“That dirty son of a bitch!”
“Shhh.” The nearest CO took notice and shifted his feet, pinning his eyes on Daddy. Crap! “I just wanted to tell you that I’m leaving. I’ll call you when I get there. You know I’m smart. I can do this.” I plead with him, using my eyes, body and spirit.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the beach. Myrtle Beach. There’ll be plenty of seasonal work there in a couple of months. I can work hard. I’ll save up and get a nice place, maybe take some classes in the fall at a community college. It’ll be great!” I tried mask the worry and terror that I felt inside with more pep than should be allowed in one person. Daddy saw right through it, but he didn’t let on.
“You’d better call me. Be careful.” He leaned forward. “Got protection?”
I nodded. “Remember how I showed you to use it?”
“Yes. I remember.”
“Good. Just be careful. Do you have money?”
“I had a little stash that they hadn’t found yet. I have enough to get down there and get set up.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
He looked at me and gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Mercy-baby. It’s my fault you’re in this situation.”
“It’s not. It’s life and I’m about to take control of mine.”
He smiled genuinely, his hazel eyes warming. “I’m proud of you. Just please, please, be careful, Mercy. Call me when you get there. I’ll worry till I hear from you.”
“I will, Daddy.”
The COs looked at one another. “Time’s up!” one barked loudly. I stood up and rushed around the orb and threw my arms around him. I knew it would be a long while before I would be able to afford to visit him. “Love you, Daddy!”
“Love you, baby.”
A guard moved behind him and he surrendered his wrists. The dull brown sweatshirt and pants hung off his body. “Be careful. Call me.”
“I will. I promise.”
I took the local transit authority bus to the furthest point west on their route: Charleston, West Virginia and walked to the nearest truck stop. I had $43.52 to my name. That wouldn’t buy a Greyhound seat to the beach, so I was forced to find an alternate means of transportation: I would hitchhike. I knew it was dangerous, but I felt more comfortable with the metal packed just inside my bag. The Go-Mart parking lot was full, packed with truckers, commuters and soccer moms who’d just finished grocery shopping on this fine Monday morning.
It was beautiful for early March. Sixty degrees and sunny at eleven fifteen in the morning. Between the long walk from the bus’s last stop and the light fleece jacket around me, I was getting warm by the time I entered the convenience store. The bell attached to the glass swing doors pinged alerting the occupants of my presence. No one noticed. I moved toward the aisles of snacks and wished I had a bit more money. Breakfast would be nice and I really didn’t want the blueberry crapola bars.
A few trucker-looking fellows gave me the once over before making tracks outside. A middle-aged guy in a business suit and a young mother bouncing a disgruntled toddler on her hip did, too. The food was too tempting. My mouth watered at the thought of my favorite. No! I need to get out of here. Stepping back outside, I didn’t know how to do this. Did I ask random, non-serial-killer-looking truckers where they were headed? Did I stick my thumb out like in the movies?
I was so deep in thought I didn’t notice it when a guy stopped beside me until I nearly walked into him while pacing back and forth. “You lost?” He sounded even more southern than I did with my hillbilly twang. Standing six feet tall, with a paunchy belly, red hair and a mischievous grin, he was middle aged and his eyes were kind.
“Sort of.”
“I’m heading south if you need a ride.”
“How far south?”
“Conway, South Carolina.”
“Is that near Myrtle Beach?”
He chuckled. “Yep.”
“Sweet! I’d really appreciate it if I could ride down with you.”
He stepped off the curb and waved me on, “Come on. We’ve gotta log some miles.” While he checked his load and tires and gauges and all things trucker guys do before they hit the road, I settled into the cab of the tractor. The outside was dark blue and the interior a simple gray. It sort of smelled like stale French fries, which made me giggle. Booger, which was the trucker guy’s handle, had a pair of orange fuzzy dice hanging from his rear-view and a hula-dancer suction-cupped to his dashboard.
