The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise

by Dan Gemeinhart

  Ivan sure didn’t look like he minded it.

  “Now, I gotta make sure Rodeo doesn’t get suspicious,” I said. “Stay put.”

  Rodeo had gotten up into the driver’s seat by then. He slid his own sunglasses on and tossed a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth, shells and all. I knelt on the seat behind him and leaned over his shoulder.

  “Ready to roll, Coyote?” he asked me.

  “Ready as rain,” I answered with a grin. “Where we going?”

  He disengaged the parking brake and flicked on the radio. Freaky hippie electric guitar wailed out of the speakers.

  “Only one way to find out,” he said. He slapped the dusty dashboard of the bus and shouted, “You ready, Yager?” He gunned the gas pedal, making that old bus engine roar, and then he popped the clutch and we started forward with a jerk. His head bobbed to the music and his lips pursed as he worked on tonguing those seeds out of their shells. “Give me a howl, Coyote!” he hollered through his mouthful of seeds.

  I threw my head back and howled, a high and happy coyote wail that echoed off the riveted metal roof. I hoped Ivan would hear me and know I was still there. And I hoped like heck he kept his mouth shut and didn’t try to howl back.

  All the front windows were open and the air started moving around, fluttering the pages of books and cooling us down. I lowered my head and saw the two kids out the window, sitting on the curb next to a box that was one kitten short. They were both looking at me with curious wrinkles on their forehead. The little one was back to sucking on his—my—Funky Fruit Punch slushy.

  I shrugged at them—the most fitting gesture, I thought—and threw them a big wave. They waved back, in unison. Good kids, those two. The kind of kids you almost wouldn’t mind seeing again.

  We pulled out onto the highway and the engine growled as it struggled up to speed. The black ribbon of road stretched out forever before us, just like it always did. I took a sip of my slushy and nodded my head along with Rodeo’s to the beat of the music.

  I had a kitten. Which definitely meant I had a problem.

  But, heck. I already had problems. And now I also had Ivan.

  And that sure seemed like an improvement either way.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  One day. That’s how long I was able to keep little Ivan a secret from Rodeo. One measly day.

  I knew I needed to play my cards just exactly right. Rodeo is probably the nicest man in the whole world, but even his kindness has its limits. He never gets mean at all, but if he ever gets to a point where his kindness starts to wear thin, he just kind of goes away. He slips back into his own mind, polite enough but distant, and there’s no getting to him. I knew I had to make sure to keep Ivan where he belonged: in the warm sunshine of Rodeo’s kindness, not out in the cold.

  I started laying the groundwork that very first afternoon. Once we were driving for a while, I slipped back to my room and cuddled and played with Ivan for an hour or so. Eventually, though, I tore myself away from his almost unbearable cuteness. I set him in his box and he looked up at me with those ridiculously blue eyes. “I gotta go up and work on the boss,” I whispered to him. “He’ll love you as much as I do by the time I’m done with him.”

  Ivan blinked at me. He didn’t look all that convinced, but we were still getting to know each other and I wasn’t all that good at reading his facial expressions yet, so who knows. I gave him a goodbye scratch and ambled up to the front of the bus.

  Rodeo was sitting happy behind the wheel, bobbing his head to the music. He welcomed me with a smile and I knelt there on the seat behind him, looking out the windshield and singing along to the same old songs for a while.

  I was just waiting for a chance, biding my time for the right moment to start my game, when Rodeo just up and threw me an easy pitch right over the plate.

  “Give me a once-upon-a-time, Coyote,” he said.

  I knew a perfect opportunity when I saw one.

  I squinted out the window and scrunched up my mouth, trying not to look too overeager.

  “Mmmkay, got one,” I said, resting my chin on the seat back in front of me and closing my eyes. “Once upon a time, there was a girl.”

  I heard Rodeo spit a sunflower seed shell into the empty Squirt bottle in his hand. “Always a good start,” he murmured.

  “Yep. So, this girl was a great warrior. She traveled from kingdom to kingdom, slaying dragons and killing giants and rescuing wimpy princes. She was totally hardcore.”

