Goodbye Paradise

by Sarina Bowen

  “How much did it cost?”

  “Forty dollars. Which means I have about sixty left.”

  “I have fifty,” I volunteered.

  “I know. I found it in your filthy pants. Your money’s in the knapsack now. Where’d you get fifty bucks?”

  “They gave it to me. Told me to get on a bus and don’t come back.”

  Caleb’s scowl was fierce. “They gave you fifty bucks for a bus ticket, so that you wouldn’t hang around here, and end up telling the police what happened to you. Those assholes.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “What?”

  “You’re cursing. All the time! It’s funny.”

  “I’m not living by any of their rules anymore, Josh. I’m not kidding. They think God doesn’t like it when you curse? But God is just fine with throwing you out by the side of the road? Do you hear how messed up that is?”

  The laughter died in my throat. I did hear it. And I didn’t want to. My memories of the time I spent in the back of that truck getting tossed around like hay bales were too ugly to contemplate.

  In spite of how lonely the hours afterward had been, I was glad that Caleb had not been there to see my humiliation—my most pathetic moment. There was a stain on my heart now, and I would never be able to remember my last minutes at the Compound without feeling low.

  “Here,” Caleb said, handing me my shirt. “Let’s go find out how much bus tickets cost.”

  “To where?” I asked. Funny how I’d just gotten around to asking the most important question. It had been such a relief to find myself safe and with Caleb that I’d forgotten to worry that we had nothing and no one.

  “Western Massachusetts,” he said immediately. He shook out his sweater, another hand-made item from his mother.

  “Where?”

  “Remember Maggie?”

  “Miriam’s sister?”

  He nodded. “She lives in Massachusetts with her husband.” My mouth dropped open, and Caleb laughed. “You should see your face. It’s true—her family knows where she is. They didn’t hear from her for two years after she left. Then Maggie sent a UPS package to her father, disguised as a tool delivery.” Their father was a metalsmith. “And there was a letter from her inside.”

  “So…” I cleared my throat. “Will we be welcome there?”

  “Yeah, I think so. The letter said to send anyone their way who needed to leave.”

  “Even us?” I asked softly. He had to know what I meant. The boy who had just abandoned Miriam couldn’t easily ask for help from her sister.

  Caleb sighed. “Even us, okay? Because I think Maggie would want news from her sister. Even if it’s bad. And did it ever occur to you that maybe I can help Miriam more from the outside?” His voice took on a gruff, irritated tone, which frightened me. Because Caleb never got angry with me.

  “Okay,” I said quickly. And I knew he’d try to help her. It’s just that he and I weren’t in the position to help anybody, and I didn’t see how we would be, anytime soon.

  “Let’s go.” He stuffed the last of our things into the backpack and zipped it up.

  * * *

  The clerk behind the ticket window at the bus station dashed our hopes in ten seconds flat. “Two hundred and forty-one dollars,” she said.

  “For both of us?” I asked, hopefully.

  She shook her head. “Each.”

  “God damn it,” Caleb muttered. That was the worst curse he’d said yet.

  We turned away, disgusted. “Plan B is hitchhiking, I suppose,” I said.

  He grunted. “We could ask how far fifty dollars gets us. But that would leave us with almost nothing, and we’re going to need food.”

  Outside, we turned toward the East, and started walking. Because that was the only logical thing to do. Logical, and yet ridiculous. Because we could not walk to Massachusetts.

  “If we can’t make it all the way there yet,” I reasoned, “we could do farm work somewhere until we earned two hundred and forty one dollars. Each.”

  “In November?” Caleb asked.

  Right. In April my plan might work. Or in August. But not November. It would snow here any day now.

  We walked in silence for awhile, just trying on the idea of how bad things were. “I’m sorry,” I said eventually.

  Caleb stopped. “No, okay? You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “I just am. Leaving was always the plan, but I wasn’t ready, and I should have been.”

  “It was always the plan? How long was always?”

