Transcontinental (20 page)

“He was not the only one. Decades ago, many hobos had a ‘monica’ like that, a identifying tag. It is not uncommon to see them even these days.”

“You got one?”

“I dare not attempt to elevate myself to their status.”

“Well someone’s gotta, don’t they? Otherwise it’ll die out.”

“What will die out?”

“Monicas. Monica-ing?”

Ant chuckled. “It all but has.”

“Yeah but… I mean, once Bozo Texino is gone, who’s left?”

“A bunch of unrefined spray painters.”

Refined was the word he’d been searching for, the perfect word to describe the cowboy on the wall, and, coincidentally, the opposite of how he’d describe himself. Having grown up in front of a television, unable to leave the house for his mother’s imperial scorn, Leroy often felt he lacked culture, social graces. He couldn’t even spell that well. The tone in Ant’s voice as he spat the word ‘unrefined’ cut into Leroy.

“You mean like me?” Leroy muttered.

“I did not say or even imply that.”

Leroy snorted.

“But you know, I think you are right.”

His arm twitched. He tried to cover it up by changing position.

“Of course you are unrefined. The word refined, by its very nature, implies spent time and effort, and you are but a teenager. However, I was referring to your claim that somebody must strive for the greatness our cowboy friend and his cohorts have reached, and I agree.” Ant knotted his fingers and propped his head up. “I think it should be you.”

“Me.”

“Why not? You said it yourself: someone’s gotta,” Ant mimicked.

“If you can’t do it, I sure as hell can’t.”

“I choose not to try. You wish for me to teach you art? Well here is your first assignment: create your own monica. Due before Tampa.”

Leroy groaned. “But it’s summer.”

“The only guidelines are as follows: it must not contain your real name, and it must have intentional meaning. You will present it to me upon completing it, so make sure you can speak on the topic at will.”

Fear gripped Leroy at the thought of presenting, even for only Ant. He knew it was silly, absurd, even. Yet without fail, any time he was put on the spot he would clam up, a tremor in his voice as he stammered through till the end. His palms sweated at the thought.

Worse, he would have to create a design satisfactory for Professor Ant. Self-doubt seared like hot coals underfoot, but somewhere in a dank corner of his mind, the notion was seductive. Instead of banishing it, he seized it, deciding to take on the project. He needed a way to pass the thousands of miles to Tampa .

No way he was telling Ant, though. “Whatever.”

“Not ‘whatever.’ I will be expecting it. Now, is there any medium you tend to gravitate toward? Paint, photography, sculpture…”

“Usually I just sketch stuff I see.” There was more, though, and he hesitated to admit it. “But, since Reno I’ve been thinking about buildings.”

“Ah. Architecture is a very fulfilling field, not to mention lucrative. It is also very difficult to pursue, requiring thorough knowledge of the laws of physics, principles of construction, theories of design, hell, these days they even toss in philosophy. It is an intensive course of study, to be sure.”

“Way to be encouraging.”

“If that is not encouraging, perhaps architecture is not for you.”

There was truth in that statement, and Leroy knew it, which didn’t make it any easier to accept. Architecture seemed to inspire him, but how was a teenager supposed to get excited about studying principles of construction?

“Been thinking,” Leroy started, “I need, like, a story.”

“You need like a story, or you need a story?”

Leroy rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do not, actually.”

“Maybe the cops won’t look for me, but if I get caught, then what?”

“Then they search a database for your name and record.”

“So I need a story, in case I get caught, we get separated, anything like that. Something to tell people to keep the heat off.”

“You want to lie to the police?”

“If it’ll keep me out of jail till I get to Tampa, I got no choice.”

“Right. I suppose we should start with a name.”

“Baron.”

“Hm… Perhaps it would be best to choose a name not tied to your past,” Ant remarked. “For emotional reasons. Pick something common.”

Searching his thoughts, Leroy settled on one. “Marcus.”

“That will work. Now choose a last name.”

“Jackson.”

“Very good, nice and common. And why have I found you wandering on the side of the highway today, Marcus Jackson?”

“I…“ Leroy thought hard, but nothing came. He emptied his mind, and an idea sprung forth. “Momma got mad and made me walk home.”

Ant grinned. “Do you have any ID on you, son?”

A quizzical look on his face, Leroy waited for Ant to help him out.

“‘No sir I do not,’ is the correct answer.”

“You said not to call people sir.”

“It might as well be a crime to not call an officer ‘sir.’ Just do it.”

“No sir, I don’t,” Leroy repeated flatly.

“Where do you live?”

“Just off the next exit.”

“Good answer. But suppose I offered you a ride.”

“Thank you, sir, but it’d just make momma angrier.”

“She does not have to know. Come on.”

“She’ll know. She always knows. Look, I appreciate the help, sir, but I’ve done this before, it’s no biggie.” Leroy crossed his arms.

“Very convincing,” Ant responded.

Within a moment, the paper bag landscape rollicking past outside the boxcar turned brighter, paler, until the train was adrift in a creamy sea of sand.

Ant noticed Leroy’s fixation and looked over. “The salt flats. That was fast.”

“Yeah ‘cause you been asleep the whole time.”

“Welcome to Utah, Marcus.”

Chapter 6

Salt Lake City, UT

“I told you, I’m done waiting around.”

“And what do you suggest? A brisk jaunt across the state in this heat?”

Hours ago, their train had stopped outside Salk Lake City, and was promptly dismantled. The intense rays of the sun reflected off the salt flats, making them seem as blindingly white as well-lit snow. Beyond the station was an inlet of the Great Salt Lake, bluer and more beautiful than any water Leroy had ever seen. Beside the vacant sets of tracks, Ant and Leroy faced each other.

