going on
here. “You’re all right, girl.…You’re all right.”
I cross my legs and wiggle my foot a little. “You’re not going to kill me, are you.”
“
Please
,” he says. “If I’d come here to kill you, you’d be fighting rigor mortis and I’d be halfway back to Brooklyn. That fed they
got protecting you—what, was he gonna step in and save the day?” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his Marlboros, stares
at them, then puts them back.
“Sean’s a good guy,” I say, like I’m defending my spouse.
Jonathan looks at me, stern, like he might have changed his mind about slitting my throat. He takes a few steps toward me.
“Do you feel safe right now?”
I can’t look at him, so I bite my tongue and stare at the floor as I slowly shake my head. “No.”
All of a sudden, he flips his wrist over and checks his watch. “Well, I’m afraid we’re out of time.”
I frown. “Meaning what?”
“Just get a good night’s rest. I’ll be back for you tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know I was here—and that you’ll be
leaving with me.” He walks to the window, peeks outside, and reaches for the doorknob.
“Wait! What do you mean?”
“What confused you, Melody?”
Hearing my birth name from someone other than a deputy marshal throws me off. He is a real human being in the real world who
actually knows who I am, the first person in twenty years to discern the genuine and uninvented me, a superhero recognized
without her mask; I feel a subtle pull inside, the rise of a new and inconvenient emotion. “Where, uh… where are we going?”
“A road trip.” He turns and faces me. “Melody, listen—I promise I am not going to hurt you. But you have to come with me.
And we have to move very quickly.”
I’m totally muddled, and instead of asking what his intentions are, I say, “What about Sean? What will I tell him?”
“Nothing. Just have breakfast with him and tell him everything is okay.”
“But he’ll find out about you. He’s—”
Jonathan sighs, then waves me over. “Come here.” He pushes up one blade of the blinds and points to the water. “Are you telling
me that guy is gonna be your hero?”
I stare out the window and watch as Sean sits in the sand, picks up a handful of shells, and gently tosses them into the water.
“He probably just misses his wife,” I say. “Marshals need chill time too, you know.”
“Sure, but that guy isn’t married.”
“Yes, he is.”
“No, he’s not.”
“
Yes
, he is.”
“
No
, he’s
not
, Melody. What, you think only the feds can do research or check someone out before getting involved?”
As I stare at Sean sitting on the shoreline, Jonathan manages to slip out—and he must be good because I never heard a step
and I never heard the door close, and if I wasn’t confused before, I sure am now.
After stripping the wet sheets and replacing them with a few abrasive blankets, I curl up in bed and play with the straw that
has become my hair. I cannot fall asleep. I mean, who’s ever heard of a wise guy who wears trendy glasses or makes sure he’s
not blowing smoke in your direction or genuinely tries to refrain from using profanity in your presence? I couldn’t even detect
a New York accent.
And at first I imagined that the term
road trip
meant it would be easier to bury me in a field somewhere rather than at the toll plaza for the Bay Bridge-Tunnel, but now
I think he might actually be planning to take me somewhere. I just don’t know why.
I dissect my situation and though my sensibility suggests that I should knock on the wall and tell Sean about my visitor and
be whisked away yet once more, my heart suggests that I have been running for as long as I can remember and that, in some
way, I have been waiting all my life for this moment.
For it all to end.
And for some reason I feel free, that I have been in touch with both sides, with the light and the dark of my existence,
here. “You’re all right, girl.…You’re all right.”
I cross my legs and wiggle my foot a little. “You’re not going to kill me, are you.”
“
Please
,” he says. “If I’d come here to kill you, you’d be fighting rigor mortis and I’d be halfway back to Brooklyn. That fed they
got protecting you—what, was he gonna step in and save the day?” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his Marlboros, stares
at them, then puts them back.
“Sean’s a good guy,” I say, like I’m defending my spouse.
Jonathan looks at me, stern, like he might have changed his mind about slitting my throat. He takes a few steps toward me.
“Do you feel safe right now?”
I can’t look at him, so I bite my tongue and stare at the floor as I slowly shake my head. “No.”
All of a sudden, he flips his wrist over and checks his watch. “Well, I’m afraid we’re out of time.”
I frown. “Meaning what?”
“Just get a good night’s rest. I’ll be back for you tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know I was here—and that you’ll be
leaving with me.” He walks to the window, peeks outside, and reaches for the doorknob.
“Wait! What do you mean?”
“What confused you, Melody?”
Hearing my birth name from someone other than a deputy marshal throws me off. He is a real human being in the real world who
actually knows who I am, the first person in twenty years to discern the genuine and uninvented me, a superhero recognized
without her mask; I feel a subtle pull inside, the rise of a new and inconvenient emotion. “Where, uh… where are we going?”
“A road trip.” He turns and faces me. “Melody, listen—I promise I am not going to hurt you. But you have to come with me.
And we have to move very quickly.”
I’m totally muddled, and instead of asking what his intentions are, I say, “What about Sean? What will I tell him?”
“Nothing. Just have breakfast with him and tell him everything is okay.”
“But he’ll find out about you. He’s—”
Jonathan sighs, then waves me over. “Come here.” He pushes up one blade of the blinds and points to the water. “Are you telling
me that guy is gonna be your hero?”
I stare out the window and watch as Sean sits in the sand, picks up a handful of shells, and gently tosses them into the water.
“He probably just misses his wife,” I say. “Marshals need chill time too, you know.”
“Sure, but that guy isn’t married.”
“Yes, he is.”
“No, he’s not.”
“
Yes
, he is.”
“
No
, he’s
not
, Melody. What, you think only the feds can do research or check someone out before getting involved?”
As I stare at Sean sitting on the shoreline, Jonathan manages to slip out—and he must be good because I never heard a step
and I never heard the door close, and if I wasn’t confused before, I sure am now.
After stripping the wet sheets and replacing them with a few abrasive blankets, I curl up in bed and play with the straw that
has become my hair. I cannot fall asleep. I mean, who’s ever heard of a wise guy who wears trendy glasses or makes sure he’s
not blowing smoke in your direction or genuinely tries to refrain from using profanity in your presence? I couldn’t even detect
a New York accent.
And at first I imagined that the term
road trip
meant it would be easier to bury me in a field somewhere rather than at the toll plaza for the Bay Bridge-Tunnel, but now
I think he might actually be planning to take me somewhere. I just don’t know why.
I dissect my situation and though my sensibility suggests that I should knock on the wall and tell Sean about my visitor and
be whisked away yet once more, my heart suggests that I have been running for as long as I can remember and that, in some
way, I have been waiting all my life for this moment.
For it all to end.
And for some reason I feel free, that I have been in touch with both sides, with the light and the dark of my existence,
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