The Light in Her Eyes

by A R Shane

  You smell that?

  I do.

  She snuggles up to me and her body heat provides me with some level of comfort. This is how it should be. But the smell reminds me of death. It seems to be disturbing her more than it should.

  You've done something very bad, haven't you? I ask and examine her face, looking for any quiver that will give her away. There is none, but she waits far too long to answer.

  What if I have?

  I'm asking. I think it's only fair that we should be honest with each other.

  There might be policemen coming after me.

  Soon?

  Very.

  Where's your money?

  I have it all in my bag.

  I stop from asking how much. Then I remember that I don't have much myself. I'll take out what I have on the next ATM drive.

  Was it self-defense?

  Do we have to talk about it?

  Yes. I say firmly, like I'm angry, though I'm not and it's really only the cold making me clench my jaw. That soldier part of me hasn't reared its head today, though I'm certain it will sometime soon.

  It was. She says and buries her face further into my body. I'm not sure if it's to fend off the cold, or the truth.

  We run back to the car and warm ourselves with another round of slow love.

  That night we sleep in the car, in a warmer valley. But I wake up several times with my teeth chattering. I try to hold her tight, and keep the blanket as close and tight as possible.

  I wake up in the morning, tired.

  I think the police are here. She says as she pulls her head away from the radio.

  How do you know?

  The DJ said that everyone should be on the look out for me, and they gave my description to a 't'.

  I nod my head. The soldier in me is marching left right left right and it tells me to leave this bitch to her own destiny, that there is no reason that I should suffer for her, and that there is plenty of pussy in the sea. I think of my life, I think of the other women I've met and I think of the boredom and hatred I hold for the possible life with the other women and I know how much of a dawn this woman before me has been. There is no other choice.

  You can go if you want. She says with her head looking through the glove compartment.

  You can go and you can do whatever you want. I'll understand.

  She's hurt, like she knows what at least half of my look meant. I take her hand, smile. Her hurt makes me like her more.

  You can go. I say, half mocking her voice.

  She full-punches me.

  Are you planning on taking on the cops?

  I ask and pull the gun out of her hands.

  If need be. They're never going to take me alive.

  Why are they after you?

  No reason...

  She twirls her hair.

  Come on. I say now with anger in my voice. I don't like the feeling of being pulled around.

  It's just that they won't like what I've done. She says while looking off at the nearby interstate run-off.

  And what's that?

  I might have stolen something that wasn't mine.

  How much?

  Enough to live off... forever.

  I think for a second after she's done speaking. I could keep hounding her, but I knew her. This was as much as she was giving. And I could leave, go back to the small world and little career that I had built up. Go back to all that, or I could...

  Her hand reaches across for mine. There is a yearning look in her eyes.

  I feel her touch, and it spreads through my body. Even though I know that there is no guarantee of a forever between us, I want to try her out. My mind can't be that wrong, can it?

  All right. Where do you want to go to? I ask, wondering if we should change cars, or perhaps even get plane tickets.

  Canada. You ever been?

  Yes. It's far.

  Half a day away, then we can cross over.

  But they're looking for you.

  Yes. But we'll find another way.

  She takes the wheel and we drive north. I'm not certain that we will be safe in Canada. After all, isn't it nothing more than an extra state? Where were we going to hide?

  She pulls out two passports, from Switzerland. I open them. The first is her, perhaps a bigger jawline, but the resemblance is there. The second is me.

  When did you get these made?

  Now I know that she has planned this long before today. That meant most everything she said to me and did with me was done with this in the back of her mind and I hadn't had a clue. My pride doesn't take this well. If she could do it once she could do it again, couldn't she?

  You going to answer me? Or you going to spit out some more lies? My voice is gruff, my throat tightening around my chords and my hands balling up into fists.

  I'm sorry. I know I should have asked, but I wasn't certain if I could trust you.

  My worry evaporates, too easily for my taste. I smile and nod.

  More silence follows and the sun is setting as I realize that we're no where near the border. Her eyes are drooping and I know we need a break.

  Pull over.

  She gains resolve from me trying to push her aside and her eyes stay open for a few minutes. They droop again.

  Listen, I'm here with you, so let me drive. We're doing it together, aren't we?

  She clenches her jaw. I stare at the road, the forest that gives way to open winter farmland, the desolate nothingness we are racing through. We should come across some mountains when we swing over to the Canadian border.

  You know anyone in Canada?

  She shakes her head in reply.

  No one?

  Maybe.

  For some reason this sets me off, I'm pissed and I don't want to hear any more obfuscation from her.

  Pull the goddamn car over.

  I growl and shoot her a look I hope she can feel. She must, because she pulls over and drives the car in from the highway until we are on a lonely country road. She pulls over on the shoulder.

  What?

  That she asks this with a modicum of impatience only further infuriates me and I slam my hand on the dashboard.

  Goddamnit! Stop acting so damn aloof. I want answers, and I think you owe me some.

  She nods. She's thinking, which means I haven't got through to her.

  I'm sorry. I do know someone in Alberta.

