Leaving Serenity

by Alle Wells

  I nodded. “Cool.”

  “Hey, do you want some coffee?” she asked, as I followed her back to the bedroom.

  “Yeah, I like it with a bunch of sugar and cream.”

  Wednesday poured two cups of coffee from a percolator sitting on top of a small fridge. I looked around the room, noting the nice comforter, refrigerator, coffee pot, and color television that didn’t come with it.

  Wednesday continued to dig through the refrigerator, calling back, “I have sugar and milk. I have some glazed doughnuts, too, if you want one.”

  I smiled. “Sure! It’s been ages since I had a doughnut.”

  Wednesday turned up her nose. “Only problem is, they’re dated today. So I think we’ll have to eat the whole box.”

  I laughed and said, “That’s fine by me!”

  Wednesday and I sat on her fluffy white comforter with the box of doughnuts between us. She cocked her head to one side as she surveyed the pictures around the room.

  “You know, I didn’t have to get that car. I could have just crawled in a hole and died when my daddy left me at that truck stop a little over two years ago. But I didn’t. I don’t know what I would’ve done if Carlos hadn’t been there. He gave me a job and talked Ray into letting me have this room.”

  “How did you come up with the idea of visualization?”

  Wednesday laughed. “An old tightwad used to come into the Waffle Stop. Instead of leaving a tip, he’d say, ‘As you believe, so shall it be.’ After a while, it stuck in my head, and I started pinning stuff I wanted on the wall.”

  Wednesday pointed to the pictures. “There’s my leather handbag, my Chanel No. 5, and a $5,000 dollar bill that I drew myself. Next stop is Miami!”

  I plucked another doughnut from the box. “Will you do what you’re doing now, when you get to Miami? For a living, I mean.”

  Wednesday sipped her coffee, thoughtfully. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter what I do to make money. As long as I believe it and see it, I know that I can make it happen.”

  I nodded, looking at the pictures. “Wednesday, why did you call Ray a junkie?”

  “Because he shoots smack, that’s why.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Eww! For real?”

  She sucked the sticky glaze from her fingertips and said, “Sure ’nuff!”

  “Man, heroin is real bad. Isn’t that what killed Janis Joplin?”

  Wednesday nodded. “Yep.”

  I stared at the purple violets on the white coverlet. “Jack likes to get high, but I don’t think he’d ever do that.”

  Wednesday hopped off the bed. “Do you want to do your hair now?”

  I smiled. “Yeah!”

  Wednesday trimmed the dead ends and colored my hair bright yellow, just like I always wanted. I parted it in the middle and added two thin braids on each side. Later, we held her hairbrushes like microphones and followed along as Tony Orlando and Dawn sang “Knock Three Times.”

  Wednesday and I became close friends after that day. Hanging out with Wednesday made up for the sleepovers I had missed growing up. Hanging out in Room 8 helped me become independent and find my own dreams for the future.

  The next week, Wednesday brought her friend to the Plaza Inn. I watched him hang a light blue curtain as a background for my picture ID. The swarthy man smoked a menthol cigarette that stung my eyes. I blinked and grinned into the camera. He focused the lens and said, “Don’t tear up on me or smile too much, Sweetheart. This ain’t no photo shoot.”

  I straightened my face and held my breath as he snapped the picture. He gave me a ballpoint pen and sheet of plain paper and said, “Put the name, address, and social security number you want to use on this piece of paper.”

  I shrugged. “I guess I’ll just use Nikky Harris and this address.”

  The man looked at Wednesday and then at me. “You might want to add a middle name. It makes it look more legit.”

  Wednesday chewed on ice from a Styrofoam cup. “Yeah and use my address, 125 Wilshire. It’ll look better than the grand roach motel.”

  I thought for a second. “Jack’s middle name is Daniel, but I don’t have a middle name.”

  Wednesday snapped her fingers. “Hey! How about Nikky Dan Harris? That sounds pretty cool.”

  I wrote the name on the blank sheet of paper. “Nikky Dan Harris. I like it!”

  The man folded the paper. “You need anything else fixed? Marriage certificates, diplomas, titles?”

