Adirondack Audacity (18 page)

Sitting with hands jammed into my pockets, I look
down at the floor as fear burrows a deep hole in my gut
escaping in shuddering bursts of trembling. Vic, please
come, I pray to myself. You said you would come, no
matter what. Please get me out of here, I’m going to
disintegrate, explode into a million pieces, panic only
moments away.

The cold concrete walls of the bus station close in;
the bright orange chairs with chrome legs became an
anchor to focus on as nausea and dizziness whirl before
my eyes. The smell of diesel fumes hangs in the stale
overheated air. I hug my backpack to my chest as
desperate eyes search for him to appear. Panic threatens
to overwhelm me……where is he, he should be here by
now, what if something happens to him. What will I do?
Oh, God…….

Placing a protective hand over my stomach, my
anxious thoughts race on…..okay, baby, we have to stay
calm, he’ll be here soon. Everything will be all right. I
repeat this mantra over and over to myself. Once we’re in
his arms, nothing can happen to us. In answer, the baby
gives a soft kick to the right side of my ribs to reassure
me.

And suddenly….
he’s there beside me. Vic slowly slips
the backpack off his shoulders and opens his arms to me.
I flung myself at him. His embrace nearly crushes me as
his mouth seeks mine.

“Ella, Ella, my
beautiful bella,” He croons against my
hair, smoothing the coppery blonde strands back from
my forehead, enfolding me against him. He opens his
jacket so I can reach my arms around his waist, pressing
into him, drinking in the encompassing warmth of his
body heat trapped beneath the jacket. He grasps my face
between his hands as if to stop the outflow of pain from
a wound, his thumbs gently caress my cheekbone, and he
kisses me for several long seconds. His lips taste like
sunshine; and his mouth hot and cool at the same time,
and I hear him say my name over and over again.