  Her words take some steam from my anger and I look at the empty road, once again feeling like a fool, though I'm not certain what the reason is.

  She looks around, then pulls the park brake and undoes her seat belt. She climbs over to my side, deftly tilts my seat back and starts to kiss me. At first I try to hold off. I will myself not to be turned on, to not be such a simple animal. Because for a second, I think that she's too used to turning me on, that she's too used to me being the good man. And that is the last thing I want—to be taken for granted. The sad thing is, as she continues to kiss me and reach her hand down to my groin area, that I know it's a futile defense on my part. There's nothing I want more than her, and I only hold out for a little longer—I want her to do the work—before joining her kisses with my own, and gently caressing her. I playfully slap her. She smiles. Flesh is bared and we meld, I feel the heightened sense of want, then the final collapse of all of it, and the holding, the truly futile attempt at feeling something that's closer than the moments with me inside her. We can touch now, and we can kiss, but it's always without anticipation.

  I'll drive. I say.

  She doesn't argue with me and we set off.

  The sun hits the ground faster than I expect, and I pull over when it happens. We drive through a small town, and when we drive by a small parking lot Jenny snaps her head.

  There, stop!

  What?

  I ask as I turn, checking my rear view mirror for any other cars on the road.

  A car.

  The parking lot has a few trucks with the classic orange-black-bordered placard with a p
rice written on it.

  A large man, with a cutoff shirt and a lumber-jack jacket is driving away. Jenny leans over and honks the horn.

  The man turns his pick-up truck around. Jenny jumps out of the car. I pull the parking brake and watch an animated Jenny talk to the man. He looks over. I decide that this is my queue. I haven't been out to the sticks, to the real sticks with the real Americans in a while, but I know how the people here think. They're not sexist or anything, but if they're going to deal with women, it's going to be in a language they can understand, not the refined speak that Jenny tends to drift towards.

  I walk up. I can smell dip and beer. The man is alone. He eyes me. I maintain the stare and throw back some more verve.

  Jenny now has her hands on her hips and she is waiting for me to say something.

  So what's the deal? I ask her.

  I want that truck.

  Jenny points to a truck that sits on the parking lot, a sticker of ten grand lies slanted on the window.

  Can I test it? I ask, as the man throws a wad of dip from his mouth onto the pavement.

  Sure thing.

  He reaches into his glove box and throws the keys at me. It's done with enough force for me to consider whether he really wants to sell us the truck. I beckon Jenny to follow me with a movement of my head and we get into the truck.

  Why do you want this?

  We need a new car before we hit the border.

  I start up the truck. It's an old Ford. Perhaps from the 70s. Nevertheless the engine purrs like a beaut and I press the accelerator. We lurch forward. The gears shift smoothly as we take a few turns around the parking lot. I hit the main strip and gun the truck. The ride, everything, is nothing short of amazing. Whoever the man is, he's done some serious work on this. I grin.

  It's good then?

  Yeah, it's tiptop.

  You think we can get less with cash?

  I look at Jenny after she's spoken. Cash? How much do you have?

  Oh, I've got plenty. I just don't want to be taken for a sucker.

  We get back to the parking lot and the man looks a little perturbed.

  I didn't say you could take it around town. He growls, spits more dip on the pavement between us.

  Sorry. You work on this thing?

  Yeah. Completely redone.

  It's a beaut.

  He hesitates; I don't think he expected a compliment.

  Thanks.

  You fixed it all yourself? Jenny asks.

  Sure did. His voice softens when he talks to Jenny. Jenny leans in to whisper to me: I have enough money. Let's not skimp.

  I shrug.

  It's up to you. I say.

  She jumps out.

  We'll take it. I say after I watch her slip to our car trunk.

  The man nods.

  How you payin'?

  Cash work?

  He smiles.

  You guys looking to avoid trouble?

  Trouble? I say with a forced look of concern on my face. What's that mean?

  He laughs.

  I laugh. It's always a risk with some of these small town folk. His laugh, however, carefree, with a tilt of the chin, lets me know I'm with kin.

  You two having fun? Jenny now walks between the two trucks.

  I'm Matt. I say and step out of the truck again. He steps out.

  I'm Zeb.

  I'm Jenny. She says, slightly winding up her torso. Zeb flushes a little. He hasn't seen a woman like this in a small town.

  Ya'll headin' up north?

  Yeah, to Canada.

  Won't make the border before it closes.

  No?

  No, got a place to stay?

  The truck.

  No place for folks just visitin'.

  I glance over at Jenny who is still clutching a bag that I assume has money.

  Here. She thrusts it forward. He pulls out the money and counts it.

  Eleven grand. He says and eyes me.

  It's for such a good job on the car. Jenny says, twists and leans towards him.

  He blushes some more.

  Thanks.

  Of course. Jenny reaches out and touches him on his arm. She likes to see any reaction from men.

  You folks want to stay the night with me and my family? You can have some dinner and hit the border in the morning.

  I look at Jenny. I'm not certain if we should leave a trail of clues like this.