The driver’s side door flew open and Booger climbed up and cranked the engine. I felt like I was sitting on the darn thing. It rumbled and shook so hard my butt was starting to feel numb. But it was a free ride and Booger seemed nice, and not like a Manson-type of guy. He wrote down numbers in a little book thing and checked his gauges, before donning a pair of wrap-around shades I was sure he’d had from the 1980s. The lenses reflected the rainbow and he smiled big, his cheek full of chewing tobacco. “Ready, Freddy?”
“Ready when you are, good buddy!” I teased.
“Ten-four, over and out! Let’s get ‘er done!” He maneuvered the massive vehicle out of the parking space and soon, we were rolling down Interstate 64 heading toward my future.
MYRTLE BEACH, SOUTH CAROLINA
Booger had been a complete angel. He ignored his dispatchers and the chatter on the CB and drove me all the way in to Myrtle Beach. He crawled down the busy Highway 501 to where it collided with Highway 17. I was one block away from Ocean Drive, which spooned the curves of the Atlantic Ocean, per Booger, though he didn’t say it so nicely.
I’d slept most of the nine hour drive, even during the stops to refuel the giant vehicle. Booger always grabbed “sustenance” from inside the convenience stores and brought back a variety of junk food and chips from which I could choose. It was fabulous. My stomach was no longer eating itself. It was dark when I said goodbye and thanked Booger for the thousandth time. I climbed down from the cab and jumped to the concrete below--concrete dotted with seashells. I was going to like this place.
The horn sounded as Booger pulled the big rig from the small parking lot of the strip mall he’d stopped beside. A raw bar, adult novelty store, and Piggly Wiggly were tucked neatly up against one another in an odd mixture that one would only find near the ocean, I imagined. Seafood, sex, and groceries. Readjusting the straps on my backpack, I followed my feet. And they led straight to the sand.
I don’t know what I’d expected. Leaving Charleston this afternoon, it had been pretty warm. I guess I thought that since I was heading south the warmth would have been multiplied. Beaches were warm, right? Wrong. Not during March at night, anyway. I could smell the salt that hung heavy in the moist ocean air. Slipping between two towering hotels, I used the public beach access walkway and stairs to climb the small dunes that led to the sand and surf.
The moon was full and the sky completely clear. Not a cloud anywhere. The stars glistened and winked happily above me. The sound of the waves gently lapping the shore nearly brought tears to my eyes. I’d wanted to see where the vastness of the ocean began since I was a child and now I was standing on the sand of that precipice.
I stood still for what seemed like hours, letting the wind whip my hair, cut through my too-thin clothes, until I finally snapped out of whatever daze the ocean had lulled me into. I had to find somewhere to sleep.
In the past three days, I’d learned a lot. First, sleeping under a pier wasn’t warm. It was freezing. Secondly, even in the off-season the hotels employed security guards. Those guards patrolled said hotel grounds and it was entirely impossible to sleep while moving around trying to avoid being seen and forcibly escorted by those guards. Thirdly, in March there weren’t many places hiring in a beach town. I knew that the seasonal work wouldn’t have begun yet. That would start in mid-April when East Coast seniors flocked south for Spring break. So I was broke, homeless and had zero job prospects. Lovely. Not exactly going as I’d hoped.
Oh, and
my blueberry crapola bars were gone. I’d devoured them slowly, not just because of their hideous taste and texture, but because I was trying to make them last. Tonight was cold. Like, my toes were freezing off, cold. I walked quickly down the strip darting across the spaces between the buildings where the wind whipped faster and harder. I finally saw a tiny, disgusting-looking motel advertising off-season rates of $21.99 per night.
The flashing neon red sign lured me in and teeth-chattering, I stepped into the lobby, closing the cold out behind me as the bell on the door sounded. It was warm. Really warm and only as I stood waiting for someone to help me, did I realize that my thighs were numb, as were my fingers and toes. My entire body shook violently as it tried to absorb the warmth being offered up to it.
Tax rates at the beach sucked. Twelve percent and twenty-two dollars poorer, I slid the plastic card into the reader of room number 115. I walked into a thick wall of stale cigarette smoke and sweat. The carpet underfoot was charred in places and the gaudy maroon and white floral bedspread was burned to match.