  “Yeah, I have a car title. Can you change it, too?”

  “Yep,” the man said, as he packed the curtain away in a brown satchel.

  I ran to the car, picked up the title, and paid him seventy-five dollars for a new social security card, driver’s license, and car title. And I was officially Nikky Dan Harris.

  Dreamland

  As Wednesday and I spent more time together, Jack and I saw less of each other. Jack and his friends were always searching for a buzz. Wednesday and I were busy comparing dreams and counting our money.

  Driving to the motel in the shivering rain, I wondered what happened to Jack’s Florida where it’s summertime all the time. I had a rotten cold, and Carlos sent me home two hours into my shift. I parked in front of the office and fumbled for my keys in the gushing rain. My heart fell to the floor when I pushed the door open and saw a needle poised toward Jack’s arm. He was fully focused on what he was doing and didn’t look up.

  A timid voice fluttered up from my throat. “Jack?”

  He jerked the needle away and blew out a frustrated sigh. “Geez, Babe. Don’t scare me like that! You’ll make me miss.”

  I was still finding my voice when I quietly asked, “What are you doing?”

  The corners of his mouth turned down as he slowly shook his head. “Just copping a buzz, Babe. How about you? What are you doing here?”

  “I live here—last time I checked.”

  I shivered in the wet clothes. The needle was lying across a dinner plate I’d never seen before. I started to sit down on the bed. Jack stopped me with his hand and pointed to the chair.

  “No. Don’t sit here. Sit over there.”

  I declined the sagging upholstered chair and chose to pace the floor. “Jack, why are you doing this? What is it? Heroin?”

  Jack stared at the syringe in his hand and thumped it with his fingernail.

  I stood over him, trying to capture his attention. “Don’t you realize that this stuff can kill you?”

  When he looked up at me, I saw that Jack’s beautiful green eyes were streaked with red lines. The lack of feeling in his voice sent cold chills down my spine. “This is who I am, and no amount of bitching is going to change that. If you’re so worried, you can stay and watch; if not, you can leave. It’s up to you. I need to do this now, before it goes bad.”

  I stood still and watched him grab the leather tourniquet between his teeth. He pulled it tight. Within seconds after the needle dropped on the bed, Jack was transported into another world. I finally sat in the frumpy chair, crying, sniffling, and blowing my nose until I fell asleep.

  Over the next year and a half, I spent many hours watching Jack fly away to dreamland. I felt like I needed to be there for him, in case he needed something. He never needed anything but another fix.

  In December 1972, Wednesday left for Miami. I was sad to see her go but happy to see her dreams come true. I felt lonely without her positive reinforcement and ideas of visualization. More than that, I felt sad that I was left with a husband who was a dysfunctional junkie. I continued to work long hours and save money, while supplying Jack with enough money for his stash.

  I worried about Jack’s wild and reckless friends. The more I expressed my concerns, the farther we drifted apart. Jack called me his pretty lady, when he held out his hand for money. To his friends, I was the old lady, and sometimes just the bitch.

  ***

  In the summer of 1973, Jack and his old Army buddy, Eddie, left for two weeks in Ray’s paneled truck. I didn’t as
k any questions. Deep down, I knew that I was better off not knowing what they were doing. Two weeks later, Jack burst through the door as I stepped out of the shower. He grabbed Beth’s old suitcase and started emptying the dresser drawers. He threw me a quick glance.

  “We gotta book, Babe.”

  I was soaking wet and wearing nothing but a towel. “Whatta ya mean?”

  Jack looked clear-headed, and I’d never seen him move so fast. “I mean, we gotta split, and now!”

  “Jack, I can’t do that. I’m supposed to be at work in thirty minutes.”

  I hardly recognized the desperate man in front of me. He threw a box of garbage bags at my feet and yelled, “Start packing!”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Nashville, Tennessee.”

  “What? Why?”

  Jack let out an impatient, frustrated sigh. “Because the law is after me, that’s why. I ain’t shittin’ you, Babe! We gotta get moving!”

  I didn’t think. I just followed Jack’s orders like a robot. We stuffed the black garbage bags and threw everything in Goldie’s trunk.