  “Nice.”

  “After a while, though, she got kinda tired of all that. So she built herself a castle. Right by the ocean. She made it out of, like, driftwood from the beach.”

  Rodeo snorted.

  “Driftwood? A driftwood castle?”

  “Yeah,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Driftwood. And seashells. And barnacles. And whale bones. But mostly driftwood.”

  “All right.”

  “But pretty soon, the waters off the part of the coast she was on started getting called haunted. Sailors crossed themselves and prayed when they had to sail through it. Ships went out of their way to avoid it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’ll tell you why, Rodeo. It was ’cause of the howling and the wailing.”

  “Howlin’ and wailin’?”

  “Yessir. Like you wouldn’t believe. A horrible, heartbreaking sound. The kind of sound that’d make tears spring to your eyes like you were chopping onions. Some sailors even threw themselves overboard and surrendered their souls to the deep, that sound was so sad.”

  “Tragic.” Rodeo tsked, shaking his head.

  “You got that right.”

  “So this girl of yours in the driftwood castle, I’m guessing she sets off to vanquish this monster?” Rodeo asked.

  “No, sir. No, she did not.”

  “Really?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not, sugar pie?”

  “Because she was the wailing monster.”

  He took his eyes off the road a second to shoot me a surprised look.

  “She was? That’s a heckuva twist!”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, heck, why’d she wanna kill all them sailors?”

  “She didn’t. She didn’t even know all that was happening. She wasn’t trying to drive no one mad or crash any ships. She was just sitting in her castle, moaning and crying, screaming all her sadness out.”

  “What was she so sad about?”

  I swallowed and paused dramatically. This was it. My chance to really plant the seed. I looked straight ahead out the window. I concentrated and brought some tears up into my eyes, made ’em burn ’til they were blurry. I was kinda surprised at how easy they came. I waited until Rodeo got curious and looked over at me.

  Then I shrugged. I blinked hard, feeling his eyes on me.

  “She was just lonely,” I said, all soft. “She didn’t have any friends. She missed her family. Even one friend would’ve made her feel happy, even a little friend. A pet, even. But she didn’t have one.”

  I sighed and looked away.

  We rumbled along for a few minutes, our tires humming on the highway blacktop.

  “Well?” Rodeo said at last, his voice kinda quiet and worried. “What next? Did she get a happy ending?”

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t know,” I said after waiting a breath. “I don’t know. Loneliness is a terrible thing.” I let that sit there a second, then I stood up with another sigh. “I’m gonna go read for a while.” And I turned and walked all slow toward my room. I didn’t look back, but I knew Rodeo was sitting at the wheel, eyeing me in the rearview mirror, his face all worried and scrunched up.

  It was a good thing I was walking away. Because otherwise Rodeo might’ve seen my smile.

  * * *

  So I planted that seed and I let it set there the rest of the day. I watered it from time to time with wistful sighs and downcast eyes and a kinda overall downer attitude. I could te
ll it was having an effect on Rodeo. I caught him looking at me a lot, all concerned and confused.

  That night after the sun went down, we stopped at a grocery store for dinner. Rodeo went into the bathroom and gave me that “it’ll be a while” look, so I hustled and bought some cans of cat food and a bag of kitty litter and got it all out to the bus while I had the chance. I had the pet supplies stashed in my room and was back perusing the cantaloupes in the produce section by the time Rodeo came out, scratching at his beard and none the wiser.

  When we got back on the road, I slipped into my room and set up pretty good digs for little Ivan: a shoebox filled with litter in the corner, shaded by a T-shirt on a coat hanger for privacy and odor blockage; a little plastic bowl for water and one for food; and a comfy little bed in my old book box. Ivan padded around me as I set it all up, sniffing and rubbing up against me, sweet as sugar and quiet as a mime.

