In the Path of Falling Objects

by Andrew Smith

  “No you didn’t.”

  “Well, I’d still understand.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  We drove away from the fire. Dalton kept the headlights turned off, but we could still see the white of the dirt road that led to the highway. There was no one around. Walker was the only person who’d seen the fire from the Lincoln out in that remote place, and now he was dead, so I couldn’t believe anyone would notice what we left behind at the mesa. And, as we bumped down that road, I thought that even if anyone ever did map out the pieces of what had happened with Mitch and Lilly, that Lincoln, and Walker, there were three figures: me, Simon, and Dalton, who would never show up on that map.

  “He left his money box,” Simon said. “Why’d he do that?”

  “He thought he was going to get away,” I said. “That’s all there is to it. He was going to kill us all. I know that.”

  “How long do you think till someone finds out about this?” Simon asked.

  “I don’t think anyone’s going to find out for a long time,” Dalton said.

  “And, think about it, Simon,” I said. “No one’s ever going to know we ever got in that car in the first place.”

  We went back to the Lincoln. We picked up the blankets and threw them in the camper. Then we put that tin man back there, too.

  What happened to me and Simon was unfair, but we chose most of our path, too. I know I chose to fool myself into believing things—about Matthew, our father, and, especially, about Lilly—that would never be true. And a certain part of me still wants to believe that there was something special and real between Lilly and me, a passing dream of something that wasn’t Los Rogues that I got to hold on to for just a moment. But there’s also that part of me that knows that someone like Lilly just floats by and does what she has to do to survive. I could still feel sorry for her, though, could still miss her.

  And I did.

  We were too scared to stop in Kayenta, convinced that someone would notice the three boys who happened to show up there on that bloody morning. I think every one of us felt like we were in some kind of movie or something, that all the eyes of the world were paying attention to us, watching every thing we did or said.

  So we didn’t say anything. And Dalton just kept on driving.

  Not one of us had any idea where we were heading.

  I don’t know how long we had gone like that, just driving, not talking, listening to the whirr of the wheels on the grainy, hot asphalt; but Dalton finally pulled the truck off the highway and turned down a dirt road that wound its way past a flimsy sign that said COAL MINE CANYON.

  It scared me to leave the road. I could tell Simon was worried, too, because as long as we were on the road, it was like we were invisible. Anonymous. But when we went out into the dirt of the desert, we had to be us again.

  Dalton tapped my shoulder and said, “I want to take a look at that cut on your head.”

  I didn’t even realize I’d been pressing my hand down onto my scalp the whole time since we’d left Walker’s.

  So I sat on the ground at the back of the camper and Dalton took a needle and thread from inside and put some stitches across the cut to close it. Simon stood over and watched him do it, but then he ran off and threw up in the dirt on the other side of the truck.

  “Does this hurt?” Dalton asked.

  “No.” But my eyes were watering pretty good. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

  “I’m learning how to do it right now,” Dalton said.

  He tied off the last stitch.

  “Okay.”

  I carefully pressed my fingertips against the knots.

  We washed up with the last of the water from my canteen. Simon sat in the road at the front of the truck, leaning against the bumper with his knees bent. Dalton was doing something inside the camper, and I walked around to where my brother sat.

  “I’m okay, Simon,” I said.

  “Good.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I just got sick looking at it. It looked like it hurt you.”

  “Not too bad,” I said.

  Dalton came around from the camper.

  “Here,” he said. “I think these will be good.”

  He dropped a bundle of clothes on Simon’s lap.

  “I don’t think Simon and me would ever have gotten away, Dalton,” I said.

  Dalton sighed. “Let’s try and find someplace to eat. I think I’m lost, but how hard can it be to get to Flagstaff, anyway?”

  “Next to impossible, for me and Simon.”

  Dalton smiled. He pulled Simon up to his feet.

  “Come on,” he said. “Change your clothes, and let’s get back on the road.”

  We drove south into Indian land, through a place called Tuba City. I wondered where the name came from. It wasn’t a city, and I don’t think there ever was a tuba there, either. The desert here was so flat and endless. Simon slept a little, but he jerked and his hands shot up when he dreamed about something. I knew it wasn’t much of a dream.

  And Dalton said, “The bad stuff is over, so let’s get you and Simon to Flagstaff and then we’ll see what we’re going to do. Okay?”

  Simon said, “Okay.”

  That afternoon, we drove through a place called Cottonwood. We still weren’t talking to each other much, though; but it was a real nice little town that made me feel almost normal again. We ate hamburgers there. I finally used that ten-dollar bill I’d carried with us from home. I knew we were all afraid to get into that box of money Mitch left behind, because there was still too much of a bad smell on it, if that makes any sense. It’s the only way I can describe it, though.

  When we left the diner, Dalton followed the river up toward the hills outside of Sedona, looking for a place where he could park the truck for us to sleep. We were all so tired. Simon yawned and stretched. He put his arm around my shoulders so he could tap Dalton and said, “Thank you for the clothes. It feels good to wear something new.”

  “It’s okay, Simon,” he said. “I’m glad to help you and your brother out.”