  Her eyes seem to be into it. No need to start a new life without the touch of humanity.

  We'll be glad.

  We drive to his place, three vehicles in a row. When we get there, it's a house nestled in trees with a winding dirt road. Dogs roam the front porch and when I step out I smell pine and dried skin. I see the source of the dried skin flapping in the wind.

  Nice place.

  Thanks. Built it myself.

  I take in Zeb as he stares at his house like it's a friend. It would be amazing to be able to build and fix like he did. Jenny comes over and wraps her arms around my waist.

  Beautiful, isn't it?

  The dogs flock to Zeb, some growl at us, but they seem to know we're with their master.

  Inside is like a rustic cabin. Deer and bear heads tower over us and I see a woman. Short, stout, almost like Zeb. They kiss.

  This is my wife.

  Gretta, pleased to meet ya'll. Zeb didn't tell me he was bringing guests. She says and gives him a look of hate.

  Sorry, these folks needed some shelter.

  She shrugs and walks to the kitchen.

  Dinner comes out in the form of stew and bread. We sit around a sliced up tree trunk.

  The stew is delicious.

  What are ya'll runnin' from? Zeb asks, once everyone is fully into their meal.

  I look at Jenny who half smiles at me.

  You aren't in trouble with the law, are you? Gretta asks. She doesn't seem to be concerned about the answer.

  Not really. I manage to say. It's just that...

  You need to get to Canada? Zeb asks, then smiles at his wife who smiles back at him. This time her face has a look like she's used to this, like kids do it all the time around here.

  Zeb's brother heads up there all the time. Hasn't come back down since the last time, has he?

  What he do? I ask.

  Nothing. Zeb says with a mouth full of stew.

  Oh come on now honey. It wasn't nothin'. He shot at a deputy.

  They were gettin' lippy.

  Silence falls. It's between Zeb and his old lady. I welcome the news. With family like theirs it's not likely that they'll give us up.

  Jenny swallows some stew. We're starting a new life. I broke the law. She says it in such a childish-happy manner that Zeb and Gretta grin.

  Good for you, honey. Gretta reaches over and strokes Jenny's arm.

  I eat more stew.

  They don't ask anymore questions.

  The next morning Zeb wakes us up. I stare at his silhouette before glancing at the open window. The sun hasn't risen yet, though I can see through the window a black-gray sky straining to turn blue.

  If they're lookin' for ya, you can't head through the border guards.

  No?

  No. Zeb stands above me. Jenny is awake—I can tell from her breathing—but she doesn't move.

  Yeah, you're gonna have to head through the forests. Don't worry, though. Ol' Zeb will get you right through.

  We eat, get ready and jump into Zeb's truck. It's morning and the chill in the air makes me want to return to bed. As we drive further up a winding road, I perk up knowing that there are serious consequences to what we're doing.

  Here. Zeb says as he steps out of the truck. You two are going to have to head directly north. Don't follow any trails. The border patrol has those marked with motion detectors. I'll get you on the other side. Stop when you hit the first highway.

  He hands me a compass.

  As the truck backs out and disappears, I glance at Jenny. She's shivering.

  Once the soun
d of the engine is gone and all we can hear is the forest breathing, I feel like a fool. What's to stop Zeb from turning us in, or just leaving us here? We have our backpacks, but we don't have any food or warm gear.

  You trust him? Jenny asks.

  I look at her. We hadn't really discussed it, so I assumed she wanted to do this.

  Why do you ask?

  Because I feel like we shouldn't trust someone we barely know.

  A little late for that now, isn't it?

  She stares glumly at the dirt road, and the brush that we are to hike through. She seems defeated, which doesn't seem like her style. Then I remember that she isn't in her element here.

  Well, I think he'll be waiting for us on the other side. I say and take a step towards the brush.

  What makes you think that?

  He's not right with the law. As I say this I feel better and remember how he hates the government. He seems like the kind of person who would shoot up a road sign.

  Let's go.

  I walk and hit the brush. I don't hear her footsteps. I make it through the brush and turn. The look on her face makes me feel like a stranger, but she finally throws up her hands and follows me.

  It's slow going. At one point the brush gets so thick that no matter how hard we flail at it it won't budge.

  We stop to take a break. A machete would have helped. That and some agent orange.

  This is hopeless. She says and buries her head in her scratched up hands.

  Don't give up just yet. I say, half angry because this is all for her and I don't want to see her lose hope so easily.

  I get up and use my bag and body to push through the brush. Sweat pours down my face. I can smell my armpits stagnating and Jenny right behind me. We make way, but are soon surrounded by nothing but brush. We sit again.

  I kiss her a few times. One hour later we push through the brush. As we make our way through a pine forest I hear the whine of a car driving on a highway.

  Ten minutes later we come across a highway.

  No one is there.

  We sit right off it, since we don't want to be seen by just anyone. Then I realize the situation might mean we'll never be found again—assuming Zeb is coming back for us at all.

  Jenny rests her head on my lap and we find a spot where the midday sun warms us up. A semi-truck drives past. We should have thought this out better. How will we find Zeb?