by Leanne Davis
“Ties to people. To relationships. To responsibilities, sure. That’s what gives life meaning and purpose.”
“In your limited view and experience. What about not staying in the same place for your entire life? You learn so much more. You meet so many others. You find you don’t have all the answers. In fact, you find you have none of the answers to life. You’re ready and open to learn from people of other religions and cultures, and with other opinions and perspectives. It’s the ultimate high.”
My mouth compresses. Damn. I am being chastised. I know having a family is a good thing. Ties to friends and closer relationships are necessary, but I feel thoroughly sorry for my hasty judgments of his lifestyle.
He leans back, stretching his legs out and folding his arms over his chest. “It happens all the time. Believe me. Someone like me standing on a corner, with a sign asking for work, my pack beside me, and you automatically know that I’m not like you. I might live out of a bag, but it doesn’t make me any less human than you. Or stupid. Or lazy. Or addict-prone. Or criminally inclined… usually. I’ll give you that.”
“I think Tara knows that.”
“I think Tara knows that, too. She’s kind of a cool old lady.”
“She’s not that old.” I say with a small smile.
“Well, your boy isn’t too happy.”
“Do you blame him? Sharing a house with someone you just met? Especially when you’re here by force or I should say, by holding your backpack for ransom? Is that thing really so important to you?”
“It would be like you losing your house. It’s the difference between being self-sufficient and being needy. So, you tell me.”
“Oh. I guess I can see what you mean.”
Silence percolates for a few moments, then he asks, “So, your name is Dani?”
“Dandria, actually, but everyone calls me Dani. Dandria Dawson. Is your name really Wesley?”
“It really is. So, what are you? A high school student?”
I make a face. “I graduated a year ago. I’m working full time for the summer, and I go to college in the school year. Not so unusual, you know. In fact, you’re the odd one. So, you don’t have a high school diploma, huh?”
“Nope. Do you think I need one? I probably know more about survival skills than you will even a decade from now.”
“And you’ll still be wandering with no one really knowing if you’re alive or dead.”
“Ouch. That’s cold.”
I smile only because I’m sure it doesn’t bother him. Then I hear Tara’s voice calling me. I jump to my feet, glad to get out of the claustrophobic space and away from this guy who sucks all the air out of the room.
I clip down the stairs, and Wesley is slower to follow. Wyatt stands there, his mouth twisted in a sneer towards Wesley before he nods at me. “Let’s go.”
Wanting to stay and to hear whatever is about to be said, I reluctantly let Wyatt grab my hand as I follow him out the front door towards his truck. He parked it in the small garage to the right of the barn. I glance back and see Wesley’s eyes are still fastened on me. Will it be the last time I ever see him? A ripple of awareness skitters down my spine. That would be fine. God! He robbed an old lady! A charity worker! He lives nowhere and has no desire to improve his situation. And I don’t need to be reminded that he took a pitchfork from me and pushed me to the ground!
Still, he’s much hotter than the typical vagrant. Whatever. I have complete control over my libido. I can like a guy’s look without it having any other effect on me. I’m not going to suddenly stop loving Wyatt or whatever. I don’t cheat. I just… happen to notice that Wesley’s a curious guy. My encounter with him was an unexpected… surprise.
So, there was that.
I allow Wyatt to drag me towards his truck. We get inside and he flips a turnaround in the driveway and zooms out of there, chewing up the crushed gravel with his tires in a dramatic, macho, and completely unnecessary display. This is how I spent most of June with Wyatt, ever since he got home from school. It can be very unsettling. Before this June, he was easygoing, comforting, and affectionate, and he smiled a lot. Since he’s been home, he’s moody and picks fights and rarely shows the warm personality I’ve always known him to have. I stay quiet as he revs the engine once we hit the highway. Luckily, there’s no other traffic so I let him stew in his own juices. He turns off the highway and parks along the river. There are perhaps a half dozen parking areas along the river between where Wyatt lives and Silver Springs. Much of the land beside the river is for public access with paved walking trails, several historical markers, and interpretive paths and kiosks. There is also parking designated for river access and fishing. This pull-off is empty right now. He shuts his lights off, plunging us into darkness and quiet.
