Greyhound (13 page)

“Well, her name was Luanne,” he corrected.

I needed to ask, as it seemed like my only opportunity. “How did she die?” I wanted to know. He looked at me hard and hesitated.

“Well, I guess you’re man enough to travel across the country alone…” he rationalized. “Do you know what an abortion is, Sebastien?”

“My sister’s called me that a few times.”

He buckled in shock at my words. “I hope not. She was pregnant and went and saw a doctor, probably in Phoenix. They cut her baby out of her, and she bled to death from the complications. I found the paperwork from her visit in her purse.” A grimace was cut across the bottom of his face, speaking his true feelings loudly. He obviously disapproved. That much I could tell.

“Why did she have an…abortion?”

He just shrugged and didn’t respond. He stepped toward the door and turned the knob. I thought he was going to say something, but he only hesitated. He opened the door and ushered me back outside and into the hallway. Muriel Rodriguez was waiting for us to finish. She smiled at the officer.

“Finished?” she asked.

“All yours. Thank you,” he replied. He was more interested in the woman than he was in me. I quickly made my way down the hall, happy that my interrogation was over and that he didn’t ask anything about Flagstaff. I had sent myself into a panic for nothing. They were only concerned about the pale-faced girl, Luanne.

As I crossed over the threshold from the strange world of
Employees Only
and back into the land of listless travelers, I felt an immediate wave of relief pass over me. So much was going on around me that it seemed like the world was closing in on me. First, Leigh Allen in Flagstaff, and now Luanne in Gallup, dying slowly in front of us during the dark of night, not but three feet away. The moment had built into something both heavy and immediate and made me think of all the times that I’d wished I had died.

The Gallup Terminal was one large room and didn’t have a gift shop. A small counter with six stools bolted into the ground was all the place could cobble together for a dining facility. Marcus was sitting quietly in front of a cup of coffee all by himself, reading the paper. No one else was at the counter, and the cook didn’t look very friendly.

I edged in beside him, set my bag down on the ground below me, and just waited for him to say something. The cook looked surprised that I sat next to Marcus but oozed over slowly with a spatula in hand.

“You with him?” the cook asked. I didn’t know for sure if he was addressing Marcus or me. One of his eyes seemed not to focus anywhere in particular but took a continuous direction all on its own. When I finally caught the one good eye, it was burning a glare at me, waiting for a response.

“Yeah, we’re together,” I replied. “May I have a glass of orange juice, please.”

The cook didn’t move a muscle, excepting his one crazy eye. I looked away, feeling embarrassed for a moment. Marcus was staring back at him, equally frozen in place. The world seemed to have momentarily stopped, and the only people within view were locked in a frozen showdown. For a second, my brain was telling me that life was now a shop display, but I knew it wasn’t so. No one looked real anymore. Slowly, after a long delay, the cook reached under the counter, pulled out a small glass, opened another door to a small fridge below, produced the orange juice, and poured me the smallest portion I’d ever seen. I wondered if that was a kid’s size. He slammed it down on the counter, spilling most of it in the process.

“You going to eat?” he asked. Marcus finally came back to life and moved on his stool.

“I’m going to have two eggs over medium, two strips of bacon, toast, and hash browns.” Marcus spoke his words directly. His words sounded more like a challenge than an order for food.

“I was talking to the kid, not you,” the cook growled.

“I’m going to have the same, actually,” I replied, maneuvering myself in between the two of them and the bewildering tension. Now several other people were watching us, and as I glanced behind us, it seemed as if they were frozen too and that only the three of us were moving. But I could tell that what was going on at the counter wasn’t exactly wholesome. I had the feeling that the cook didn’t like Marcus because he was black. I never thought I’d be in this kind of situation.

“Do you see that sign, boy?” The cook was now slightly turned and pointing up at a small sign on the wall behind him that read
The Management reserves the right to refuse service to anyone.

“Yeah, I see it,” Marcus responded. “You’re refusing service to me or what?”

“No, I’m refusing service to the both of you.” He grabbed Marcus’s coffee cup, dumped the coffee on the ground beside him, and threw the cup in the trash. I thought Marcus was going to say something back, but he kept cool, grabbed his newspaper, and got up.

