though I cain’t hear Richard I’m guessing he’s still fast asleep. It was a seven-squeak night at the trash bin so we’ve got that going for us. The next three steps are fine. But then, on step five, there it is again. Crrrreeeaaak. This one is lower and sounds like a cow I saw once that was lying on her side trying to push her calf out of her. We stop again and inside I’m praying, Please, Lord, don’t let them wake up.
This time it’s Emma that nods at me and so, since she’s higher up and can probably see that the bedroom door is still closed, I keep going. After three more quiet steps we’ve made it to the bottom and we’re almost home free. Now it’s the front door we’ve got to worry about since the screen part on the outside can slam shut if you aren’t careful. But tonight we’re more than careful so I think we’ll be in business, like Momma always says. I turn the doorknob of the inside wooden door before I pull it open and now all that’s standing between us and freedom is a rusty metal screen. I push the latch in and open it in slow motion. No, slower than slow motion. I’m opening it so slowly you can’t even tell it’s moving. That’s how careful I am and sure enough, it pays off: no creak! Phee-you.
Now it’s up to Emma to let it close as slowly as I opened it. She reads my mind and does exactly what I did on the way out. Let me 91
E LI ZA B ET|-t F LOC K
tell you, it’s not easy doing all this while you’re holding a duffel and I’m thinking to myself that when I grow up I’m never going to have a duffel bag. They are too much trouble to hold, if you ask me.
Emma lets the latch close behind her and we look offdown the dirt driveway where Richard’s truck sleeps at night and all that’s in front of us is the rest of our lives.
It probably doesn’t get dark like this in Bermuda. It’s taking all my energy to squint into the night to see where we’re heading, so I don’t even think about how tired I was a few minutes ago. I’m not hungry, either, and that’s a good thing since we didn’t bring anything along but a half-eaten jar of Jifpeanut butter I grabbed at the last minute.
Everything’s asleep right now; the leaves aren’t even crinkling against one another like they do when it’s daytime and I figure that’s because they’re storing up their energy for tomorrow. Tomorrow. What’re we going to do about tomorrow? I haven’t said as much to Emma, but to tell you the truth I am a little worried about where we’re going to hide when the sun comes up. We’re not moving as fast as I thought we would so I don’t think we’re going to make it to the bus station to catch the 5:55 to Raleigh. I’m going to have to go to plan B. Trouble is I didn’t really think of a plan B so I’m thinking real hard right now. Hmm.
“Do you think they’ll find us?” Emma asks me. “No,” I say, even though I am not really sure. “Good,” she says, and she keeps walking. “Hey, Era,” I say. “Yeah?”
“How come you changed your mind ?”
I’ve been dying to ask her this question since yesterday when we came in from the meadow and she started packing up, but I was
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ME & EMMA
afraid to talk out loud about running away in case Richard was at the bottom of the stairs.
“I don’t know,” she says, but I don’t believe her.
We walk some more.
After a long time of walking in the quiet, the bag starts to feel real heavy.
“When we get up there to the barn, let’s set this down for a minute,” I say.
The barn up ahead looks taller than it does in the daytime. The pitched roof is cutting into the black sky and it looks like a witch’s den in the picture books we read. In front of the doors with the crisscrossed white wood we let the bag fall to the ground and it thumps like a dead body’s in it. That’s exactly what it was feeling like, a dead body.
“It’s so heavy,” Emma says, rubbing her arms.
Then I get my idea.
“Hey, Em. What if we
This time it’s Emma that nods at me and so, since she’s higher up and can probably see that the bedroom door is still closed, I keep going. After three more quiet steps we’ve made it to the bottom and we’re almost home free. Now it’s the front door we’ve got to worry about since the screen part on the outside can slam shut if you aren’t careful. But tonight we’re more than careful so I think we’ll be in business, like Momma always says. I turn the doorknob of the inside wooden door before I pull it open and now all that’s standing between us and freedom is a rusty metal screen. I push the latch in and open it in slow motion. No, slower than slow motion. I’m opening it so slowly you can’t even tell it’s moving. That’s how careful I am and sure enough, it pays off: no creak! Phee-you.
Now it’s up to Emma to let it close as slowly as I opened it. She reads my mind and does exactly what I did on the way out. Let me 91
E LI ZA B ET|-t F LOC K
tell you, it’s not easy doing all this while you’re holding a duffel and I’m thinking to myself that when I grow up I’m never going to have a duffel bag. They are too much trouble to hold, if you ask me.
Emma lets the latch close behind her and we look offdown the dirt driveway where Richard’s truck sleeps at night and all that’s in front of us is the rest of our lives.
It probably doesn’t get dark like this in Bermuda. It’s taking all my energy to squint into the night to see where we’re heading, so I don’t even think about how tired I was a few minutes ago. I’m not hungry, either, and that’s a good thing since we didn’t bring anything along but a half-eaten jar of Jifpeanut butter I grabbed at the last minute.
Everything’s asleep right now; the leaves aren’t even crinkling against one another like they do when it’s daytime and I figure that’s because they’re storing up their energy for tomorrow. Tomorrow. What’re we going to do about tomorrow? I haven’t said as much to Emma, but to tell you the truth I am a little worried about where we’re going to hide when the sun comes up. We’re not moving as fast as I thought we would so I don’t think we’re going to make it to the bus station to catch the 5:55 to Raleigh. I’m going to have to go to plan B. Trouble is I didn’t really think of a plan B so I’m thinking real hard right now. Hmm.
“Do you think they’ll find us?” Emma asks me. “No,” I say, even though I am not really sure. “Good,” she says, and she keeps walking. “Hey, Era,” I say. “Yeah?”
“How come you changed your mind ?”
I’ve been dying to ask her this question since yesterday when we came in from the meadow and she started packing up, but I was
92
ME & EMMA
afraid to talk out loud about running away in case Richard was at the bottom of the stairs.
“I don’t know,” she says, but I don’t believe her.
We walk some more.
After a long time of walking in the quiet, the bag starts to feel real heavy.
“When we get up there to the barn, let’s set this down for a minute,” I say.
The barn up ahead looks taller than it does in the daytime. The pitched roof is cutting into the black sky and it looks like a witch’s den in the picture books we read. In front of the doors with the crisscrossed white wood we let the bag fall to the ground and it thumps like a dead body’s in it. That’s exactly what it was feeling like, a dead body.
“It’s so heavy,” Emma says, rubbing her arms.
Then I get my idea.
“Hey, Em. What if we
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