“I take it they are letting him stay. Tara won? I think she’s having an emotional breakdown. It’s like she thinks he is her. She’s reliving her experiences of being seventeen on the streets just like he is. But even if he is like her, it doesn’t mean you should ever move a stranger into your house! Especially one who robbed an old lady! And I pointed that out that he could have hurt you when he was trespassing. What if he pulled a weapon on you? But Dad decided that Mom might have a point. He seems ‘harmless’ enough, just in need of a lesson. This solution might go farther in the long run than any other form of punishment they said.” Wyatt smacks the steering wheel with his fist. “Then they told me I was being selfish because I was leaving in the fall anyway. They said that I should support the act of helping someone else out. Selfish! Me. Can you believe that?”
“No, I really can’t,” I mutter in soothing agreement. I scoot closer and duck under his arm to dislodge it from the wheel. He glances down at me, his handsome face softening. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever known. Your parents know that. Tara’s just enthralled with helping this guy. She recognizes his experiences where we really can’t. You’ve always said it’s hard for you to imagine what it must have been like for her. Now that you’re the age she was, imagine being all alone. On the streets and vulnerable. So, she feels like she has something to offer him. I think that’s what’s going on. You were always so together and responsible, so you don’t identify with that part of her life. Those experiences she has to offer Wesley are vastly different from what you might need. Right?”
“Right. I just came home expecting dinner. To hang out with you. This was not how I imagined this evening.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and lean against his shoulder. “Me neither. Trying to pitchfork a guy, not exactly what I planned on doing tonight either.”
“Why didn’t you just walk away? Sneak out of the barn? Why would you risk going at him? He could have had a gun.”
“I didn’t think. I just acted. You’re right. Looking back, I’m not sure what I thought I could do with a pitchfork. I was so startled to see the lump in a sleeping bag and not a cat in there. Remember, I didn’t realize he was so big until I’d already woken him, and he stood up.”
Wyatt leans down and presses my lips in a soft, warm kiss. Smooth and sweet. “Well, it was brave. Don’t be so brave again. I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you.” He leans down and kisses me longer and harder. I mumble and sigh into the embrace and his heartfelt kiss. We’ve been dating for two years, since May of my junior year, the same year Wyatt graduated high school. But before that, we were longtime friends.
Now he’s a junior at the University of Northern Oregon. Next year, he’ll be their starting quarterback. He’s been the star of our local high school and the most popular guy on campus. That he started dating me surprised quite a few people. Quiet, bookish, never into athletics or anything else involving school spirit, I wasn’t what anyone pictured as his girlfriend. Even after he went on to college. There was something about Wyatt that most people responded to. He had a natural charm and didn’t have to try to be likeable, talented, intelligent and athletic; he just was.
He was one of tho
se people that the world came easily to. He achieved anything he attempted, and he did it well. Being nice to strangers, respecting his parents, and most especially, respecting me. He succeeded at every single thing I ever saw him try and became exceptional at it. All the while, he remained respectful, kind, interesting, and handsome. He was the “it” guy everywhere he went.
We parked by the river like this often, and it was always nice and warm and wonderful with Wyatt. I also realized it was a very good thing I never told Wyatt about seeing Wesley swimming onto the barge and then not reporting it. I decide to just keep that to myself. And Wesley.
I don’t know what I think of this stranger staying with my boyfriend and working at my place of employment. I’ll see him. Even as I kiss Wyatt, my thoughts drift back to the stranger, who is so different from anyone in Silver Springs.
We make out for an hour before I glance at the clock. I groan. “We should go. Dad will expect me soon.”