“Let’s go, kiddo.” We both got up and walked out the front of the terminal in disgust. As we stepped out into the morning air, our footsteps hit the sidewalk simultaneously as thunder cracked above us. The sky had clouded over, but the sunlight was still escaping through the gaps and briefly making it down to earth.

Gallup was made up of one long street, which hugged the roadway with flat-faced buildings on both sides. A small sign jutting up from the sidewalk designated the main boulevard as
Historic Route 66.

Off to the far right, wrapping a corner at the end of the block, was a Woolworth’s Department Store. Marcus spotted it first.

“Woolworth’s! Maybe we’ll be able to get something to eat there, or…we might just be surrounded by a bunch of redneck cracker asses!” His voice warbled, and he sounded a bit upset.

We walked across the wide street together, both with our hands thrust in our pockets, heading for the diner. I thought about what I had said to the police officer about it being my birthday. Of all the birthdays I’d had so far and could remember, this one was much more than I had bargained for. It didn’t feel like it was my birthday, but birthdays with my mom were never that much fun either. Half the time, she’d forget or confuse it with my sister’s. There were never any parties, no presents or cake or anything else that usually went along with the occasion. I’d never been to anyone else’s birthday party either, so I knew I had low expectations. Since we moved so much, it was a given that I just wouldn’t be invited to anyone’s birthday.

As we passed by one of the shops, I happened to catch a glance at the window display. I wanted to turn away and ignore it, but it was too late. Four dummies were perched close to one another in a group. They were all decked out in hunting attire. It was supposed to be a family. The fake family was all dressed in red plaid button-down shirts and orange safety vests and hats. It was a mother, a father, and two children. The mother looked ecstatic, like she had just won the lottery, and had her hands at her sides as if she was going to fly away in delight. The kids could’ve easily been Beanie and me. The male child was the youngest figure on display and was staring directly at me. They all looked happy. The father had a shotgun leaning over his shoulder and a devil-may-care attitude. He looked on the verge of lighting a cigarette. It was too much. I just wanted to block it out.

“What are you thinking about?” Marcus asked. “You’re awfully quiet.”

I glanced over at him, breaking my gaze from the window. “Nothing. Nothing, really,” I answered.

“Don’t say nothing. Give me a better answer than that,” he smiled, putting his hand on my shoulder.

I hesitated for a second. I looked back at the window again, wondering if I should tell Marcus. Telling him about the fake family would be weird. “Today is my birthday, but it doesn’t feel like my birthday. I’m traveling across the country on a bus. I woke up in a pool of blood next to a dead girl, was interrogated by the police, and discriminated against by a ‘redneck cracker ass’ with a lazy eye. I just don’t think it can get any worse than that,” I said, shaking my head. “You know what I mean?” I added, in frustration.

“Ahh, well, I’d say that’s a whole lot more than nothing. Wouldn’t you?”

“I just didn’t think I’d be having my twelfth birthday in Gallup, New Mexico,” I said, as we quickly skirted the flat sidewalk past evenly spaced parking meters and a variety of different shops. Some of the stores had large mural paintings on the outside walls. The most elaborate was an Indian Jewelry Trading Post that had a scenic vision of a wagon train crossing the desert under a red-and-purple sky. It looked impressive, larger than life, and covered the entire face of the building.

Marcus took note of the giant painting, laughed, and patted me on the back. “Check it out…that’s you,” he began.

“Huh…” I replied.

“Early American settlers, pioneers, travelers, nomads with no home. Loners. Living life against the odds,” he said with a bright tone, smiling.

“I don’t feel like a pioneer, though.”

“Well, look at it this way,” he suggested. “Neither did they. In fact, I bet they were all downright miserable, hungry, and panic-stricken.”

“Well, that sounds about right,” I joked. “Do you think that cook back there was a pioneer?”

Marcus grunted disapprovingly at the man’s mention. “Hmph. He was probably an outlaw or a drifter. They probably shot his ancestors in a town square somewhere. People like that are miserable and want to make everyone around them miserable, that’s all.” His words trailed off as he stopped talking about the cook and probably began thinking about him.

Just as we got to the front of the Woolworth’s, I grabbed at the metal door handle and questioned him jokingly. “You’re awfully quiet. What are you thinking about?”