I was terrified to peel that sucker back, sure that all sorts of different people’s bodily fluids now resided on my hands. I ripped open the small square of cheap ‘facial’ soap in the bathroom and scrubbed till my hands were red. The sheets seemed clean and would have to do. No way would I tear those off. I cringed imagining what the mattress beneath them looked like.
Besides the bed, the room boasted a small chest of drawers and an ancient television, sporting actual foil covered rabbit ears. I thought those things were as extinct as dinosaurs now. That was it. Bed. Dresser with ancient TV. Window. Bathroom! I threw my backpack down and ran over to it, throwing on the light. Gross.
The tile and grout that had no doubt once been white was rusty-brown. Corners of the tiny room were gunked up with Lord knew what and the toilet had a thick ring around the bowl. I peeked inside the shower curtain. The shower was the same. Stains, mildew and mold. Twisting the knob to the hottest setting, the water lurched out of the head and rained down onto my fingers. It was heavenly hot. I’d definitely brave the nastiness for this. My cold skin stung as the hot water warmed it, like boiling water poured over ice.
The respite from the cold winter lingering in the beach town was short-lived. I spent more time in the shower than in the bed, trying to burn my body, to toughen it against the cold I knew waited outside the room at check-out. Eleven a.m. came far too quickly. But I set out into the world, praying that someone would take a chance on an out-of-towner with no references, transportation or home address.
Store after store, restaurant after restaurant on both sides of Ocean Boulevard, on either side of Highway 17 refused my applications. Generic “not hiring now,” dismissals were fired at me from every direction. I’d walked several miles by time darkness had fallen again, and with it came the cold. I was starving. The warm shower and bed last night and pounding of the pavement today didn’t fill my belly. I hadn’t felt full since Booger offered up his plethora of chips, cookies, candy bars, and snack cakes.
Beyond hunger, my stomach cramped and bile stung the back of my throat. Ahead of me was a small section of houses along either side of the ocean road. Most of the windows were lit from the warm lights within, the fluorescent flashes of color from big-screen televisions flickered in others. I imagined the families sitting down to steaming dinners, discussing homework and busy work days, laughing and loving.
A set of townhouses sitting right against a large dune, stood dark and cold amongst the warmth. No one seemed to be home. I slipped across one of the driveways and tucked myself into one of the small carports on the ground level. The townhouses must have been three stories high, and though they were shrouded in darkness, the white siding seemed to sparkle in the moonlight. They were clean. The people who lived here must have been clean. And I was desperate. Dizziness made my head spin and I braced myself against the pristine siding for a minute to get my bearings again.
Two garbage cans were neatly pressed against the far wall just inside the carport. One’s lid was bumped up from the bags of trash within. This was rock bottom. I walked gingerly to the cans, lifted the lid and dove in frantically trying to find something to eat.
A half-eaten banana! Score! I stripped the remainder of the peeling away and shoved the fruit in my mouth, swallowing large un-chewed chunks like my life depended on it. It did, I guess. I was sifting through more trash, papers, empty cans and jars, paper towels, soda cans, when a light illuminated the carport I stood in. I froze with the last banana chunk positioned between my molars. Looking around, I didn’t see anything. No car pulled up. Nothing. Then the door opened two feet to my right and I almost jumped out of my skin.
An old woman stepped out into the light, her hair in curlers, arms folded across her chest. Her wrinkles were even angry. I’d woken her up. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
I started backing away quickly and then felt bad. She was really old. I rushed back to the can and tied the bag I’d been pilfering through and then tried to replace the lid so she wouldn’t have to worry about it. “Sorry.”
I tried not to look at her, but when I glanced in her direction, I saw that her entire demeanor had changed. Arms were now at her sides, her mouth was hanging open and she didn’t look angry anymore.
“Stop.” Her voice was raspy, like she’d smoked for most of her long life.
I didn’t listen. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and I started walking quicker. Big mistake. My body hadn’t recovered enough from the banana to fuel it any further. I collapsed onto the concrete of her driveway, my head bouncing off the ground with a sickening thud. Stars floated in and out of my vision. I’d always thought that was just a thing in cartoons until now.