  “I dunno. A nice long time. I knew we had to go eventually.”

  “The two of us,” I said, still not quite sure I believed him.

  “Yes, Joshy, I always wanted to leave. With you.”

  “Why?”

  Caleb groaned. “For a smart guy, you’re kind of an idiot. I’ll show you later. Right now, we need some kind soul to pick us up. Try to look safe and friendly.”

  “I am safe and friendly.”

  He turned to me with a chuckle, and then squeezed my arm. “I know that. But other people don’t. So, smile!”

  * * *

  For hours, nobody picked us up. Caleb put his thumb in the air a million times. “You try it for a bit,” he said. “You’re better looking, anyway.”

  “Or at least less intimidating,” I suggested. Nobody was better looking than Caleb, with his sparkling eyes and sculpted cheek bones.

  The funny thing was, only five minutes passed before a pickup rumbled to a stop beside us. The passenger window lowered, and an old woman’s face looked out. “It wouldn’t be too comfortable, but you could ride in the truck bed if you want. We’re heading to Cheyenne.”

  “Thank you so much,” Caleb said immediately. “My brother and I are in a bit of a bind.”

  My brother and I. The thoughts I had about Caleb weren’t exactly brotherly. But I still liked hearing it. He’d claimed me, when others had not.

  She got down out of the cab slowly, while her elderly husband gave us a squinty-eyed inspection. “Come on, then,” she said.

  Their truck had a shell on it. So she popped that open, and Caleb lowered the tailgate. We climbed in, and the woman hefted the gate and closed us in. There were rakes and shovels lining one side of the truck, so we sat on the other, our backs to the side.

  “Well,” Caleb said. “This was either a lucky break, or they’re cannibals who are planning a barbecue right now.”

  I laughed, but my head was feeling woozy. With a groan, I tipped my head back against the side. “I still feel off,” I said.

  Caleb put a hand on my knee. “I’ll bet you do. We’ll get you some real food in Cheyenne. That will help.”

  The truck began to move, and I concentrated on the warmth of Caleb’s hand, which miraculously was still on my leg. I drifted, waking frequently when the motion of the truck moved my body. My head was too heavy. There was no place I could rest it where it wouldn’t bounce around and wake me up.

  “Relax,” Caleb whispered. He took my head in his hands, pinning it to the center of his chest with one hand.

  That felt insanely good. And I was too sleepy to care that it wasn’t really the way two friends were supposed to sit beside one another. I fell into a satisfying slumber.

  * * *

  “Wake up, baby,” someone said, rubbing my head with a big hand.

  No thank you.

  “Come on. They’re going to open the doors. So you have to get off of me.”

  That got my attention. Even so, waking up hurt me. In the first place, I was completely comfortable, nestled in Caleb’s arms. Not only did I not want to be awake, I also did not want to deal with the embarrassment of waking up cuddling my best friend.

  But he didn’t say a word.

  Lifting my head was difficult, but manageable. Caleb helped, by shifting my weight off his body. And just in time, because the tailgate creaked open, and the elderly driver appeared.

  “Thank you
so much,” Caleb said in his most polite voice. That was the voice I recognized, far more than the new, cursing Caleb. For years, I’d heard him make nice to the elders, and to the other bachelors when he wanted to pacify someone.

  “You’re welcome,” the old woman said, joining her husband and Caleb climbed out. “I hope you and your brother have safe travels. Please be careful.”

  “We will,” Caleb said, shaking her hand. “And you too! God be with you.”

  She smiled a wrinkled smile, and I followed Caleb out of the truck. We were at a gas station, the biggest one I’d ever seen.

  Caleb didn’t say anything for a minute until we were well out of earshot. “My ass is numb,” he complained.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. My mouth felt like paste. “Do you have any water?”

  “Sure.” Caleb went into his backpack and pulled out a bottle, handing it to me. “This is a truck stop,” he said, turning around. “A big one. That might be good.”

