I’ll Meet You There (21 page)

Right?

If that night by the train tracks taught me anything, it was that no matter how much
you tried to get out of Creek View, it was gonna find a way to get its claws into
you. What I’d said—that being by those train tracks with Josh was the only place
in the whole world
that I wanted to be—was the push I needed. I was getting out of Creek View in less
than two months, and nothing was going to stop me.

A few days after the Fourth, I put my newest escape plan into action. As soon as my
shift ended at the Paradise, I changed into the skirt and silk tank top I’d worn for
graduation, then double-checked the documents in the manila folder I’d left on the
front seat of my car. Inside was an application for food stamps that had my mother’s
signature on the bottom (forged), two copies of our recent pay stubs, a copy of our
utility bills, and my transcripts. I didn’t need the transcripts, but I thought the
4.0 might help me if I ran into trouble at social services.

I pulled onto the highway, my blouse already sticking to my back with sweat. I leaned
forward and let the breeze blow over me. Someday, I was going to have a car with air-conditioning.
Maybe, I thought, I should make that my life’s goal. It seemed manageable.

The sun beat down on me, burning my left arm as I traveled north on the highway. It
wasn’t busy, just the usual flow of traffic—mostly big rigs and dusty pickups, with
a smattering of commuters and travelers. I passed road-tripping families in minivans
with bumper stickers like
MY
KID
IS
AN
HONOR
STUDENT
AT
(FILL IN THE BLANK)
or
SKI
MAMMOTH
. I envied the kids in front of me with their feet propped up on the backs of their
parents’ seats, watching DVDs. I couldn’t even imagine a life like that. To me,
they
were the ones in a movie.

For a while I got stuck behind a big rig, and I eased out from behind it, speeding
by as quickly as I could. It didn’t matter how many of those trucks I saw—they would
always make me think of Dad. What if he hadn’t had those last few beers before he
got in his truck? What if someone had given him a ride home? What if the big rig had
stopped for gas instead of driving past Ray’s at the same time my dad was pulling
out?
Whatifwhatifwhatif?

My phone rang, and I checked my rearview mirror to make sure there weren’t any Highway
Patrol dudes sneaking around. I grabbed it out of my cup holder and answered, careful
to keep my eyes on the road.

“What’s up, lady?” Dylan said.

“I’m on the road, endangering my life by talking on a cell phone.”

“I’m guessing that’s code for
hurry up
. Where are you going?”

“Long story.”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I was applying for food stamps, even though Dylan
and her mom had used them plenty of times. To me, it felt like such a failure. I never
thought my mom and I would get that low. I wasn’t ready to admit defeat.

“Okay, well, could you please,
please
babysit my little man tonight? Jesse’s taking me to Fresno for dinner and a movie.”

“Fancy,” I said. “What’s the occasion?”

She said something, but I couldn’t catch it over the wind.

“Huh?”

I pressed the phone hard against my ear.

“Three-year anniversary, remember?”

“Oh! Awesome. Sure, I’ll watch Sean. What time?”

“Six? I was thinking maybe—”

My car started making a funny sound, and I groaned. “Sounds good, Dyl. Sorry, I better
go. My car sounds like it’s trying to cough up a fur ball.”

“Yikes. Okay, hurry back, then.”

I hung up and finished the rest of the drive listening to a classical CD that never
failed to chill me out, trying not to think too much about the sounds my car was making.
I wondered what Bach would have thought if he’d looked into the future and seen my
sweaty Hicksville self driving my broke-ass car through the middle of nowhere, swaying
in my seat to his Concerto in Whatever Minor. I collaged a few unicorns onto the bland
scenery, just because, and kept swaying.

An hour later, my exit came up. As I pulled into the social services parking lot,
I had to smile because, seriously, how many people roll up to get food stamps after
collaging imaginary unicorns? I killed the engine, hoping the acrid, burned-rubber
smell that was spiking the air wasn’t coming from my car. I looked at my reflection
in the rearview mirror and pulled at my hair to get it into something resembling a
neat bun, then wiped my sweaty face with a fast-food napkin. The napkin came away
coated with grime. I sighed, then grabbed my folder of paperwork and put my hand on
the door handle. My fingers hesitated, the folder damp under my palms.
Move
, I told myself. But I couldn’t.

