It Looks Like This (23 page)

Nothing happens for a second. The silhouette doesn’t move. Behind him the asphalt glows red then blue then red.

Then the man says, Well, hey there.

I jump, just barely. The voice is higher and louder and more chipper than I was expecting. The officer has a pretty thick southern accent. For just a second I think about Ronald, then I mumble,

Hey.

The man opens the door and steps out, taking his time, and walks around the front of the car to my side of it. He keeps his eyes on me and his right hand on the butt of his gun. When he’s a few feet away, he stops. I can only sort of see his face.

He says, Can’t sleep?

I blink twice.

He waits a bit, then sighs.

He says, How old are you?

I say, Eighteen.

He says, How old are you?

I glance away and say, Fifteen.

He nods.

He says, What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere, son?

I say, Going home.

He says, Going home.

He says it back slowly, like he’s thinking about what it means or something.

Then he says, Okay. Listen, I’m gonna pat you down a sec. Just for my protection, you understand?

I nod. He still sounds kind of chipper.

He says, You’re not gonna give me any trouble, are ya?

I say, No sir.

He says, I’m not gonna find any weapons or controlled substances, am I?

I say, No sir.

He says, All right. Put your arms out at your sides for me.

He walks over slowly, keeping his eyes on mine.

His hands pat gently along my arms, then my sides and waist, then down each leg.

Then he takes a step back and seems to relax a bit. He takes his hat off, and for the first time I get a good look at his face. He’s younger than I thought. Maybe Jesse’s age.

He says, I’m Trooper Manske.

I nod but I don’t say anything.

He says, What’s your name? You can put your arms down.

I let my arms drop. I say, Mike.

He says, Mike what?

I open my mouth, wait for a second, and say, Pilsner.

I don’t know why I pick Ronald’s last name, but I don’t want to give him my real one.

He says, Had to think about that, huh?

I don’t say anything.

He says, You have any identification? Learner’s permit, maybe?

I say, No, I only just turned fifteen a couple weeks ago.

He says, Happy birthday.

I mumble a thanks.

Trooper Manske turns his head and looks down the highway as another car passes by. Then he turns back to me.

He says, So you’re going home, huh?

I say, Yessir.

He says, You’re a ways from the nearest town.

I don’t say anything.

He says, Where is home?

I glance away and say, Somerdale.

Trooper Manske looks down and lets out a long, slow breath through his nose.

Then he looks up.

He says, What are you doing out this far?

I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to mention the camp because then he’ll just take me back. But I can’t think of another reason to be out here that sounds believable.

He says, You run away, son?

I look up and say, Yes. I ran away.

He says, How long ago?

I’m stuck again. I couldn’t have made it this far away from Somerdale on foot.

Then I say, A couple hours ago. I hitchhiked.

Trooper Manske raises his eyebrows. He just looks at me for a few seconds.

He says, You hitchhiked?

His voice is a little clipped.

I say, Yeah.

He says, Who picked you up?

I say, I don’t know. Some guy.

He says, What did he look like?

I say, I don’t know. Medium height I guess. Brown hair. Not too old. Like my dad’s age, maybe.

I’m wondering if my voice is steady enough and if Trooper Manske can tell I’m lying.

He says, What was he driving?

I say, Um, a pickup.

He says, What color?

I say, Blue.

He says, What make and model?

I say, I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention.

He says, Why’d he drop you off?

I blink a few times.

I say, Um, I asked him to. I didn’t want to go any farther.

He says, Why not?

I say, I . . . changed my mind. About running away.

He says, What accent is that?

I say, What?

He says, Your accent. You didn’t grow up around here, right?

I say, Oh. No. We moved from Wisconsin.

I try to cover my accent and am glad when I don’t hear it in the last few words. It comes out sometimes when I’m nervous and I don’t really like it.

Trooper Manske nods, then leans back against his car door.

He says, Look, son, what you did was just incredibly dangerous. I haven’t been doing this long and I’ve already heard horror stories about what’s happened to some hitchhikers, ’specially kids. You don’t wanna know what some crazies are capable of, okay? There are some real messed-up folks out there.