“I’m so sorry
.” I apologize as if the whole situation
were my fault.
“Shhh, we’ll be fine. Everything will work out as long
as we’re together,” he nods “We’ll think of something.”
But I hear the worry in his voice, his frown and the tense
line that furrows his brows lets me know he’s afraid. I’ve
never seen Vic afraid and fear is written on his face. My
heart begins a slow, insistent thudding against my
ribs….we’re in serious trouble.
“Did you call Burt?” He asks, squeezing his arms
around me as if I’ll disappear if he loosens his tightly
clinched grasp.
“Yes.” I burrow my face into his shirt inhaling the
exotic scent of him; resting my head against his chest.
Everthing will be fine, with him I’m safe.
He waits a moment and asks, “What did you tell
him?”
“Well, I didn’t want to say too much over the phone.
I was afraid someone in the house would overhear the
conversation.” I begin with a sigh, “I told him you were
on your way.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked if the Knuckleheads were in trouble.”
“Knuckleheads, eh?”
“Yep,” I say with the first smile to cross my face in
days, “He asked if we needed him to pick us up. I told
him we’ll call from the bus station in Cincinnati.” My
hands revel in the feel of his back through the denim
shirt, it feels so good to touch and hold him. I could
stand here all night with my arms wrapped around him.
With regret I lift my head and point to the sign
announcing the arrivals and departures. “There is a bus
leaving for Erie, Pennsylvania in fifteen minutes, if we
hurry we can be out of here and on our way to Burt.”
“Perfect, let’s get this road trip started.” He takes my
hand leading me toward the ticket booth. I don’t want to
stay here. It’s too close to your home.”
…
The bus station in Erie was a smaller darker version
of the one in Syracuse; it appeared older but cleaner. The
walls painted the same impersonal colors, furniture
chosen more for function than comfort. We sit huddled
on chairs exhausted and disappointed. The next bus
leaving for Cincinnati departs at six in the morning. It’s
ten o’clock at night. We face the prospect of a long night
on hard chairs and no food.
Unfortunately, a wet sloppy January snowstorm blew
in across Lake Erie making travel treacherous; calling
Burt to pick us up on such a miserable night is not an
option. We’ll have to wait the night out.
We sit cold and hungry, the vending machines
offering little in the way of nourishing food……..not
even a Twinkie. I’m ashamed at how dirty and unkempt I
feel, living in sweatshirts and oversized jeans helped
conceal my condition, but I long for something feminine
and pastel. Maybe even, I shudder
maternity
clothes.
I feel Vic take my hand. His fingers slip around mine,
and I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel his lips brush my
knuckles. He opens my jacket slipping his hand in the
front pocket of his old hoody sweatshirt touching my
stomach reverently. “Our baby… here, inside of you.”
I nod, “It’s okay, you won’t hurt it.” I slip his hand
under the sweatshirt and cover it with my own, feeling his
warmth seep through my skin, a penetrating glow inward
to the baby, who kicks in response.
“Did you feel it?” I ask delighted by the look of
amazement on his face.
“Holy shit,” his eyes widen in awe as he stares at his
hand hidden under the sweatshirt. He lifts his gaze to my
face. “Ours,” he whispers in a voice almost too quiet for
me to hear.
“Are you angry?” I whisper, holding him still with my
eyes.
“Elle,
querida,
no. How could I be angry with you?”
He gazes at me, listening.
“I was so afraid. I didn’t know what to do, so I did
nothing.” My throat closes in on me. “I felt like an animal
frozen in the headlights of an on-coming car. I couldn’t
tell anyone or do anything. It was almost like if I ignored
the baby, it wasn’t real.”
He leans back, looking deep into my eyes and says,
“It’s the three of us now, I don’t know how or exactly
what we will do, but we’ll make a plan as we go along.
Together. We love each other. We’ll get married and
somehow finish high school with Burt’s help. Hopefully
get scholarships for college and student housing with
childcare. Keep the baby, we’ll be a family.”
“I love you.” I smile into those dark eyes alive with
amber glints of hope, trusting him. I desperately want to
believe in the possibility. “A family,” I repeat aloud. It
sounds too good to be true. For as long as I can
remember, I’ve yearned for a family, a normal family.
Mom, Dad, siblings, a dog, a cat, the white picket fence.
The total package. I run my hand along his jaw line, “Vic,
you are my family.”
We kiss sealing a pact over our unborn child, falling
asleep in each other’s arms, forming a protective tent of
love over the baby.
The stationmaster on duty watches over the tender
scene unfolding in front of his ticket booth. It’s obvious
these kids are in love and in trouble gauging the size of
the girl’s abdomen. She’s very much pregnant. The sight
of them brings back memories. He and his girlfriend at
the time, now his wife, had conceived a child out of
wedlock. He could empathize with the wonder and fear
those two young kids must be feeling right now. A fear of
dishonoring one’s family and the consequences of their
actions; probably caused them to run away from home.
In his heart, he knew without the help of their
families, he and his wife would not have survived the
early struggles of their marriage. Once the initial shock
was over and acceptance began, their families loved and
supported them, helping them through those early
difficult years. He never once regretted his decision to
stay with his wife and raise their child. He loved her to
this day, having just celebrated their thirtieth wedding
anniversary. He glances down at an all-points bulletin
posted by the State Police to be on the lookout for two
teenagers fitting the descriptions of the kids sitting out in
his lobby. As much as he hated the idea of turning them
into the police, he knew in the long run they needed help.
They were too young to be on their own, ending up on
the streets somewhere, desperate. Their parents must be
frantic with worry; he knew he would be if his daughter
or son ran away from home. Shaking his head over the
folly of youth, he reaches over to pick up the phone and
dials the number for the Pennsylvania State Police.
…
A curling chill at the base of his spine wakes Vic with
a start, his eyes open, horrified to see his father striding
through the entrance doors followed by two State
Troopers and what must be Ellen’s parents.
“No!” He exclaims in disbelief. “Elle, quick wake up,
they’re here, we gotta run.” He grabs my arm, yanking me
to my feet. I gave a small scream, tripping in my haste as
my eyes meet Helen’s, she gives me a look that sends a
chill through me like a rush of frigid arctic air.
“Run for the other door,” I cry, picking up my
backpack, making a dash for the exit at the far end of the
terminal.