  “Yeah?”

  “They might have a pawn shop. I have a couple things I could sell.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. But also — you never know. We could find somebody who was heading east, and offer them a hundred bucks to take the both of us. I mean, they’re going anyway.”

  “That would be lucky. If they have room.”

  “Let’s try it,” he said, taking the water and downing a gulp for himself. “Put on that friendly face again.”

  But it was a no go.

  Caleb approached maybe ten different guys as they waited for their massive tractor trailers to refuel. He got variations on one answer: “even if I was headed your way, it’s against my truck line’s policy to pick up hitchhikers.”

  I became thoroughly discouraged.

  “It only takes one,” Caleb reasoned. “Let’s ask a couple more times. Then we’ll take a break for supper. I’m starved. And a truck stop has to have food.”

  Caleb approached the mangiest looking guy we’d seen yet. He had stringy hair and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Excuse me, sir. Is there any chance you’re headed east?”

  The guy looked up from the diesel pump and gave Caleb a crooked grin. “Might be. Who wants to know?”

  “My brother and I are stranded. We’ve only got a hundred dollars, and we need to get as close to Massachusetts as we can.”

  “Is that right?” He shifted the cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other. Then he checked over his shoulder before speaking again. “I’ll make you an offer. I’ll get you as far as New York…”

  “New York is good,” Caleb said quickly.

  “…But I need a favor from each of you. One favor a day until we get there.”

  Caleb’s eyes went stormy, and I didn’t know why.

  “What favor?” I asked.

  The greasy man laughed, shaking his head. “Blow jobs, moron.”

  Beside me, Caleb’s jaw tightened. “No deal,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Wait,” I said. “What if…” But Caleb grabbed my arm and literally dragged me away, around the fuel pumps, and over to the side of the building.

  It was getting dark already, but I didn’t need any light to see the fury on Caleb’s face. “Are you crazy? Do you even know what a blow job is?”

  “Of course I know what a blow job is! But he’s the only one who said he’d help us.”

  “No he did not!” Caleb hollered. We were toe to toe, and both of us angry, which never happened. “You can’t trust a man who offers to drive you somewhere for blow jobs! And there are diseases, Josh. Bad ones.”

  He had a point. And I did not want to have anything to do with that freaky guy’s body. But my whole life I’d been tortured by my craving for dicks. (Or at least one dick, anyway.) And it was almost as if God sent this other one into my path as some sort of cross to bear. If it solved our problem, I knew I could get through it. “I just thought…” I sighed. “You wouldn’t have to watch.”

  Caleb’s face contorted with disgust. He put two hands on my shoulders. “No. You’re not going near that fucker. Over my dead body.”

  I did not point out that dead bodies were an increasing possibility if we did not find some kind of ride, job, or shelter soon.

  “Boys.” We looked up to see an older black man standing a few yards further down the wall. He was smoking a cigar. Removing it from his mouth, he pointed the cigar at Caleb. “He’s right. There are guys who prey on young people out here. And you two look a little wet behind the ears.”

  I had no idea what that meant.

  The man went back to smoking his cigar and looking the other direction, as if he was done with us.

  “Caleb,” I said, “let’s not fight.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out again. “Okay. It’s just that you keep scaring me to death.”

  “Don’t mean to.”

  “I know.”

  “Hey. We’re in Cheyenne, right?”

  “Yeah. Just outside of it.”

  “The last thing Ezra said to me before he left me by the side of the road with my ankles taped together, was that there’s a homeless shelter in Cheyenne. Maybe we should find it.”

  “He taped your ankles together?”

  Once again, Caleb was getting off topic. “And my wrists, big brother. But he gave me that little piece of advice, too. Did you hear me?”

  “I’m going to strangle that fucker.”

  I sighed. “No you’re not. You’re going to eat dinner with me, and then we’re going to find a homeless shelter, whatever that is. And in the morning, we’ll try some more hitchhiking.”