I nod.

He says, You gotta never do that again, no matter how bad things get at home, okay?

I nod.

He gives me sort of a sideways look.

He says, How bad are things at home?

I don’t answer.

He says, You’re not gettin’ hurt or anything, are you?

I say, No.

He says, Why’d you run away?

I don’t know what to say. Then it comes out:

My dad left. It’s just me and my mom and my brother.

I think about Ronald and his mom and feel awful. But I didn’t know what else to say.

Trooper Manske stares at me awhile longer with that sideways look.

Then he says, Okeydoke. Let’s give your mama a call.

I say, No.

I blurt it out.

He raises his eyebrows at me but chuckles.

He says, Son, I gotta call her and let her know you’re all right. And then I’m taking you home.

I just stare back at him.

He pulls a cell phone out of his belt clip and says, Now, what’s your home number?

I take a deep breath, and I give him Ronald’s number. I know it by heart.

He says, Area code seven-five-seven?

I nod.

He dials really slow, then puts the phone up to his ear and turns a little to the side. I hear it ring for a good while. My mouth is really dry.

The fifth ring cuts off in the middle, and a tiny voice comes through the speaker.

Trooper Manske says, Sorry to disturb you so late at night, ma’am. Am I speaking to Miz Pilsner?

He pauses.

He says, Ma’am, this is Trooper Gil Manske with the Virginia State Police. I don’t mean to alarm you, but I have your son Mike in my custody. Now, he’s not in any harm and has not been arrested. But I did find him walking along the side of the highway a good ways from Somerdale. He says he hitchhiked out of town about two hours ago. Runnin’ away from home. Were you aware of this?

There’s a long, long pause. My heart is beating really fast. I’m trying to imagine what Ronald’s mom is thinking.

Then I hear the tiny voice again. I can’t make out what she’s saying.

Trooper Manske glances at me, then says, Yes’m, that’s right. He’s completely unhurt, but I have to say that’s a heck of a lucky break for you both.

Another pause.

He says, No, that’s fine, ma’am. I’m going to bring him home now. Seems he was headin’ that way anyways.

Pause.

He says, All right, ma’am. Sorry again to wake you.

He looks back at me as he pulls the phone from his ear and hangs up with his thumb. The phone lets out a little beep. I realize I’ve been holding my breath and let it out slowly.

He says, She was still asleep, so didn’t have a chance to be worried out her mind. Good for her.

I nod. I’m trying not to look nervous or give anything away, but I end up just blinking a lot. Trooper Manske looks at me a bit longer, then shakes his head.

He says, All right, get in.

I’ve never been in a police car before.

There’s a small laptop sitting on a built-in platform thing. It’s open now and swiveled toward the driver’s seat. Under it are a bunch of controls and then a radio. From the radio I can hear a dispatcher talking in codes every now and then, and then crackles from other officers’ voices. It’s kind of neat, I guess.

Trooper Manske drives faster than I really expected. He doesn’t have his lights or siren on, though.

He speaks into the radio every now and then, but I don’t really pay attention to what he’s saying. After a bit he turns it down.

He glances over at me and says, Are you hungry? When’s the last time you ate?

I say, Uh, I guess. Yeah. Dinner was at like six o’clock.

He waves his right hand at the dashboard in front of me and says, There’s some granola bars in the glove. Have a couple.

I open it. There are papers and a car manual and a small can of pepper spray and a bunch of granola bars all stuffed in. I take one out. The wrapper says
OATS AND HONEY
.

It’s crunchy and a bit messy, but I try to be careful not to leave crumbs. It’s not bad, and after I finish it I reach in the glove compartment and take out another. My mouth is a little dry afterward but I feel better.

I say, Thanks, Trooper Manske.

He waves the thanks away.

We sit in silence for a bit. I listen to the crackles over the police radio and think about Ronald’s mom. I don’t know if she’s going to be pissed. I’ll probably get to their house after two in the morning. It’s Friday night, but Ronald says sometimes she works on Saturdays. I hope she’s not going to work in the morning.