“One more.” He kisses me one more time before letting me go with a grin and then we buckle up again and drive towards the baseball fields. He parks in front of my apartment and shuts his truck off. He walks me to the door as he always does. Chivalrous. Polite. Respectful. Handsome. Smart. Oh, so smart. He and I get along like… well, we never fight. I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
Inside, my dad sits in his recliner before the TV, a bowl of ice cream on his lap and a spoon in his mouth. He grins guiltily when we burst in. He knows I’ll disapprove. His cholesterol came back high last year, and I’ve been nagging him to eat way better.
“Dad!” I mock yell but he grins, and I can barely pretend to be mad at him.
“Hey, you two. How was your evening?”
I flop down on the couch and Wyatt answers.
“More exciting than most…” and he launches into the whole story of Wesley.
Dad’s eyes grow large at my pitchfork antics and he exclaims, “Why would you go after a stranger by yourself in a barn at night with a…a pitchfork!?”
I shake my head in shame now and half laugh. “I’m so brave? I know, I know it was so stupid!”
“It could have been.” Dad shudders a bit. “I can’t stand to think of you getting hurt.” His eyes shine with concern and love towards me. I smile and shake my head.
“I’m fine, Dad. But I know.”
“Well, is he dangerous? Wyatt, how can your mom and dad be so sure he’s safe? What if he is some sort of… of what? Hitchhiker? Hobo? What do you call those kinds? How can they let him just stay in your house?”
“That’s what I said,” Wyatt mutters in agreement. “But Mom spent a few years on the streets as a runaway and she has this kinship thing going on that makes her believe she gets him. It’s a bit nauseating, but yeah, I’m not convinced.”
“Well, that’s why I like you, Wyatt. You’re not gullible. You keep my Dani safe.”
“Oh, my God! I think I’ll leave this macho fest of protecting little, old me. Goodnight, Dad,” I kiss his cheek and then do the same to Wyatt. “Goodnight, Wyatt. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that, I head down the small hallway to my room. My family consists of only Dad and me. My mom died when I was seven. I remember some things about her, but not as much as I wish I could. Wyatt and I share the dead mom history, although Tara has been around since Wyatt was five, so there wasn’t a lengthy gap of motherlessness for him. Not like it was for me. But as far as single dads to be raised by? Mine was the best. He worked at the dam as a lock operator. That work comprised his entire life. I worry about next year, when I leave for college, but he’s so proud of that, and I want to.
I flop down now on my bed. I hear Wyatt’s truck leaving, glad he’s much calmer than when he left his parents’ house. I usually have a calming effect on him. But rarely does he actually need me to be. I roll over my thoughts, drifting off. I need to get some sleep. I work first thing tomorrow.
And now? It sounds exciting, different, maybe even exotic. Something the café has never been for me.
Will Wesley be there? Will he stay in town or skip out on Tara’s plan? Will they actually let him stay inside their house? Will he show up for work? With me? Well, no, not with me, just around me.
Why am I even thinking about this? I shake off the excess interest. It was just because it was such an odd night… right?
Chapter 4
WESLEY
I blink, trying to make sense of where I am when I wake up. That happens sometimes. Pretty often, actually. My brain takes a second to adjust. I dread opening my eyes as I shake off the old fear. No! I’m free. I’m gone. I’m on my own. I control where I am and when I leave and who I’m with.
My eyes flash open. Until now. Until this place. Silver fucking Springs! Until Tara.
Damn. I’m really in their house on the way too small day bed. She convinced her damn cop-husband to ignore my confession to a crime. I can’t believe she did that. After Dani and Wyatt leave, they ask me to sit down. They collect my pack from their barn, and it is now in Ryder’s possession. I am politely asked to stay, as if I were applying for a job. Apparently, Tara owned, worked and did all the bookkeeping for a café in town. I’ll be a dishwasher, kitchen helper, and server, doing whatever is asked of me. I won’t be paid a penny unless my hourly work is done consistently and efficiently. Once the two thousand is earned, a thousand will be promptly donated to the charity I robbed.
