her and keep their
distance these days. I wonder if, deep down, she cares but I get the feeling
she stopped caring about them years ago.
The waitress drops off our food along with a large
dispenser of maple syrup, so there’s no issue there. I can’t help it. I check
my phone, hoping maybe it was Justin or Doug this time. It wasn’t. I set my
phone down again, then pick it back up. Lauren’s right. I send my father a
text.
I’m fine. Not dead or anything.
I wait, wondering if my phone will start buzzing. But he
gets it—I’m not answering.
A moment later, he texts back. Where are you?
I think about telling him but I don’t want to. It’s as
simple as that. For good or bad, I want this experience to be mine. Telling him
would ruin it. God only knows too—he might call the Charlotte police or
something.
Just not at camp.
I sip my Coke and wait.
You need to get back here.
I will. Soon.
I look at my burger, which looks good, but I’m not hungry
anymore.
Unless you plan on paying for college yourself, I’d
suggest you do it now.
And there it is. What can I say to that other than nothing?
So, that’s exactly what I say. I stare at the screen, at that message, wishing
I felt more than I do. I notice my battery is about to die. I put my phone in
my pocket, deciding not to charge it for a while.
I’m looking out the window when Lauren slides back in
across from me. American flags flap outside in the breeze. Cars and busses roll
past.
After a moment, she says, “I guess you called them.”
Maybe she noticed that my phone is no longer on the
table. Or maybe it took me a moment too long to break off my gaze from things I
was barely seeing. I look at her now. In her eyes, I see both concern and
knowing. And something she hasn’t shared with me. At least, not yet.
I nod. “I sent a text.”
“What did they say?”
“They said to take my time and do what I have to do.”
Lauren pours maple syrup onto her French Toast.
“Something like that,” she says. “Right?”
“Exactly,” I say. “Something like that.”
“Well, I still think it’s good that you let them know
you’re okay.”
And she’s right. Not for their sake but for mine. I know
where I stand now and it’s way worse than I thought. I’ve never known my father
to bluff. Why do I not care? Why do I really hope something comes along that
keeps me from going back there? I want this to happen even if it makes no sense
and everything comes crashing down. I get the feeling that, somehow, Lauren
knows this. That she at least senses it.
“I think so too,” I say.
I reach for the ketchup and pour some out next to my
fries, then dip one in. Suddenly, I’m hungry again and the burger is looking
good.
~~~
Too soon, though, we’re walking back. The sun is directly
above us now, beating down. It has to be well into the nineties and the shade
offered by the trees planted next to the sidewalk is definitely losing the
fight to all the concrete and glass around us. My shirt is starting to soak
through, not exactly the best feeling after eating a burger. Lauren, on the
other hand, seems fine. She keeps looking around at people and buildings just
as interested as when we’d walked up the same street before. I guess she’s not
bothered by the fact that we’ll soon be getting back into the van with nowhere
to go but I’m not feeling that way at all.
Despite the heat, the same old guy remains sitting on his
milk crate where we saw him an hour ago. As we approach, I almost recognize the
song but can’t quite place it. Again, he’s putting his own spin on it, making
the song his own. He’s an interesting old guy, that’s for sure. He has to be at
least sixty and before he was playing a Pixies song. But, okay, sure—the Pixies
have been around since the late eighties. So, I guess he would have been in his
thirties back then.
We’re just a few feet away and the song keeps nagging at
me. I know this melody. The chord progression sounds
distance these days. I wonder if, deep down, she cares but I get the feeling
she stopped caring about them years ago.
The waitress drops off our food along with a large
dispenser of maple syrup, so there’s no issue there. I can’t help it. I check
my phone, hoping maybe it was Justin or Doug this time. It wasn’t. I set my
phone down again, then pick it back up. Lauren’s right. I send my father a
text.
I’m fine. Not dead or anything.
I wait, wondering if my phone will start buzzing. But he
gets it—I’m not answering.
A moment later, he texts back. Where are you?
I think about telling him but I don’t want to. It’s as
simple as that. For good or bad, I want this experience to be mine. Telling him
would ruin it. God only knows too—he might call the Charlotte police or
something.
Just not at camp.
I sip my Coke and wait.
You need to get back here.
I will. Soon.
I look at my burger, which looks good, but I’m not hungry
anymore.
Unless you plan on paying for college yourself, I’d
suggest you do it now.
And there it is. What can I say to that other than nothing?
So, that’s exactly what I say. I stare at the screen, at that message, wishing
I felt more than I do. I notice my battery is about to die. I put my phone in
my pocket, deciding not to charge it for a while.
I’m looking out the window when Lauren slides back in
across from me. American flags flap outside in the breeze. Cars and busses roll
past.
After a moment, she says, “I guess you called them.”
Maybe she noticed that my phone is no longer on the
table. Or maybe it took me a moment too long to break off my gaze from things I
was barely seeing. I look at her now. In her eyes, I see both concern and
knowing. And something she hasn’t shared with me. At least, not yet.
I nod. “I sent a text.”
“What did they say?”
“They said to take my time and do what I have to do.”
Lauren pours maple syrup onto her French Toast.
“Something like that,” she says. “Right?”
“Exactly,” I say. “Something like that.”
“Well, I still think it’s good that you let them know
you’re okay.”
And she’s right. Not for their sake but for mine. I know
where I stand now and it’s way worse than I thought. I’ve never known my father
to bluff. Why do I not care? Why do I really hope something comes along that
keeps me from going back there? I want this to happen even if it makes no sense
and everything comes crashing down. I get the feeling that, somehow, Lauren
knows this. That she at least senses it.
“I think so too,” I say.
I reach for the ketchup and pour some out next to my
fries, then dip one in. Suddenly, I’m hungry again and the burger is looking
good.
~~~
Too soon, though, we’re walking back. The sun is directly
above us now, beating down. It has to be well into the nineties and the shade
offered by the trees planted next to the sidewalk is definitely losing the
fight to all the concrete and glass around us. My shirt is starting to soak
through, not exactly the best feeling after eating a burger. Lauren, on the
other hand, seems fine. She keeps looking around at people and buildings just
as interested as when we’d walked up the same street before. I guess she’s not
bothered by the fact that we’ll soon be getting back into the van with nowhere
to go but I’m not feeling that way at all.
Despite the heat, the same old guy remains sitting on his
milk crate where we saw him an hour ago. As we approach, I almost recognize the
song but can’t quite place it. Again, he’s putting his own spin on it, making
the song his own. He’s an interesting old guy, that’s for sure. He has to be at
least sixty and before he was playing a Pixies song. But, okay, sure—the Pixies
have been around since the late eighties. So, I guess he would have been in his
thirties back then.
We’re just a few feet away and the song keeps nagging at
me. I know this melody. The chord progression sounds
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