  And just before the light completely faded, we drove past two hitchhikers, thumbs out and facing backwards, as they backpedaled along the road beneath the trees. They looked so much like Mitch and Lilly the first time I’d seen them that my heart went up into my throat and I looked, wide-eyed, over at Simon, like I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, to see if he noticed it, too.

  Simon turned to me and said, “Just don’t even look at them, Jonah.”

  He knew what I saw.

  We saw the same thing.

  We had to put Don Quixote outside when we parked by the river for the night; so the three of us could get inside the camper. I sat at the table with my map for a while, but I just couldn’t draw anything on it yet.

  And Simon and I had to sleep head-to-foot since there were only two beds. Just like we always did.

  flagstaff

  We made our way along a winding and shaded road, the tires of the truck sighing like ghosts, the three of us sitting up in the cab, Simon sleeping against my shoulder despite the clattering and clanging of the metal man on the camper floor in back of us.

  Jones,

  If you are reading this, then I know where you are and I am not coming back.

  But I am glad you found Mrs. Scott and I hope you can feel that me and Scotty are both in a better place now. I am sorry. Tell Simon that.

  Joneser, I know that you understand why I had to send this letter to Scotty’s mom and not to Mother. Please try to make Simon understand, too. Because none of this is your fault, or mine either, we were just unlucky is all.

  When I think about it, I guess all along I knew I was never going to just walk out of here, but I wanted you and Simon to get out and see what’s out there. Away from Los Rogues. Away from Dad. Away from that woman who never cared for anyone as much as she cared for herself. I know things are working out for you. I believe that.

  You know what I wan
t (besides a hamburger—ha ha)? I want you and Simon to be brothers again. You guys should do things that brothers do. Smoke cigarettes and chase after girls. Sneak into drive-ins and get drunk together. Don’t ever wear a suit, and especially not a uniform. And when you get into fights, do it because you’re sticking up for each other. And beat the hell out of any guy who wants to mess with you or your brother. Because I’d do all that with you and Simon if I could.

  I haven’t slept in four days. Since they killed Scotty. I am so tired.

  I can hear shooting. I’m not even going to go and look. Nobody knows where I am anyway.

  One more thing: Don’t miss me. I found out that missing someone is just another way to feel sorry for yourself, like someone’s done you wrong. You know where I am. You’ll hear me at night. You can’t look at your brother’s face and not see me.

  So go out and do those things I told you to do.

  I’m going to rest now.

  Bye.

  Love,

  Matthew

  Dalton sat in the truck and waited for us.

  He said he was tired.

  We knew why he didn’t want to come inside.

  “I can see Matthew in you both. He was such a good-looking boy.”

  Mrs. Scott held up a Polaroid picture of Matthew standing beside her son.

  And I could read the smeared blue ink inscription on the back: “Suicide Pact. That’s the name of the track we’re standing in front of. Me and Matt, 1970.”

  I folded Matthew’s letter and put it back into the envelope. I wiped my eyes.

  Simon drank his glass of milk.

  “What did it say?” Simon asked. He wiped a hand across his mouth.

  I looked at my brother.

  “He’s not coming back.”

  Mrs. Scott cleared her throat.

  “Your father called me,” she said. “He didn’t know what else to do. I guess Matthew gave him my phone number. He said that some men from the Army came to talk to him. You know. In the place where he is.”

  She looked at each of us. Maybe she thought we were too young, or something. Maybe she thought we just hadn’t seen enough of this world for us to learn that sometimes things that are real end up being scarier than dreams. I knew what she meant.

  “He told me your brother’s passed.”

  Simon put his glass down.

  “We figured that,” I said. I cleared my throat. “Thank you for keeping his letter for us.”

  “There was nothing else I could do with it. I’ve kept it here for three months.”

  Her hands shook. She pressed a tissue to the corner of her eye and looked away.

  I spun the photograph around on the table where she dropped it so Simon and I could see it.

  “It seems like he’s been gone forever,” Simon said.

  “Are you boys still hungry?” Mrs. Scott looked at the crumbs from the sandwiches she gave us.

  “No thank you,” I said.

  Simon shook his head.

  “You came a long way to get here.”

  “We had a fun trip,” Simon said.

  I looked at him.

  “I know your father must want to see you. It isn’t that far from here,” she said. “And you are both welcome to stay with me until his release. It’s almost here. I would like that very much.”

  “We can’t,” I said. “We have to return a truck.”

  Simon leaned against the window and slept while Dalton drove the truck along the crooked highway through the hills.

  I let him sleep. I wanted to talk to him, but there was no need to wake him up.

  “It sure is pretty up here,” Dalton said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “How long do you think it’ll take us to get back?”

  “Do you want to go fast, or slow?” Dalton asked.

  “Slow.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What are we going to tell your family?”

  Dalton glanced at me. “I told you I never lie to my dad. But I’ll be honest, Jonah, I’ve been thinking about what to say, too.”

  I sighed. I didn’t want Simon to get into any kind of trouble for things we couldn’t have done anything about.

  I didn’t want us to be split up.