People walked in and out of the low building, none of them looking particularly better
or worse off than me. Kids shuffled after their parents, a young woman got on her
cell phone and immediately started laughing. An old man squinted into the sun, scanning
the parking lot for his car. Nothing about the building or the people screamed Welfare,
but I couldn’t get out. As the minutes ticked by, I watched the tinted glass door,
telling myself that after the next person, I was going in. It became a game, only
not the fun kind.

Okay, the next time a girl with a ponytail goes in, so do you.

After the overweight dude in the Mazda comes back out—

Once three people wearing any red exit the building—

Was I really gonna do this? Have my mom get food stamps so I could waltz off to some
fancy college while she wasted away in our trailer? I imagined her at the grocery
store, having to use those checks that everyone knew were for poor people. They’d
stare at her, knowing. Maybe they’d judge her, wonder why their tax dollars had to
pay for her milk and chicken breasts. It would be like when I had to get free lunches
at school—which, by the way, never felt free because they cost you your pride. They’d
give us poor kids these little green tickets, and that’s what you handed the lunch
lady. You could only use them for certain foods, stand in certain lines. So as soon
as you brought that ticket out, everyone knew what you were, who you were. Or they
thought they did, which was bad enough.

I let my hand fall from the door and closed my eyes. The sun beat down so hard on
the metal roof of my car that I shivered. I made myself concentrate on the exact quality
of the heat. On the lines the sweat traveled down my body. Sweat on the backs of my
knees, between my thighs, dripping into the creases of my elbows, sliding along my
upper lip. I tasted like the ocean. I boiled away, my hopes rising out of me like
steam.

I thought of the cool, fresh air of the city I’d always dreamed of living in. The
art museums and trolleys and the mysterious fog that blanketed it. I could almost
smell the cappuccinos I’d planned to drink in bohemian cafés or hear the indie music
in the bookstores I would spend my free time in. I pictured the friends I’d make,
my kindred art people, and the dorm room I was supposed to move into. I’d already
bought a cute desk lamp, that pretty comforter. A cork board.

I thought of the receipts, stacked neatly on the desk in my bedroom.

It wasn’t too late to return all of it.

JOSH

Got an e-mail from Tyler. They lost Gomez yesterday. His daughter would be, what,
three or four now, right? Fuck. Teresa must be losing her mind. Every picture I ever
saw of him and his wife, she was kissing him, smiling so big.
Fuck.
Guess you two are catching up on old times now, shooting the shit while you look
down at the rest of us. This is why I don’t check my e-mail too much. Never know what
the hell it’s gonna say when you open it up. When it all first went down, I couldn’t
handle the hang-in-there-bro e-mails or the killed-a-hajji-for-you-today ones. Guys
asking me how I am, trying to get me to accept Jesus into my heart or just telling
me what’s up over there and who else got fucked like you and me during the second
deployment. But lately I’ve been reading more, sending more. Tyler said the unit’s
going on leave in a couple of weeks. Wanted to know if I’d come down to Camp Pendleton
to say hi and all that shit. Man, I just … it’d be great. And not great. You know.
I can hear our voices, talking about home:
I miss walking around barefoot
(Jones).
I miss Starbucks
(Harrison).
I miss sex—that’s my Starbucks
(Sharpe, of course—horniest dude on the planet).
I miss Hannah
(you), and we all called you a pussy and you flipped us off. I didn’t miss much.
I think, more than anything, I missed knowing I had a hell of a good chance of waking
up this side of heaven. Tyler said everyone was planning on having a picnic or something
and there was gonna be a memorial for the guys that didn’t make it this tour. I don’t
think I can handle that. Tyler probably knew that because at the end of the e-mail
he was all,
Dude, it’s not your fault.
Semper Fi,
motherfucker. Come on out. We miss you. Time to move on, buddy.
I don’t really know what it means to move on, but lately, with Sky, I’m starting
to feel like I want to because when I look at her, I don’t see you or the war or any
of the shit in my head. I just see
her,
and it’s like suddenly I can breathe again after holding my breath for so long.

chapter nineteen

I only managed to get ten minutes down the road before white smoke started pouring
out from under the hood.