  He seemed just as pleased as punch with his new accommodations, too. He lapped at his water and sniffed at his food and took to the litter box like a natural. I never thought I’d be so proud to see another creature squat and piddle, but darn if I didn’t have to sit on my hands to keep from clapping. Once he’d done his business and scraped litter over the top, I scooped him up and laid a big kiss right between his ears. He got to purring and rubbing his wet nose against my cheek and I tell you I was just about as happy at that moment as I had ever remembered being.

  Rodeo always had a healthy respect for my privacy, so as long as Ivan kept his mouth shut and I kept his litter box smell under control, I figured I could keep that cat a secret just about until I was old enough to head off to college, or at least until I thought Rodeo was ready to be open-minded and reasonable about the whole thing.

  That night, I pulled Ivan’s sleeping box right over snug next to my bed. He looked up at me, blinking all slow and sleepy, and yawned a big curly-tongued yawn at me.

  “Goodnight, Ivan,” I whispered. We were still rolling down the highway—Rodeo liked to stay up late, driving deep into the night—and my bed rocked and swayed with the rhythm of the road, lulling me to sleep like it always did. My eyes started to blink closed.

  But then: scritch scratch scritch. My eyes snapped open.

  Ivan was sitting looking up at me, eyes wide and intense. He had one paw in the air and as I watched he did it again, flexing his claws out and scraping ’em on the cardboard walls of his bedroom.

  “Goodnight, Ivan,” I said again, but he shifted on his little rump and scratched again, a little louder, and cocked his head sideways at me.

  I knew what he wanted. It was written all across his darn adorable face.

  “No,” I said. “You gotta sleep in your own place, Ivan, so I can keep track of you.”

  Ivan just looked at me, his eyes all kinds of blue and big and sweet.

  He didn’t meow. He didn’t have to.

  Now, something you should know about Rodeo is that he’s got magic in his eyes. They’re so deep and gentle and kind that folks just kinda fall into them. Time and time again, I seen it. He’s tall and hairy and clearly not what anybody would call “normal,” so folks always get pretty tight and wary and downright cold when he walks up. But then he looks at them with those eyes of his, and they just thaw right out and relax into a smile and next thing you know, them and Rodeo are best friends.

  Turns out my little Ivan had the same magic in his eyes that Rodeo does. You looked into ’em and whatever “no” you’d been ready to say just kinda melted into a nice easy “yes.”

  I blew out a breath.

  “Aw, heck,” I mumbled, and reached down to pick him up.

  Ivan slept all nuzzled up right against my neck, purring like a little lawn mower. He whimpered and kicked a little from time to time during the night with some mysterious kitten nightmares, but I didn’t mind one bit. There ain’t nothing wrong with waking up here and there to smile and cuddle up tighter with something warm that you love.

  But, as Rodeo says, there ain’t nothing in this old world that’s gonna last forever except for Twinkies and Janis Joplin’s voice echoing around the universe.

  I woke up to a beautiful morning, all things considered. The sky was blue through the bus windows as I blinked myself awake. I didn’t know where we were exactly, but I knew it was someplace with birds, because they were singing like a choir. I stretched a full-body stretch all the way to my toes and rubbed at the sleep in my eyes. But then I jolted still and my eyes snapped wide, and that peaceful morning feeling went rushing right out of me.

  Here’s what I realized: I was alone.

  I sat up with a jerk and whipped my head around. Ivan wasn’t in my bed. He wasn’t on my pillow. He wasn’t in his box.

  “Ivan!” I hissed. Then again, as loud as I dared: “Ivan!”

  I didn’t hear any padding of paws or clicking of claws or sleepy head-shaking. My room was silent except for the carrying on of the birds through the window.

  There was only one place Ivan could be.

  “Holy heck,” I swore, looking at the curtained doorway that led to the front of the bus.

  My cat had busted loose.

  I jumped up out of my bed and poked my head through the doorway.

  Sparkling morning sunlight was coming sideways through the windows all down the driver’s side. The bus was still and quiet. There wasn’t a single wayward kitten or bearded hippie to be seen.

  I tiptoed down the aisle, eyes darting around, looking under and on top of and inside everything, looking for a glimpse of Ivan’s gray fluff. But my seeking eyes found nothing but our same old junk.