  And Dalton said, “So I thought we’d just say we found Simon on the side of the road in Arizona, and that then we drove up here to Flagstaff to visit Mrs. Scott. That’s the truth, right?”

  He put out his right hand to me and I grabbed it.

  “Dalton.”

  “What?”

  “Thanks.”

  “And what are you going to say, Jonah?”

  “To your dad?”

  “No. In your book.”

  “It wouldn’t be a map if I didn’t put in everything that happened to us on our trip.” I shifted against Simon, and he moved slightly. “What do you think your dad will say when he reads it?”

  Dalton kept his eyes forward on the road. “I think he’ll say you’re brave; and you’re a good brother.”

  My back itched, dripping, glued to the cracking vinyl of the bench seat, so I’d lean forward from time to time to allow the rush of dry air to cool me off. I had never seen trees like the ones fencing the highway in this part of Arizona, making shade even if it was over a hundred degrees. I liked the dark ponderosas.

  I looked at my brother. Simon had kicked off his moccasins and curled his legs across the seat toward me, so the dingy socks he wore rested on my feet. At another time, this would have made me mad, I guess.

  Even in a perfect world, brothers can only get so close.

  Dalton pulled the truck off the pavement and turned onto a dirt road cutting a border through the tall pines toward a small lake. When he parked, Simon stirred, but did not open his eyes. I wondered if my brother was dreaming; Simon had slept so fitfully since that night at Walker’s trailer.

  I took my book, my map, from the backpack on the floor and slid out of the truck through Dalton’s door, leaving it open so Simon wouldn’t get scared if he woke up.

  I put the map down at the base of a tree and followed Dalton down to the water’s edge.

  The lake was shaped like a sickle, a partial moon rimmed with soft green grass that quickly burned to the color of rust only a few feet away from the shore, where the trees grew. We kicked off our boots and socks, pulled up the legs of our pants and sat down in the grass with our feet in the icy water.

  “Ahhh. That feels good,” Dalton said.

  I dipped my hands down and then washed my face and hair, feeling over the jagged knots of stitches where Dalton had sewn my scalp together with black thread. The water felt good, running down through my short hair and over my shoulders and chest, making dark circles where it pooled on my pants.

  We sat like that, not saying anything, staring out across the slate surface of the lake on the windless afternoon, the sawtooth tops of the green-gray trees jutting upward on the opposite shore into a pale and dusty sky.

  I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

  Footsteps behind.

  “What are you doing?” Simon asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Cooling off.”

  “You left this back there.”

  I heard the slap of my comp book hitting the ground next to where Dalton and I sat, a pencil landing and rolling off into the grass.

  I opened my eyes and picked up my map and pencil. Simon, shoeless, sat down beside me, pulled off his socks, and dipped his feet into the lake.

  “I thought about drawing some more on it,” I said. “But I guess I didn’t really feel like it.”

  “You need to,” Simon said. “What if we die or something? No one will know how we got here.”

  “We won’t.”

  “We almost did.”

  “Yeah.”

  Simon paddled his feet, making waves, and watched as I drew a line south and marked it with dots and the names of the towns we had driven through, away from a scrawled image of the burning trailer, a mesa, crosses labeled “Lill
y” and “Walker,” a house beneath tall trees where I’d written “The End.”

  “How come you didn’t draw something for Mitch on there?” Simon put his finger over the map where I had drawn a dog lying down by a cactus.

  “I didn’t know what to put.”

  “Yeah.”

  Simon hurtled a rock out into the center of the lake.

  “How about a rat?” Simon asked.

  I smiled. “I’d rather leave it blank. There.”

  I showed Simon the map, now with a lake and three boys sitting at its shore.

  “Now I can tell us apart,” Simon said. “We always used to look the same in your pictures.”

  “Maybe I’ll get some moccasins.”

  “Maybe I’ll cut my hair.”

  “Don’t say that,” I said. “ ‘Maybe’ is as good as setting an appointment with Dalton’s razor.”

  Dalton laughed. “You asked me for it, Jonah.”

  “I like it. Now,” I said.

  “I guess we went past the end, then,” Simon said.

  “And we didn’t fall off the world,” I answered.

  “Like Lilly said.” Simon smiled and lay down, brushing his hair back away from his face.

  We all stretched out in the warm grass, staring up at the sky, our feet still resting in the lapping edge of the water. Simon pulled his meteorite out and tumbled it around, over his head.

  “I’m tired,” I said.

  “Maybe you should sleep,” Dalton said. “We won’t go anywhere.”

  Simon held the rock between his hands, its shadow stretching across my chest.

  “Walker said this was lucky,” Simon said.

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Not for him.”

  I knew I’d never forgive myself for what happened to Walker and Lilly. If forgive is even the right word. But I could almost hear it in Simon’s matter-of-fact tone, the way he’d cursed me that night for always taking the blame for things, like I was supposed to be in control when we both knew I never was.

  “Things will be okay, Simon,” I said. “I believe that things will work out for us.”

  “You’ll like it at my place,” Dalton said. “With my family. A real family. And Jonah knows you can stay as long as you want. Forever.”