books away and took out a deck of cards.

  “When can I go back to school? When will we see Dad? How come he hasn’t called? Where’s Dad? I’m bored. Where are my friends? I want to go home. I miss my house. When can we go back?” Will fired off questions at me at least once every two days, his soulful eyes curious and sad. Was I imagining the sadness? Maybe he was happy, but worry clouded my judgment. I squinted at him trying to figure it out.

  Presently, he shuffled cards in his small hands like a Las Vegas dealer. We’d been playing cards a lot, his favorite being Uno.

  The air conditioning hummed as cold air blew out and gently moved the curtains. I kept them pulled as tightly as possible but they still gapped in the middle and allowed the sun to shine through, casting long shadows on the floor.

  I thought maybe I'd feel more relaxed as the days passed but guilt and fear covered me like an invisible cloak. I uprooted my son and threw his stable life into a whirlwind. Now instead of having the routine of school, friends, after school activities, going to the beach, and playing computer games, we were driving around the Midwestern United States in rental cars, eating fast food, and sleeping in unfamiliar beds with used blankets and lumpy pillows.