  “Okay,” he said heavily. “At this rate, we’re never getting to Massachusetts.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Caleb starting smiling at me, which was always my downfall. So I didn’t notice that the black man had come closer. “Boys,” he said again. “I may be able to help you.”

  “Really?” I asked, hopeful for the first time all day.

  He stubbed out his cigar on the wall. “It’s against the rules. But you two sound like you need a break. Runaways, right?”

  “No,” I said, at the same time Caleb said “Yes.”

  The black man laughed. “I see.”

  “We were both honest,” I explained. “He is a runaway, actually. But I got tossed.”

  The other man’s eyebrows lifted, so Caleb tried to explain. “We grew up not too far from here, in a religious type of place.”

  “A cult,” the man said.

  I didn’t know that word, but Caleb nodded.

  “Polygamist?” he asked with a sour look on his face.

  “Yeah,” Caleb confirmed.

  “Peachy,” the man snorted. “The name’s Washington.” He held out a hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Washington,” Caleb said, shaking, “I’m Caleb and my brother is Josh.”

  “Your brother?” Washington asked, shaking my hand. “You two don’t look alike.”

  “We get that a lot,” Caleb said.

  “Well, Caleb and Josh. I’m going to Albany. That’s real close to Massachusetts. But before we get started, we’re going to eat dinner.”

  * * *

  I had never been inside a restaurant.

  The place was oddly bright, but it smelled wonderful. I hadn’t eaten a real meal in forty-eight hours. Miriam’s cornbread was great, but we’d finished it eight hours ago.

  A woman led us over to a table which had two bench seats facing inward. It was like sitting in a small room within a bigger room. I liked it immediately. Even better, she slid a glossy card onto the table in front of me, which listed everything under the sun. There was a whole section just for soups, and one beneath that for sandwiches. On the second page, there were “dinners.” Just reading the card, I thought I’d expire from hunger. I wanted one of everything.

  Then I noticed the prices, and scaled back my expectations. The steak was $19.99. Wow. And why didn’t they just write $20? It wasn’t like I was foo
led.

  When the waitress came back, Washington ordered a hamburger with French fries. Then she turned to me.

  “A cup of chicken noodle soup,” I said. Because it was only $1.99. And the menu promised crackers.

  Caleb eyed me over the top of his menu. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “Fine. I’ll have two hamburgers with fries. And two Cokes.”

  The waitress took our menus and went away. “Two?” I had to ask.

  Caleb rolled his eyes. “One is for you, genius. You haven’t eaten in two days, and I didn’t feel like arguing with you.”

  Oh. “I was trying to save money.”

  “I get that. But if you pass out, I have to carry your ass. Which I’ve done recently. And you’re heavier than you look.”

  Well that was mortifying.

  Washington didn’t say anything, but his eyes laughed. He was sitting by himself on the opposite side of our table. I studied him, because it was either that or pinch Caleb, who had embarrassed me. (Pinching was our favorite form of silent retribution. Unlike a slap, a pinch could be accomplished without gaining unwanted attention from teachers, pastors, etc.)

  Our new friend was interesting looking. There weren’t any black men at Paradise. I’d met a few people with brown skin when we were little and went to school. But none of the elders ever had anything nice to say about black people. (Or about me, come to think of it.) This man had a trustworthy face, and kind eyes. I couldn’t pin down his age, though. His skin was unwrinkled, but there was gray in his hair.

  “What?” he asked me after a minute. “Do I have spinach in my teeth?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was just trying to figure out how old you are.”

  He grinned. “Fifty-seven. Got no children of my own, but I have nephews about your age.” He paused while the waitress put two glasses and a cup of coffee on the table. “They’re in college now,” he said when she left.

  “Lucky,” Caleb said.

  Washington shrugged. “You’re young. Maybe a year from now, or two, you’ll go to college.”

  “You never know,” Caleb said, in a voice which did not sound all that optimistic.