by Jamie Ott
~~~
Ten miles up the road, he found a nearly vacant little diner. He walked up to the counter and ordered a tall coffee and a breakfast burrito. Feeling the hot coffee bleed down his throat, into his stomach, was the only thing that kept him from falling asleep while sitting up.
He tried to focus on how much money he had, and where he should go. If he remembered correctly, there would be about a thousand dollars in his bank account, after his last paycheck. It had taken him a whole year to save that money by working, part time, in his uncle’s car repair. His uncle always asked him why he preferred spending all his time in the shop, rather than out with friends. Although he didn’t say, Jacko always knew, in the back of his mind, that he’d leave his father sooner, rather than later.
But a thousand dollars wasn’t enough to do anything. He was a minor, so he couldn’t get an apartment. His father’s family was sure to send him right back home, and he knew nothing of his mother’s side of the family.
As he sat, contemplating, a thought plugged itself into his mind, almost as though someone whispered it into his ear. It said, Go to your sister’s; she’s already expecting you.
Hmmm, he thought. How would his sister react if he showed up? And, in fact, he did have the feeling that she would be expecting him. But how do I know that? He asked himself.
Well, it doesn’t matter because she was all the family he had, so she’d have to help him. He would go to Concord, New Hampshire, where she lived; he just wouldn’t call her until he got close. If he waited until he got close to Concord, and then called Sissy, she couldn’t possibly refuse him. Hopefully, he could persuade her to help him start a life of his own. Heck he could get another job, take a GED; he didn’t have to give up on college, he’d just take night classes.
Settling on the decision to visit Sissy in Concord made him feel slightly exuberant. He finished his breakfast and went next door, to the gas station, and bought a national map and a cheap little prepaid phone for in case of emergency, and to call Sissy with, when he got close to Concord. After he traced, with his finger, the interstate freeways, he didn’t waste time getting back on his bike and riding the whole morning through, and only stopping to refill his tank and buy a few bottles of water.
The worst part of the trip was when Jacko had to go over the Bay Bridge. Although he grinded the bars, his little 250 would go no faster than 60 mph which, although the speed limit was 45 on the bridge, people seemed to think Jacko was a pest. People honked, and always made sure to extend their middle fingers, as they rode around him.
Cars continually slammed their breaks, and skidded behind him, making Jacko’s blood pressure shoot up. Frightened by the repeated squeals coming from behind, he wondered if he was clearly visible on the poorly lit, blue bridge.
He didn’t feel safe, again, until he made it into the city, where people seemed less hostile toward scooter riders. The Golden Gate Bridge wasn’t so bad because it was brightly lit and completely open, skyward, right under the sun. He was able to stretch his legs, a moment, in the bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Eventually, the bridge’s afternoon traffic started to clear, and he made it to Marin, where he decided to pullover and have a rest. Starved and exhausted, he took the nearest exit into the city and parked his bike near the window of a harbor restaurant.Inside, a pretty waitress with wide owl shaped blue eyes stared him up and down in a way that made Jacko aware that he was about to be asked questions – he needed a cover story! There was an older man who sat behind a register, reading a newspaper; he looked at him and tipped his hat. Worried, Jacko, reluctantly, nodded back.
The waitress sat him at a table and then walked off to the kitchen. She quickly came back out and brought him a complimentary New England Chowder. The woman appeared to be in her mid-twenties. Jacko could tell she was a very nosey person and, when she didn’t stop staring at him, he said in a very short and direct manner, “Stop looking at me.” The waitress looked surprised at Jacko’s assertiveness. He continued, “I’d like a Coke or a Pepsi, please.”
She ignored him and continued to stare down at him – he must look a wreck!
“If you can tear your eyes away from the show, perhaps you can do your job? Or should I leave?” and Jacko got up.
“Lorraine,” said the man with the hat, “Get the boy a drink!”
Jacko decided to go and see what he must look like, as he didn’t brush his hair or teeth and his clothes had been soaked, several times through, with sweat since he’d left home. Yikes! He thought as he saw his reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t pretty! His hair looked like he’d taken a tumble in hay, his red puffy eyes looked anaphylactic, and tee shirt looked crusty yellow, like a sock.
Ugh! He said to himself as he bent over the sink and splashed water onto his face and hair. Then, he reached into his red backpack and pulled a clean tee shirt out.
Back at the table, the waitress asked him where he was from. Jacko’s skin turned red with anger because he wanted to be left alone. Instead of having a restful lunch, he now had to find a lie to satisfy the nosey woman.
After a moment, he said, “San Francisco. I’m just going to visit my friend in Santa Rosa,” Jacko said and looked down at his soup.
“Aren’t you a little young to be riding that scooter? It looks a little dangerous too, and especially to ride over the bridge?” The lady stood there and waited for him to answer. His mind raced as he stalled by taking a bite of his soup. He chewed the chunks thoughtfully for a moment, sighed loudly, and said, “I know being small time means you’ve got nothing better to do, but do you have to ruin my lunch? If it’s money you’re worried about, well, here,” and he showed her his wallet. “So if that’s what you’re concerned about, problem solved.”