  Jack slapped his hand on the dashboard and said, “We gotta split before Ray shows up.”

  My fingers danced nervously on the steering wheel as I wondered what kind of trouble he had gotten into. “Jack, I can’t just leave like this. I have to tell Carlos that I’m leaving, and I have go to the bank.”

  Jack swiped his hand across his face and slumped down in the seat. “Okay, but make it quick.”

  Chapter 7Feeling hung over from the all night drive, I stretch out across Jack’s grassy grave and enjoy the warm sun splashing across my face. I close my eyes and remember another all night drive in 1973.

  Moving On

  I hated quitting my job on the spot. I guess Carlos was used to working with people on the move. When I begged his forgiveness, he smiled, gave me a hundred dollar bill and said, “No problem.”

  Thinking about Carlos’s kindness and generosity brought tears to my eyes as I walked into the bank. I looked at the cashier’s check for thirty-four hundred dollars and thought about the last time I’d closed an account to run away with Jack. Since then, his life had revolved around chasing a high and his sleazy friends. Jack hadn’t contributed a dime to our welfare since the day we left Serenity. The money in my hand was all mine.

  When I got back to the car, Jack’s whole body quivered as he thumped his foot on the floorboard. I didn’t know if he was shaking from nerves or from needing a fix. Whatever the reason, he was clearly in a tizzy from head to toe. I closed the car door and gripped the steering wheel.

  “Jack, I don’t even know how to get to Tennessee. Why are we going there, anyway?”

  Jack bit his nails and looked out the passenger window. “Uh, we’re supposed to pick up Eddie at the I-10 junction. He’ll show us the way.”

  My head fell against the steering wheel. “Oh, God, that guy is such a creep! Does he have to come with us?”

  Jack looked at his trembling hands and clasped them together. “Uh, he knows a place we can stay until things blow over.”

  I tried to read his blank face. “What things?”

  He stared at his hands and blew through his lips. “We got stopped on 95 just across the state line. The cop climbed into the back of the truck and started rambling through the boxes. We slammed the door and locked it. I ran like hell to the motel. Eddie said he’d wait for us at the I-10 overpass.”

  I shrugged. “Well, maybe it’s not so bad. You didn’t hurt him or anything. What was in the truck?”

  Jack squinted at the late afternoon sun. “We, uh, had a few hot hi-fis, TVs, a little blow, and some smack.”

  I closed my eyes and moaned. “Oh, Jack.”

  Jack pulled a rumpled cigarette from a crushed pack in his jeans pocket. “Ray’s going to be hotter ’n hell, when they trace that truck back to him. And Ray ain’t taking the rap for nobody.”

  I shook my head slowly. “Ray and Eddie. Jack, you’ve got some sorry friends.”

  He shrugged and lit the crooked cigarette.

  I did the only thing I knew to do. I started Goldie’s engine and sighed. “Show me the way to I-10.”

  Eddie leaned against the overpass bridge, holding out a thumb and a foot in the air. Jack pointed. “There’s my man.”

  Every ounce of me wanted to breeze by the bearded man wearing a wife-beater tee-shirt and ragged jeans.

  Jack snapped, “Slow down, Babe!”

  I rolled my eyes at him and stopped the car.

  “Yer late!” Eddie yelled through the open window.

  Jack laughed weakly. “My lady here had to scrap up some bread for the trip, Man.”

  A stale odor of sweaty socks, or maybe dirty underwear, filled the car as he slid into the backseat. Eddie flicked his lighter at the end of a joint between his drooling lips. “That’s good, ’cause I’m broke, and this damn lighter is about out.”

  My stomach lurched as I glanced over the backseat at Eddie’s pasty skin and greasy hair. I cranked the window down, hung my head outside, and took a deep breath. “Okay, guys, where are we going?”

  “Straight up I-75, about nine hours,” Eddie called from the backseat.

  I looked at Jack in disbelief. “Nine hours? For real, Jack? Are you sure that you want to do this? Why don’t we just go back to Carolina?”

  Jack shook his head. “No can do, Babe. The law’s too strict there. Besides, me and Eddie already did time there. They’ll nail us, for sure.”