  As I got closer to the front of the bus, I heard the soft, regular sound of Rodeo’s sleeping breaths and saw his bare feet sticking out the bottom of the heap of blankets he called a bed. He wasn’t tossing or snoring or turning the pages of a book, and that was all good. It meant I still had a chance to avoid the catastrophe I’d awoken to.

  I crept right past Rodeo’s slumbering form and up to the front of the bus. The driver’s seat was empty, the door firmly closed and latched. I nodded to myself.

  Ivan was still on board. I just needed to find him.

  I turned back toward Rodeo, ready to give the bus and its various nooks and crannies a more thorough front-to-back search.

  But before I could take even the first step, my body went stiff, my eyes went wide, and my heart stopped short like a motorcycle slamming into the back of a parked semi (which I actually saw once outside of Stevenstown, Missouri … not a sight you’re likely to forget, I promise you). I froze where I was, breathless and unblinking.

  ’Cause I saw Ivan.

  He was sleeping, calm and peaceful as a summer morning. Curled up cute as anything, with his little tail tucked right up under his chin.

  It woulda been adorable.

  If he hadn’t been dozing tucked up right against Rodeo’s sleeping neck.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  I woulda gulped, but I was afraid the noise would wake Rodeo.

  I breathed in, quiet and easy as I could, and breathed back out. Rodeo is a reliably heavy sleeper—I once got six grapes into his mouth before he woke up—but even I knew this was gonna be tough.

  I made my way toward Rodeo’s sprawled body, one silent step at a time. The floor creaked beneath me.

  “Quiet, Yager,” I prayed soundlessly.

  I snuck to within tickling distance of Rodeo’s dirty-soled feet and shot ’em a quick side-eye. Walking around barefoot in gas station parking lots doesn’t do the bottoms of your feet any favors on the cleanliness front, I promise. I made a mental note to do a better job of remembering to throw on some flip-flops in the future.

  I crept past his hairy toes. He was laying sideways in his blanket nest, so I was able to shuffle myself right up to his middle.

  His head was thrown back, his face turned away from Ivan. His mouth was wide open, and I spied a sunflower shell stuck in his beard. Despite all that, he looked peaceful, laying there snug
gling unawares with my Ivan.

  Peace don’t last forever, though.

  I leaned awkwardly over Rodeo, pinwheeling my arms for a second to keep from toppling right onto him, which would not have been ideal. I set my jaw, concentrated on my balance, and reached out with both hands for the kitten cuddled up in my dad’s neck.

  But then … well, shoot. Then it all went to heck.

  Something musta made a sound. Maybe it was my heart hammering, maybe I was breathing too loud through my nose, maybe Yager creaked under my feet. I don’t know.

  But, whatever it was, Rodeo’s eyes fluttered open. I stood still as a statue, hoping they’d settle right back closed.

  Instead, they slowly widened and focused on me. His eyebrows furrowed.

  “Coyote,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. “What are you doing?”

  I was standing over him, my hands reached out toward his neck.

  “Nothing,” I answered.

  He blinked a few times and looked me up and down, still looming like a strangler over him.

  “Coyote,” he said again. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” I repeated, although to tell the truth it sounded even stupider the second time.

  Rodeo cleared his throat.

  At that moment, Ivan opened his eyes. He blinked at me, just like Rodeo had. My heart stopped.

  He yawned, one of his molar-showing monster yawns.

  His yawn was soundless, but when he yawned his whiskers brushed up against Rodeo’s neck.

  Rodeo twitched and raised his hand to scratch at his neck.

  “No!” I shouted, leaping toward them both.

  I’m willing to admit it was not the smartest thing to do.

  Rodeo, understandably startled to wake up and find himself being attacked by his deranged daughter, jumped and screamed and tried to scramble away from me.

  Ivan, understandably startled to wake up and find his bed suddenly screaming and kicking, did what any cat would do in that situation: He dug all ten of his razor kitten claws into the nearest object.