Just as we reach the exit, two young men, darker and
heavier versions of Vic burst through the doors, his older
brothers, Manuel and Louis. We’re trapped, no place to
run, as the seven of them close in on us.
With heaving chests and pounding hearts, Vic pushes
me gently behind him in a protective gesture, and holds
his hand up imploring them, “Listen, let’s just stop and
talk. I know you’re angry with us. But please, just let us
explain, we don’t need the police.”
“Angry isn’t the half of it, you son of a bitch,” my
father yells at him. “You bastard, knocking up my
daughter and trying to run off with her. Take your filthy
Mexican greaser hands off of her.” I stare in shock and
disbelief at my father.
“Well, well, Vicente.” Ramon Rienz says to his son
with a sneer. “You certainly know how to pick them,
charming people, just charming.”
“Dad,” Vic says with pleading eyes. “I know this a
shock. Yeah, we made a mistake, but we’re willing to
accept the consequences. We want to get married and
raise our baby. We have a friend who will help us, we’ll be
fine. We can do this, please just leave us alone.”
“That solution is unacceptable to both families,” His
father states emphatically. “You are betrothed to Isabella
Martin and your little
punta’s
family does not wish to dirty
their family honor with a
greaser
for a son-inlaw.”
Isabella Martin, who the hell is she?
My brain screams.
“I don’t love Isabella. I love Ellen. We won’t be
separated; we have to stay together. Please try and
understand for once in your life.”
“Did you really think I was going to let you make the
same mistake I made with your mother? Just looked how
that turned out. We’re going home and you’re coming….
alone.”
“Mr. Rienz,” I beseech him, moving alongside of Vic
trying to keep the fear and fatigue out of my voice.
“Please, can we talk, our friend is a teacher; he is older
and responsible.” Well, maybe, Burt is sort of
responsible….echoes in my mind. “Burt will let us stay
with him and then next year we can start college. Our
grades are good enough to get scholarships, so we won’t
need any money. Please let us stay together. I’ll die
without him. Please don’t do this to us.” My plea ends on
a sob. Anxiety mixed with frustration rises in my throat
choking off the flow of oxygen to my lungs; I feel faint
and lightheaded. This can’t be happening.
“You little
punta
, you should have thought of that
before you spread your legs for him like a common slut.”
Ramon Rienz says with vehemence, spitting at my feet,
like I was a whore off the street. I reel back as if I’d been
slapped.
Seventeen years of repressed rage erupts in Vic as he
reaches back, and slams his fist in his father’s face,
blocking my father’s enraged charge at Ramon. The
collision sends my father crashing into the terminal wall.
“You, stupid bastard.” Ramon says through a
clenched jaw, wiping the blood trickling down his chin
from the bruised corner of his mouth.
“Hold him, boys.” He commands Manuel and Louis
who seized Vic, preventing his attack against the man
who bullied and repressed him every day of his life.
I watch in horror as Ramon’s huge boxing hands slam
into Vic’s body with a sickening thud, “Noooo!” I
scream, “Stop, stop it!” Turning to the police I beg,
“Please make him stop before he kills him.”
I lunge for Ramon’s arm hoping to stop the punch
only to be catapulted backward by the force of his swing.
The older trooper catches me, breaking my fall, while his
partner steps in and grabs Ramon’s arm saying, “I think
that is enough, Mr. Rienz.” Both of the troopers looked
embarrassed and uncomfortable over this display of
family violence. Apparently this Mr. Rienz has friends in
high places and tonight, he called in his favors and they
were the unfortunate ones on duty.
In the confusion over my fall, Vic manages to slip
from his brother’s grasp, his hand snakes forward and
with a quick deft motion flips the leather security strap
from the younger trooper’s holster and slides the gun out.
He stands with a shaking arm, pointing the gun at his
astonished audience; no one more startled by this
unexpected turn of events than I.
Sweet Jesus, Holy Mary,
mother of God, what is he doing?!
“What the hell!” The younger trooper sputters
spinning around as he feels the gun lifted from his belt.
“Nobody move.” Vic says, in a quavering voice,
wiping the blood out of his eyes, holding the gun in a
steady aim at the stunned group.
“Elle, come over here, quick,” he commands.
“Vic, what the hell are you doing?” I cry out in
disbelief staring at the gun in horror.
“I haven’t a clue, babe.” he says with a half sob,
shaking his head, chest heaving while his teeth catch his
trembling lower lip. “They didn’t leave us much choice,
did they? I’m not leaving you.”
What are we going to do? My mind races as seven
pair of eyes watch our every move. “We can’t shoot them
for God’s sake!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the
stationmaster frantically waving a stick with a key on it,
motioning with emphatic hand gestures to the restrooms.
He’s telling us to lock them in the restroom.
Why is he
helping us?
“No, we can’t shoot them but we can lock
them up.” I reply with a determined nod, sprinting over
to the ticket booth where the key lays on the counter and
the stationmaster feigns innocence.
“Son, you better put that gun down, you could go to
jail for assault with a deadly weapon. Let’s not have any
more trouble here tonight.” The older trooper appeals to
Vic, “Come on kid, give me the gun before someone gets
hurt.”
“Can you guarantee they’ll let us go?” Vic asks, raising
his eyebrows in question, nodding as he watches the
trooper shake his head. “I didn’t think so.”
“Vic, I have the key for the restrooms.” I hold the
key in my hand. “We’ll lock them in the bathroom.”
“Okay.” Vic looks in my direction, assessing the
location of the station manager and the restrooms.
I watch the scene play out before my terror filled
eyes. “Vic! Look out behind you!” The station security
guard dives at Vic from an exit leading to the loading
platform. The gun flies from his hand spinning in crazy
circles as it slides across the floor. The two troopers jump
on Vic in a flash, handcuffing his hands behind his back,
standing him up against the wall, searching him for
concealed weapons. I watch aghast as the older trooper
reaches into the pocket of Vic’s leather jacket and draws
out a small baggie with two joints sealed inside of it.
“That’s not mine, Vic protests in disbelief. “I didn’t
have any pot.” He turns to his father, his voice scalding
with loathing. “You planted that shit on me, you son of a
bitch!”
“Well, well, Vicente,” His father smiles smugly. “You
have been a very busy boy this evening, one pregnant girl,
assaulting a police officer with a deadly weapon and now
possession of an illegal substance. It’s difficult to keep up
with you, Son. Sounds like a little time in jail may cool
your ardor and help you get your priorities in line, doesn’t
it?”