“Alright then, I’ll leave you alone” she said in a low voice.
Hoping she wouldn’t spit in his burger for being rude, he watched the waitress as she reentered the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, the woman came out with a burger and fries, which she left on the table without saying a word.
After pulling the burger apart and verifying that it was safe, he wolfed down the sandwich. Periodically, the waitress would throw a glance at him, but he kept eating.
When he finished, he took the check up to the old man, behind the counter, who apologized for the nosey waitress. ‘My niece,’ he said, and gave him a ten-percent discount. He thanked the man who, just before he walked out of the door, said “You’re leaving now? Traffic’s coming and you can’t be on the road with that little bike,” but Jacko smiled, said ‘thank you’ and left.
Jacko looked at the freeway, which was visible from where he stood, the old man was right; there were a lot of cars going in both directions. Without stopping for gas, Jacko rode as fast he could to the 80. It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t ride around all the traffic, but what worried him was it would slow him down. He wanted to get away from the cities, and into the country side, before dark; there, he could sleep, camp, or get a motel room without question.
When he made it onto the 80 ramp, happiness welled up inside him. The realization that he was closer to leaving rotten California was exciting. He resented the west coast, the people who lived there, and everything he’d ever experienced. Yes, he blamed his home life for his stale attitude which was, in turn, responsible for his disappointing life! Yes, blame was a rotten attitude to take, but he’d only had misery, the last few years of his short life; which meant he’d mostly had misery, considering he couldn’t remember much before the age of seven. Such misery has a way of ruining everything for a person. Leaving and starting over again was, for Jacko, like starting with a fresh clean slate.
As he rode on, he fantasized about how happy he was going to be. He’d be on his own without rules, or anyone to strong arm him; he wouldn’t have to look at his father – not that his father ever really looked at him. Just one more thing Jacko didn’t have to deal with, guilt for being alive, guilt for being in his father’s house. Once set
tled in Concord, he would get a small apartment, work in the day, and take a class or two in the evenings – maybe he’d get a girlfriend!
The increasing temperature distracted Jacko from his thoughts. He observed his surroundings, and noticed the scenery had changed from stretches of mown grass in between cities, to miles of green prairie with trees. The air was hot, dry, and dusty, but he didn’t mind because he could slow his bike down, and relax – riding a moped in traffic was highly unnerving.
Despite the heat, Jacko tried to press on, but he didn’t last too long. The problem was the glare of the sun; it was barely noticeable through his helmet, yet continued to heat his clothes and radiate to his flesh.
When the heat became unbearable, he pulled to the side of the grassy road to take a break.
He took off his jacket and breathed relief as the air cooled his arms. Jacko stretched out his legs and walked up and down the side of the road for a bit. He looked out across the miles and miles of desolate land ahead of him. As he turned around and walked back in the opposite direction, he noticed, not too far from him, bit of dust from the brown and green grass whirl upward in circles to form a little dust devil.
Jacko pulled a bottle of water out of his bike’s luggage compartment, sat on the grass, and watched the dust whirl. He chewed on some dried fruit and jerky he had in his luggage compartment. Despite his snack, Jacko’s stomach started rumbling again. Such was the plight of a growing teen. He was constantly hungry these days. The sweet from the fruit and harshness of the jerky made him hungrier. Jacko packed up his snacks and put them back in his luggage.
After a few more moments of rest, he reluctantly mounted his bike again. However, just when he was about to turn the key, he had a strange feeling that made him stop. The feeling was of someone familiar to him nearby. Instinctively, he thought about his mother and looked around him for the source.
Jacko looked back at the dust devil and noticed how the particles seemed to be frozen in the air. He shook his head, hoping to straighten out his eye sight; maybe he needed more rest. His eyes had played tricks on him before, when he’d stayed awake for long periods of time; although he did sleep the night before, he was still exhausted. Maybe after he crossed the state line, he’d check into a motel.
Again, he went to start the ignition of his bike. Only, this time, he thought he saw a smiling face instead of his key in the circular ignition. Quickly, Jacko drew back his hand. Wow, he thought, I must be really tired. Perhaps he’d done too much riding that day. Thinking he just needed to rest his eyes from the glow of the sun and heat, he closed his eyelids and counted to ten, then, blindly, turned the key, and opened his eyes again. The face was gone. He looked up and saw the dust devil had settled, but there wasn’t any explanation for what Jacko saw next.
A transparent head floated in the air, right above where the dust devil was. The face looked familiar to Jacko, but he was too busy telling himself he needed a nap to pay more attention to the details of the face. However, he definitely noticed the dark brown shapely eyes and white blonde hair, but the features were exaggerated as the wind blew through the shape. “Yeah, whatever,” he said, as though trying to write his own self off. He looked down and behind him, and then sped onto the 80 and didn’t stop until he reached the state line.
Crossing Over