“You go to the jungle, get stabbed, have fun. I’ma keep moving.”

“As I previously mentioned, that was a fluke,” Ant stressed. “You will find it difficult to travel by train if you shun the jungle.”

“Good thing I’m walking.”

“Carrying the banner undoubtedly has its place, but in this weather it is a colossal waste of resources, I assure you.”

“What’s that, hobo talk?”

“Yes, actually. Riding trains is just the tip of the hobo iceberg.”

Leroy marched along the tracks away from Ant.

“The heat will wear you down, and then where will you go?”

“The shade.”

“I think you are making a mistake.”

Turning back, Leroy said “The mistake is waiting around for something to happen. That’s not how it works.” He hoped he was right.

Ant threw up his hands. “Suit yourself. This is your voyage, captain.”

“Yeah, it is.” He stomped away.

Ant trailed behind. “You realize you are headed straight for the city?”

“Bound to hit another station at some point.”

“Likely the Union Pacific Depot, which is rife with security.”

“Then I’ll keep going.”

“It will be long dark by then,” Ant contended.

“So I’ll find somewhere to sleep.”

“There is no jungle near the Depot, and it might be difficult to find another stripper with whom to lodge. This is the city of Mormons.”

Seething, he felt itchy tingles on his ankles as sand rained from his shoes. It bugged him that Ant had a response for everything.

“Just gotta keep moving.”

“Right behind you, captain.”

An hour later, Leroy was starting to think Ant had been right. It was frustrating how often that was the case. His insides were boiling. He couldn’t stop, though—there was so much further to go, still. So much further.

Squinting, Leroy saw something curious a few hundred yards out. It was a bunch of old home appliances, some rusted and bearing designs of bygone eras, others ostensibly good as new, jumbled in an untidy heap. Strange thing to see in the desert, he thought, taking a mental snapshot.

Ahead, the desert yielded to trees, then to small houses. Skyscrapers of the city preceded mountains that loomed even larger. It would take another hour until he reached the heart of the city, and then at least one more to get through it. That meant a lot more walking and sweating, and neither sounded appealing.

If Ant was right, there would be no jungle until well past the city, and it would be dark by the time they reached it. He wasn’t sure which thought caused him more anxiety—having to stay at a jungle again, or not knowing when or where he would be able to sleep next.

Ant had been surprisingly quiet since they’d left the station, which Leroy appreciated. The man was wise and interesting, but sometimes Leroy simply wanted silence. He could be easily overwhelmed.

Glancing back, Leroy almost hoped for a second that Ant wouldn’t be there, but he was, along with that familiar smile, more strained than previously. Maybe he really was giving up control. Suddenly, Leroy felt the full weight of responsibility on his shoulders. How could he possibly get himself safely from Utah to Florida? It seemed insane to even want to try. So much could go wrong.

Too much. It was too much to think about. He needed to put the thought out of his mind and just keep moving, so he did.

“Break time,” Ant said as he lowered himself onto a covered bench by the road. He wiped his forehead with a cloth from his bag.

“No time to stop,” Leroy urged.

“I need some water.”

“So drink and walk.”

“I am not a teenager, Leroy.”

“You said I’m in charge. I say we go.”

“You go ahead, I will catch up.”

Leroy faltered, then sat beside Ant. He didn’t like being in charge.

“Or you can give an old man his five minutes, then we can continue.”

Though he was itching to keep moving, Leroy leaned back and relaxed, grateful that Ant had forced him to stop. A break was probably a good idea in the long run. He finished off a water bottle from his bag, then pulled out the other, which was empty, too. He hadn’t realized how low he was.

“We gotta stop at a store. I’m outta water. And starving.”

Ant handed his bottle to Leroy. “I would imagine there are plenty beyond the city. Have you given any thought to where we might sleep?”

“Can’t think about that right now. We’ll deal with it when we get there.”

“That really is not the best strategy, but I trust you to figure it out.”

It dawned on Leroy that as captain of the voyage, not only was he responsible for himself, but for Ant, as well, and the weight of responsibility magnified to bone-crushing levels. He wished he could just go back to sitting on the couch at home watching TV, comfortable in the knowledge that his mom was just out getting drunk. He found himself nearly gasping for air.

“Are you okay?” Ant asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Leroy wheezed, and sucked in a raspy breath.

Though it wasn’t yet setting, the sun was getting lower by the minute, and they weren’t even in the city yet. Maybe they should’ve just gone to the jungle like Ant had said. Leroy regretted leaving the station, until he realized that not a single train had passed by in the time they’d been walking. They’d probably still be sitting at the jungle, had they stayed. Leroy was glad they’d made some progress from walking, and felt his decision was at least somewhat justified.

He took a long pull from Ant’s water bottle, then handed it back. “You about ready to go?” he asked, still breathing hard.

“Well, I am getting there. Another minute, perhaps.”

Leroy was getting antsy when a rattling made him look left. A city bus rolled up the road, then stopped in front of them. The doors slid open. The uneasy feeling of heading off to school arose in him.

The driver, a bristly mustache dominating his upper lip, watched with an impatiently inviting gaze. Leroy turned to Ant, who snatched his bag and leapt up. “I hope you have change for a twenty,” Ant said.

Leroy followed.

* * *

Leroy didn’t know much about Mormons, but they sure knew how to construct a building. He’d gawked at the Salt Lake Temple in all its gothic glory—the spires stabbing at the sky, the intricate designs for the brick medium, the way everything seemed to flow upward. It was
effective
. It made him feel something… he didn’t know what, but something.