Then my backpack will be returned, and I’ll be allowed to leave. It is a far longer punishment to endure than if I just got arrested. But that would have involved digging into my background and legal identity. No, thank you. It could include a few days in jail, and I shudder at that prospect. Yeah, I’d rather suffer a few months of working in a café and staying in the same town, than even an hour of confinement in jail. I suffer from claustrophobia to the point that I sometimes feel like I’m suffocating and dying.
So, here I am. Inside a nice house and sleeping on a feathery soft bed with pleasant, warm air and a sturdy roof to stop the incessantly pounding rain. No night in my tent, wet or dry, could be so comfortable. In a squall like tonight, the fabric tends to weep, and I get cold and damp. For this reason, I always spend the colder months far away from this mild, wet climate. I usually go south.
Ryder isn’t sure about this. It’s all Tara’s brainchild. I was allowed some clothes, some other personal essentials, and now here I am with my meager belongings inside their house. It’s a nice place, but I have no desire to stay here for the remainder of the summer. Their hourly wage means I’ll be down here for weeks, maybe even most of the summer. I’d work twelve hours a day just to get it all done, but they already have a part-time dishwasher that I’ll be relieving, so it’s more like part-time days for me. So, I’m here the summer, as far as I can guess. Fine. Done. I can’t get out of it. I’ll leave with some spare change and spending a summer here with this family and working in a café are two things I’ve never done before, so it’s almost like embarking on another new adventure. Someday, I’ll tell someone who’s taken a moment to speak to me, and asked about my lifestyle and my travels, and I’ll mention the lady who found me in her barn and let me live in her house to work off the money I stole instead of letting her cop-husband arrest me.
She’s pretty cool, I have to admit, and one of the most unreadable people I’ve ever met over the years. I’ve learned, but I also forget, that I shouldn’t judge others. I get judged endlessly. I get judged by my skin color, my appearance, the backpack, and worst of all, those who find me on street corners asking for work. People assume I’m a drug addict who’s begging for the next fix. I get tagged a bum, a beggar, a drifter, a lowlife, and a dangerous transient.
I’m none of those. I mean, if someone hands me money, I take it, and surprisingly that does happen. I won’t turn it away, but my sign always says that I am looking for work and I work hard when I accept a job. People look at me as the big, bad, scary homeless guy, someone who could hurt, rape, or kill you. People are often too scare
d to even make eye contact with me and they expect me to stink and be dirty just because I have a pack on my back. When I set up my small arsenal of creature comforts in campground sites—which I always pay for—it’s amazing how often I get reported to the camp rangers. People that look like Ryder question me and yet I’ve paid my dues.
Then there’s the flip side of humanity. There are rich old ladies who stop and ask me to come over and work for them because they can’t do physical labor anymore, and they like seeing my muscles and admiring my height. I get poor families, too, who just need some help but can’t afford the cost of laborers. I’ve had construction foremen stop and welcome me onto their sites to do all the grunt work because my rates are cheaper. I have bleeding-heart types, hippies that stop and talk to me. I see their eyes fill with pity while they assume I am being abused by the capitalistic society. Most of them believe I’ve been left behind and am forced to live this way. Those kinds are a little bit funny to me. I’m neither forced to do this nor am I left behind. Even they don’t understand that I want to live like this.
There are super religious factions, too. Many include a charity. They promise to pray for me, and I appreciate their prayers. They are living the gospel they preach. That’s cool to me. I like people who walk the walk and talk the talk.
I have also been approached by cults—oh, yes!—who consider me a vulnerable runaway who is dying to join their ranks. I’m convinced that a large number of missing kids and teens probably end up in their folds only to disappear into the crazy. One group in particular wore a certain shade of purple exclusively. They were eager to introduce me to their leader as I happened to be traveling within twenty miles of him.