I could hear the old woman talking to someone. “Help...girl fell... concussion...hit her head...inside...please.” Sometime after that I could feel my body lifting from the cold concrete and floating in the air. For a minute I thought I’d died, but then I was lowered onto something soft, poufy and warm. The air smelled like sandalwood. I fell swiftly asleep.
“Wake up, sweetie.” Cool fingers lightly squeezed my hand.
A groan filled the room and I tried to crawl further into the warmth around me.
“Wake up. We need to check your head.” It was the old lady.
“I’m fine. Go away.”
“The hell I will. This is my house. Now wake it up!” She slapped my cheek a little firmly than I thought was wise with someone who could have a head injury.
“Fine!” I opened one eye and sure enough she sat beside the bed I was tucked in to and looked at me with narrowed eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You have to get your head examined.”
“Lady, you have no idea.” I snorted.
“Everybody’s a comedian. Sit up.” When I hesitated, she prodded again. “Up. Now.” Soon, she was jerking me up and stuffing pillows behind my back. That’s when I noticed that we weren’t alone. Two guys were in the room with us. Probably a bit older than me, and hotter than any other guys I’d seen back home. They looked at me like I had four heads. Oh, no. Did she tell them I was dumpster diving? Or trash can diving? Or trash eating, or whatever? Their eyes--pity. Yep, she told them. Shows on their faces. Poor hungry trash-eater. I can see it.
“Look. I’m fine. I’ve gotta go.” I threw the covers off of me and tried to stand before losing my balance again. One of the hotties grabbed my elbow and helped me lay back down. His hair was short and dark and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, but what was so remarkable about him was his eye color. Jade green. So pretty. I must have been staring or smiling because he smiled, revealing a deep dimple on his left cheek. Holy mother of all dimples. That is hot.
“I’ve got ya.” He smiles. “Look, my friend Brody over here is a Paramedic and he’s gonna look you over. Okay?”
I nodded. Brody eased over and sat down on the edge of the bed opposite Hot Dimple. He opened a black canvas bag and grabbed a stethoscope and one of those l
ight things, which he used to torture my eyes and look inside my ears, nose, and throat. It was awkward and I prayed I didn’t have any ear wax or boogers. “Your pupils are equal and reactive. Everything else looks good. Can I take a listen?” He held up the round end of the stethoscope with a hopeful look on his brow.
“Okay.”
“Just breathe normally.” He warmed the round thing on the stethoscope before putting it on my skin. First he listened to my chest and then moved around to my back.
“Take a few deep breaths.” I complied.
“Sounds good. Lay down for a moment.” I eased back and laid down, looking at the ceiling. I flinched when the scope landed on my stomach.
“Oh, I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong there. I hit my head.” I sat up quickly. But the concern etched on his face indicated that he’d already figured it out.
“Hey, um…Jax, Celeste, can you wait outside for just a minute. I need to talk to her about a few things and then I’ll give you some instructions. I think she’ll be fine, but you’ll have to watch her for the next couple of days and wake her up several times a night. I’ll explain all that in a minute, but...I need a minute with her.” He smiled at them, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Hot Dimple Jax and Celeste didn’t even bat an eyelash. They filed out of the room, closing the door behind them.
“You okay?” Brody asked softly. His hair was reddish-brown and his eyes were blue. Not dark blue like sapphire and not baby blue, but somewhere in between.
I nodded. “I’m okay.”
“You’re hungry. Stomach cramping?”
I didn’t look at him. Suddenly the pattern on the old lady’s quilt was very interesting. “Yep.”
“You’re going to be fine. You might have a mild concussion and might have a headache for a couple of days, but you’ll be alright.” Brody stood up, his AC/DC t-shirt and jeans betraying the softness underlying the hard exterior. He pulled out his wallet. “Here. Get something to eat and find a place to stay for a few days.” With his hand, he extended a pile of twenty dollar bills.
Shady Bay Page 2