“Nomads…loners. They’re like the twisted roots of a dead tree,” he laughed. His words had more meaning than I first realized. My mind skipped like a record as his words registered in my subconscious.

Woolworth’s was busy for almost eight in the morning. Several people were already in the small restaurant area eating breakfast. Frying bacon, eggs, and coffee pungently assaulted us invisibly. The smell of food was pleasing. The sounds of talking and soft shopping music had a welcoming pitch to them.

Marcus had a concerned look on his face as he quickly scanned both the store and restaurant. He looked relieved when he saw a middle-aged black woman working the cash register, waitressing, and Monty sitting alone at a table eating breakfast, holding the newspaper.

“There y’all are. I was wondering what the ‘heyll’ happened to the two of you,” he called out to us from where he was seated.

“We got turned around a bit and found ourselves south of the Mason-Dixon, if you know what I mean,” Marcus replied, as we joined him. Monty was swabbing up his egg yolk with his toast, which sure looked good.

“Lemme guess…” he began. “You two went over and copped a squat at Roger’s in the terminal?”

“How did you know?” I replied.

“Hmph,” Monty responded, finishing his mouthful of food. “Guess I should’ve warned you ’bout that. With all the grief on the bus earlier, I didn’t have a quick minute. Somebody needs to tell that fool that the South surrendered long ago.”

A young, skinny black waitress with long, puffy hair that hung down past her shoulders like a curly triangle approached with coffee cups and a full, fresh pot. She looked me over and hesitated giving me a coffee cup. “Well, well…look who’s travelin’ in style. Good morning, sweet stuff.”

“Good morning,” I responded, beaming.

“Can I take you home? You sure are cute,” she added.

Monty laughed and said something that I couldn’t make out. She ignored both of their snickers and sighed. “Men is all the same.”

“You never that nice to me, Jeannie!” Monty answered.

She addressed me again. “You want some breakfast, baby?”

“Please.” I couldn’t stop staring at her. I thought for a second that she must’ve been the most beautiful woman in the world. Maybe it was the constant assault of ugliness on the bus, or maybe she was that beautiful. Whatever it was, I couldn’t stop staring at her.

“Bacon and eggs?” she asked. Her long, thin fingers touched down on my shoulder. I was thankful that I had taken off my brown puffy jacket. I just nodded yes endlessly, like a fool.

“Same for you, I suppose,” she added, noting Marcus.

“Over medium.”

She scribbled some notes on her pad and walked away. I watched her slip away behind the counter. All of us were fixated on her. She was better to look at than what we had been staring at for the past few days.

“Now, that’s a woman,” Marcus whispered, winking at me.

I sat in silence, drinking my coffee, watching the waitress in her red-and-white uniform quickly moving around the tables. She didn’t have a name tag on either.

“Mmmm. Someone’s in love,” Monty pointed out to Marcus, who smiled and laughed at me.

“Did we get a new bus?” Marcus asked Monty.

“They’s gassin’ it up right now…as we speak.”

“You two got the rundown, huh?” It was more code that I didn’t understand.

“What’s the rundown?” I blustered.

Marcus debriefed me. “When you get the twenty-question routine from John Law.”

“Ohh…he only asked me how I knew her name,” I replied.

“How did you get to know her name? Y’all get to socializin’ back there? I thought she was sleeping the whole damn time,” Monty questioned me.

“No. I actually didn’t know her name.” Monty looked at me, confused, but Marcus was leaning back in the booth, smiling. “Is that what you told the cop?”

“Uh-huh,” I nodded affirmatively.

“Heh!” Monty spat. “You did good then, kid. Never tell the man nuthin’. Let them find it out on their own. They’s getting paid to find out, and they don’t cut no check for squawkers.”

I sipped my coffee, not having any answer, soaking in Monty’s logic. Monty and Marcus continued talking. I pulled out my notepad and started taking notes. I wrote down several words and phrases that I’d heard come out of Monty’s mouth. I tried to recollect what I wanted to say about Phoenix and maybe even a few words about Leigh Allen and Flagstaff. The food came quickly but hung in my throat and sunk into my stomach like a rock. So far, it was some of the worst food I had eaten on the entire trip. I did my best to eat and not let on.