says. “Things you don’t remember because you don’t
understand.”
“Like what?”
She smiles at me. “Like what you are.”
“And what am I?”
“You are a part of me,” she replies. “As I am
a part of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You need to come back,” she says, not
smiling anymore. She is starting to glow.
“Why? Why do I need to come back?” I cover my
eyes with my arm. Her glow is becoming painfully bright. “The
police will get me. They’ll lock me up. I’m safe here. Why can’t I
stay here? I don’t want the police to catch me.”
“Then you will need to avoid the police. We
need you back home.”
“Why? Why?”
Because I can’t see, I barely realize she is
so close to my face until her lips are on mine. “You can save us
all.”
How? How can I save anyone, when I can barely
take care of myself?
-20-
All day it weighs on my mind. “You have to
come home. We need you… you can save us all.” I am distracted
helping Bobby out at the hotdog stand and burn several dogs.
“Something on your mind?” he asks, feeding
the charred meat to Lila.
I shrug.
The days are colder now and I’m thankful for
Little Bobby’s jacket and gloves, although standing in front of the
grill keeps me warm. But now Bobby’s handing me a hot dog with the
works and telling me to go have a seat. The guys at the discount
electronics boutique next to the Dollar Store are on their lunch
break, which usually starts off the “lunch rush.”
Sitting on the bed of Bobby’s truck, I stare
in the distance thinking rather than eating. On the one hand, I
would like to see my mother again, but I can’t imagine she’d be
willing to forgive me for killing her husband. I can’t even forgive
me. Even after all he did…
Would she welcome me home with open arms? Her
son, the murderer?
Hell, she probably wouldn’t even recognize
me.
It’s just one more reason not to go home.
Of course, other scenarios play out in my
head. One where my mother thought I’d been dead all these years,
killed by the same maniac who killed her husband: she sees me, her
face blank with disbelief as I walk up the driveway, until she
finally recognizes that it’s me, her son, I’m alive, and I’m back,
and then she’s weeping and running crazily down the driveway to hug
me and finally I’m home and that emptiness which has accompanied me
for so long disappears with a painful pop and I’m crying too…
I’m crying in real life, not just my
imagination. I slap the tears away before anyone can see. (Lila
saw, but she’s just a dog)
I never let myself think about that. Never
never never. I couldn’t go back home, so I saved myself that pain
by not thinking about it. Now, because of those stupid dreams, I’m
thinking about it. I shouldn’t think about it. I should keep on
going south, like I had planned.
(And what if you’re in the south and you’re
still killing people? They’re big on the death penalty in Texas.
They might not even let you see your mom again before they executed
you.)
But…
What if?
What if my mother is in trouble? What if she
knows something that could help me stop killing people?
“One dog with ketchup on it.”
I am broken from my thoughts by a loud,
clipped voice. Bobby’s customer is a police officer. His eyes are
obscured by sunglasses and his blue uniform is free of wrinkles.
Instinctively I hunch down and start eating, hoping he didn’t
notice me.
Too late.
“That your boy?” the officer asks, nodding at
me.
Bobby looks over at me. “Yup.”
“How old?”
Bobby doesn’t skip a beat. “Sixteen.” Bobby
doesn’t know that my sixteenth birthday is only a few weeks away.
It’s the same lie I would have told.
“You will need to avoid the police.” That’s
what Kayla said in my dream last night. What if this cop wants to
arrest me right now? See some proof of my age?
“How come he’s not at school?” the cop
asks.
Bobby slathers ketchup over the top
understand.”
“Like what?”
She smiles at me. “Like what you are.”
“And what am I?”
“You are a part of me,” she replies. “As I am
a part of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You need to come back,” she says, not
smiling anymore. She is starting to glow.
“Why? Why do I need to come back?” I cover my
eyes with my arm. Her glow is becoming painfully bright. “The
police will get me. They’ll lock me up. I’m safe here. Why can’t I
stay here? I don’t want the police to catch me.”
“Then you will need to avoid the police. We
need you back home.”
“Why? Why?”
Because I can’t see, I barely realize she is
so close to my face until her lips are on mine. “You can save us
all.”
How? How can I save anyone, when I can barely
take care of myself?
-20-
All day it weighs on my mind. “You have to
come home. We need you… you can save us all.” I am distracted
helping Bobby out at the hotdog stand and burn several dogs.
“Something on your mind?” he asks, feeding
the charred meat to Lila.
I shrug.
The days are colder now and I’m thankful for
Little Bobby’s jacket and gloves, although standing in front of the
grill keeps me warm. But now Bobby’s handing me a hot dog with the
works and telling me to go have a seat. The guys at the discount
electronics boutique next to the Dollar Store are on their lunch
break, which usually starts off the “lunch rush.”
Sitting on the bed of Bobby’s truck, I stare
in the distance thinking rather than eating. On the one hand, I
would like to see my mother again, but I can’t imagine she’d be
willing to forgive me for killing her husband. I can’t even forgive
me. Even after all he did…
Would she welcome me home with open arms? Her
son, the murderer?
Hell, she probably wouldn’t even recognize
me.
It’s just one more reason not to go home.
Of course, other scenarios play out in my
head. One where my mother thought I’d been dead all these years,
killed by the same maniac who killed her husband: she sees me, her
face blank with disbelief as I walk up the driveway, until she
finally recognizes that it’s me, her son, I’m alive, and I’m back,
and then she’s weeping and running crazily down the driveway to hug
me and finally I’m home and that emptiness which has accompanied me
for so long disappears with a painful pop and I’m crying too…
I’m crying in real life, not just my
imagination. I slap the tears away before anyone can see. (Lila
saw, but she’s just a dog)
I never let myself think about that. Never
never never. I couldn’t go back home, so I saved myself that pain
by not thinking about it. Now, because of those stupid dreams, I’m
thinking about it. I shouldn’t think about it. I should keep on
going south, like I had planned.
(And what if you’re in the south and you’re
still killing people? They’re big on the death penalty in Texas.
They might not even let you see your mom again before they executed
you.)
But…
What if?
What if my mother is in trouble? What if she
knows something that could help me stop killing people?
“One dog with ketchup on it.”
I am broken from my thoughts by a loud,
clipped voice. Bobby’s customer is a police officer. His eyes are
obscured by sunglasses and his blue uniform is free of wrinkles.
Instinctively I hunch down and start eating, hoping he didn’t
notice me.
Too late.
“That your boy?” the officer asks, nodding at
me.
Bobby looks over at me. “Yup.”
“How old?”
Bobby doesn’t skip a beat. “Sixteen.” Bobby
doesn’t know that my sixteenth birthday is only a few weeks away.
It’s the same lie I would have told.
“You will need to avoid the police.” That’s
what Kayla said in my dream last night. What if this cop wants to
arrest me right now? See some proof of my age?
“How come he’s not at school?” the cop
asks.
Bobby slathers ketchup over the top
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