But she did play along and pretend to be my mom. She lied to a cop for me. The thought makes me smile just a bit. I like Ronald’s mom.

I wonder what will happen when I get there. Will she let me stay over or just take me home?

That thought makes my stomach a little uneasy and I shift in my seat. Dad’s going to be pissed no matter what. And there are still a couple weeks left in the camp, so he’ll probably just take me back. I’ll have to go back to Small Groups and sleeping in a dorm with Timothy and probably more of those hugging sessions. And Pastor Landis.

But maybe Mrs. Pilsner will just let me stay at their house for two weeks. Then I could lay low and only go home when it’s too late for the camp.

Then I remember that the camp counselors will notice in the morning that I’m gone, and they’ll probably call my parents. And the police. And then I wonder if I’ll get in trouble for lying to a cop. And then wouldn’t Ronald’s mom get in trouble too? Like would they arrest her?

I’m thinking about all this when Trooper Manske says, So, Somerdale, huh? You know that kid?

He says it slowly, in a low voice.

I blink a few times, trying to think what he could mean, and turn to him.

I say, Huh?

He glances at me a second, then looks back at the road.

He says, From over the weekend.

I blink again, not sure what to say.

He glances over at me again and says, You did hear about it, right? It was all over the news. They musta mentioned it at your school.

I cough and say, Oh. Yeah, I heard about it. Um, what was his name again?

Trooper Manske shakes his head and says, Don’t remember. A few in our unit responded to it. Happened actually just a little ways up. But I was patrolling farther out west.

I say, Oh.

I look outside the window for a while, then turn back to the front.

I say, Um. So what happened?

I hope it sounds casual enough. Trooper Manske flicks another glance at me.

I say, They didn’t really go into detail at school.

He nods and says, Yeah, not surprised.

He pauses a bit, and his voice gets lower again.

He says, Couple of squad cars were called to an accident on the westbound lanes of Highway 58, about twenty miles outside of Suffolk. Not long after one o’clock in the morning. Pretty clear right away that the vehicle had been going very fast when it spun out of control.

He’s driving with one hand on the steering wheel. He brings the other up to his mouth and coughs lightly, then continues.

He says, There were some tire track marks at the scene that showed the driver had veered into the grassy median, then turned sharply right to correct his course. But he overcompensated, which caused the car to flip over several times.

I look out the window again.

He says, During the flip, the roof of the car hit the trunk of a tree so hard that it bent the car nearly in half.

I watch the silhouettes of trees zipping by and try to picture a car hitting one hard enough that it actually bends in half. Wouldn’t the tree break? But if the trunk was thick enough, maybe it wouldn’t. I shudder a bit, just barely.

Trooper Manske says, They found a bunch of empty cans of Heineken in the car and scattered around the crash site.

My heart skips a beat. I look over at the trooper.

I say, Huh?

He says, Heineken beer. Eight empty cans, I think, still wet. Handful of others that were leaking, having been punctured during the crash. Seems a pretty sure thing the driver was intoxicated at the time of the accident.

My heart starts beating faster.

He pauses and says, Quite intoxicated.

I stare at him, waiting for him to go on. My mouth is really dry. When he doesn’t say anything for a while, I say, So what happened?

Trooper Manske takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh.

He says, The kid’s parents reported that he had been having some sort of trouble in his personal life the last couple weeks and seemed depressed. They were not aware that he had access to alcohol and didn’t keep any in the house themselves.

I’m breathing pretty fast through my nose, but I’m trying to do it quietly.

I stare at the dashboard for a few seconds. There’s a bit of dust buildup in the air-conditioning vent. I reach forward and run a finger between two of the slats and hold it up to my face for a few moments. Then I roll the gray fluff into a little ball and flick it away. I put my hand back on my thigh.

I say, So what happened? To the kid?

It comes out rushed.

Trooper Manske looks over at me again, then back to the road.