  Eddy sucked on the low flame at the end of the joint. “Let’s get movin’, Sister.”

  My eyes sent daggers through the sleazebag lounging in the backseat of my car. Claustrophobia, resentment, and fury set in as I merged onto I-75. I kept my nose poised toward the stream of fresh air blowing through the cracked window and tried to focus on getting us to Nashville. Jack and Eddie talked off the joint, recounting their episode of theft and running from the law.

  The lights on the golden arches flicked off as I pulled into McDonalds. Disappointed looks crossed the counter crew’s faces when we walked in. Eddie ordered a chocolate milkshake. The big guy wearing a manager’s badge said, “Sorry, we’ve already shut the machine down for the night. Can I get you something else?”

  Eddie leaped like a frog onto the stainless steel countertop. The look in Eddie’s wild eyes reminded me of Charles Manson. The manager stepped back when Eddie spat in his face.

  “I said I want a chocolate milkshake!”

  The man pointed at Eddie. “Look, mister, I’ll give you two minutes to get out of here, or I’m calling the cops.”

  The man’s calm response made me wonder if he often encountered crazies at closing time.

  Jack pulled Eddie’s arm. “Hey, be cool, man. Let’s go!”

  Eddie slid off the counter and glared at the manager. Jack held his arm as we ran to the car. I slammed the car door. “What was that all about?”

  Eddie slumped down in the seat and mumbled, “I just wanted a chocolate milkshake.”

  Jack crushed an empty pack of Marlboros. “I need some cigs, Babe.”

  ***

  Jack and Eddie stayed in the car while I ran into a convenience store at the next exit. I plucked three hotdogs from the carousel cooker. I piled the hotdogs, chips, drinks, cigarettes, and gum on the counter.

  I smiled at the wiry black guy behind the counter. “Add five dollars worth of gas, please.”

  “That’ll be ten bucks even.” He glanced at the car and then at me. “Look, it’s none of my business, but you might want to take the state road—license check up on 75.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate that,” I said, as I loaded everything in my arms and backed out of the door. The man nodded. “Yeah, stay cool.”

  Jack took the food from the car window. I pumped the gas and called back to him. “The guy inside said that we should take a detour—license check up on 75.”

  Jack took a swallow from the can of Mountain Dew. “You the boss, Babe
.”

  I felt like I was traveling with two spoiled brats as I watched the gas meter roll. Yeah, that’s right, Jack. I’m the boss whenever anything needs to be done.

  After the guys snarfed down the hotdogs and chips, they were lulled to sleep by the dark, winding country road. I compared the twists and turns on the dark, secondary highway to the turning points in my life. I relived my friendship with Kizzie and considered it a positive turn. I replayed the night I was raped, a bad turn. My first job at the Bluebird and getting Goldie were good turning points. Marrying Jack was neither a good nor bad turn, just a straight road to nowhere.

  My feelings of doubt started the day after we were married, when Jack confessed to lying to me. After that, confessions weren’t necessary; he just lied, and I believed. The more I believed, the deeper my resentment grew. I felt more like a convenience to Jack than a wife. He acted more like a child than a husband.

  Wednesday’s words spun through my head as I weaved down the empty road. As you believe, so shall it be. See it. Believe it. Make it happen. Wednesday had the right idea. She made things happen and watched her dreams come true. More than anything, I wanted to hold the power of my own life in my hands. That’s all I had ever wanted, freedom and independence. Instead, I was trapped in a stinking car with two fugitives who depended on me to take care of everything. I wanted to see my life, believe in my future, and live my dreams. I didn’t feel in control driving down that dark road in the middle of the night. I looked at Jack and saw a bleak life ahead of me, spinning out of control.

  Finding my way through the spiraling highways of Atlanta, I was amazed at my first glimpse of city lights. When the silent Appalachian foothills gave me the creeps, I consoled myself by talking to Goldie. I stopped at a convenience store when the sun peaked over the Tennessee state line. I sat quietly, enjoying the scenery, a cup of coffee, and a glazed doughnut. The guys had slept through most of the trip. I wondered if they had taken something to knock them out. I stretched my legs, refilled my coffee, and picked up a map.