“No. No. Nononononononono!” I yelled.

I kept petting the dashboard as though I could make my car change its mind and suddenly
start behaving, but soon I could barely see out the windshield and I had to pull off
the road. All there was for miles were fields and orchards and vineyards. Cars sped
by as I got out and went over to the hood, dust whipping into my eyes, tangling my
hair. The sun was deadweight, bleeding all over me so that I could barely breathe.
I popped the hood but couldn’t even open it, the metal was so hot.

“Fuck!”

I kicked the front bumper. I kicked it again and again and again, cursing while smoke
billowed around the front of the car. I kicked until I was worried I’d broken a toe
and then I sank down to the dirt near the passenger door. Tiny pebbles dug into my
skin, ripped the cheap fabric of my skirt. I looked down at my feet—my one nice pair
of shoes were so scuffed they were no longer my one nice pair of shoes.

I broke. Shards of bone and scraps of skin and
fuck this life
.

I cried harder than when Dad died or Dylan got pregnant. I cried so hard I thought
I might crack a rib, those sobs like hurricanes that came up from my stomach. I wanted
to punch myself for being such a baby.

Instead, I leaned into the car and grabbed my phone, biting my tongue until the tears
stopped. Then I dialed. I hated doing it, but Creek View only had one auto shop. Blake
picked up on the first ring.

“Skylar Evans! What’s up?”

I wondered if Josh was there and what he thought about me calling Blake. Would it
remind him of that ill-advised week I’d had with his brother? It didn’t matter. Nothing
mattered anymore.

“I need a favor.” My throat was raw, and I held the phone away from my ear for a second
and coughed.

“I don’t do favors for girls who break my heart.”

This was typical flirty Blake, nothing new, but I couldn’t do the banter thing, not
now. My body was shaking, and my brain had gone numb.

“Blake. My car just broke down on the 99, and it’s hot as hell, and I’m having a really,
really
bad day, so can you please just send out your tow truck?”

His voice instantly became serious. “Where are you?”

“Like, an hour away. Near the outlet?”

He cursed under his breath. “Hold on.” I could hear him talking to someone in the
background, a bit of arguing, then, “Josh is on his way home from his doctor in Fresno,
so he’s coming your way. I’ll call and have him pick you up, and I’ll get the tow
truck out there later. Just make sure you lock up the car when you leave. You okay?”

Josh
. God, this day couldn’t get any worse. Didn’t the universe understand that Josh had
made my problem so big I could hardly see the other side of it?

“I’m—I’m fine. Um. Thanks.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to pay me back someday,” he said.
Eww.

“You. Have. A girlfriend.”

“That’s why I said
someday
, Sky.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

He started to say something else, but my finger was already shutting him up. The phone
off, I chucked it into my bag, then grabbed the old blanket I kept in my trunk. I
didn’t know when Josh would be showing up, so I trekked over to a tiny stand of trees
at the edge of the huge cornfield I’d broken down next to. My clothes were a mess—sweat-stained
and dirty—and my face had tracks of mascara running down it. I hardly had any water
left in my bottle, and I could already feel a headache coming on. I laid the blanket
next to the tree and sat against the trunk, keeping my eyes closed. It was cooler
in the shade, but not by much. I tried not to think of the dirt that had dusted over
every inch of my skin or the way my silk shirt clung to me. I blocked out the sound
of cars passing on the highway, focusing in on the way the hot breeze rustled the
cornstalks. I imagined swimming pools and icebergs and cold showers. I fell into a
black hole. It was deep and good, and I never wanted to leave it.

“Sky.”

I woke with a start, gasping. Josh was standing over me, his mouth turned down. The
sun was a little lower.

“Hey. Sorry, I must have…”