On the Run

     I am dithering between packing up both of the suitcases, or just taking the big one with the most important stuff when my cat tangles itself in my ankles, and I second_ -well no- thirty-second guess myself.  Should I be doing this? Should I leave him? I bend down to scratch Puck’s head, between the ears, and he looks at me with knowing eyes.  Yes Mom, he says to me as a voice in my head, you need to do this, but can you take me with you?  I smile. Of course, he will be coming with me. I’ve had him for eight years. He’s my familiar. 

I decide on the large suitcase. It is bright pink and easy to spot if I decide to go to an airport to get away.  Going to an airport would mean leaving my car behind in a parking spot, and I’m not sure about the rules for flying with a cat, but I can make this work. I open up the suitcase, throw my most comfortable and casual clothes inside - I won’t need the business suits anymore - and then drag my eyes around the apartment for a few minutes wondering what else to pack.

    The books have to stay here. No room, but I have my Kindle. My jewelry I tuck in between my clothes. I take one last look around the apartment - thirteen years in the same place - tuck Puck into his carrier and load everything in my car.

    My first order of business is just to get out of Weberstown and away from my soon to be ex-husband and soon to be ex-business partner. I drive to the nearest gas station, fill up my car and grab a few snacks. Puck has a whole bag of food that I already put in the back of the car, and he’s strapped in so he can’t wander around.  I consider where I want to go, but just get in my car and start to drive east. East seems like the best option.  The foothills surrounding Weberstown don’t have much cell reception, so I can get lost up there. I have already set my phone to do not disturb and turned off any location sharing with my future ex-husband, but my future ex-father in law is a cop, and I wouldn’t put it past him to try a cell phone trace of some kind. When I figure out where I’m going, I’ll change my number.

    I drive east for an hour, wandering around the golden edged foothills.  The spring had been dry and so everything is golden brown grasses waving in the dry California winds. I stop, checking my watch to make sure he hasn’t gotten off work yet, and head to the nearest bank I can find in the foothill town. The bank account says that we have $4000 in savings, and I withdraw half of that, not even looking at the checking account, knowing that there are bills that may not be paid out of that yet. The crisp bills feel good in my hand. I tuck $200 in my wallet and the rest goes in the suitcase in the back. I’ll figure out a better hiding place when I get to wherever I’m going.

    

    There is a place in the hills where the grassy fields end, and as I make the transition from fields to forest, I feel a transformation in myself.  There is no doubt that what I did was the right thing to do.  There was nothing left for me in Weberstown anymore.  A very small office fire made out of the shredded documents and computer hard drive that had been my accounting firm's records made sure to burn that bridge. Some bad investments and some debts to some gentlemen with a rather creative way of collecting those debts meant that I couldn’t go back to Weberstown or my ex any time soon. Good riddance to both, I thought, looking through the rear view mirror. 

Another hour or so east, and I find that I have wandered to Angel’s Camp, a small but famous town in the foothills. As I drive up the highway with the “Welcome to Calaveras County” sign, something in me relaxes.  I know this is where I will stay for a while. Puck seems to sense this in me as well as he questioningly meows at me, though I’m not sure if it’s because he wants dinner or because he’s attuned to my feelings.

    I find a motel with a pet policy, pay the hotel room charge in cash and sign my mother’s maiden name with mine in the registry. I let Puck out, set up his litter box and his food, and then blissfully pass out.

    I wake, take a shower, and turn on the TV with the antiquated remote. The television is old, one of those big box kinds, and I wonder at the old-fashioned ways of Angel’s Camp. I flip through the few channels and land on CNN, not recognizing any of the panelists. I lay back in bed and Puck curls up at my side as I lazily stroke his belly.   He seems to have lost something too in leaving. He seems smaller than I remember, and his toe beans feel tiny as I play with his feet, a game we are fond of.  He meows at me and bats at my fingers as we settle down. The news analysts are talking about the next election coming up and it takes me a few minutes to realize that something is… different. The election that they are talking about isn’t the candidates that I remember.  Instead they’re talking about Bill Clinton’s chances running against George Bush.  I blink and rub my eyes, listening closer, thinking it must be a rerun of some CNN documentary of the 90’s. Just in case though, I head out to the lobby of the motel in my jammies.  What I find there is even more surprising. The headlines of the newspaper screamed out news about Hurricane Andrew devastating Florida, Ross Perot’s chances in the election and the weather and sports information above the fold for August 24, 1992. 

I walk back to my room and sit on the bed, stunned for a moment. Puck has fallen asleep on the pillows, oblivious to anything except the morning sun which was coming through the ugly maroon curtains in places. He is sleeping the rest of a kitten, and I rub my eyes again telling myself that it’s not possible that he has turned into the kitten that he once was. 

I reach for my cell phone and find that it had died in the night. It still won’t even turn on after I plug it in.  My only other thought is to pick up the motel phone and slowly dial in 767-2676. It is automatic. The voice tells me in its curt way that at the tone it will be August 24, 1992, 9:16 am. I sit and stare at the phone dumbfounded and then hang up.  It is 27 years before I drove into Angel’s Camp.

Well, I think, Kevin definitely won’t find me here.

My second thought was my car.  My cute as a button 2010 Volkswagen Beetle would definitely be a standout here in 1992. Definitely forward thinking in design. I peeked out the window, dumbfounded that I hadn’t thought about this before, and saw where I had parked was a mostly shiny, well taken care of 1974 Volkswagen Beetle.  Well, that’s something, I suppose. At least I got the same make of car, even if this one is older than I am. 

I laid down next to Puck and sank into watching an old daytime talk show. The antics of Regis and Kathie Lee amused me for only so long, however, before I needed to get out of the stifling air of the hotel room.  I checked on Puck, who seemed even younger than the hours that he has before.  I filled up his food bowl a little bit more, added some water to the dish. A growing kitten needs food, I thought to myself, but if he keeps de-aging, what will happen to him. He seemed content now, if not incredibly lazy, but then, he’s a cat. I pat him on his head, grabbed my purse, and decided a drive around Angel’s Camp was just the sort of thing that I needed to clear my head a little and figure out my next steps.

The last time I had been here was when I was 17.  My father had just left his second wife for his eventual third wife and we were “between houses” again, which meant that we were staying in motels.  He had work at Angel’s Camp as a bricklayer.  If all of these signs were right, I was in that summer now and my 17 year old self was wandering around Angels Camp on her last day in town.  I had one day to change her life, and maybe save myself.

The realization that my life could be different, that I could warn myself that something was going to happen shocked me so much that I pulled over into a parking lot of a little Shop n’ Go market. Panic struck me in the chest hard, and I had to take a few deep breaths.  Things could change, and as if this revelation wasn’t enough, there was a vibration that came from my purse sitting on the passenger seat of the car. I dug through the purse and found my phone there, buzzing away excessively. There was a text message. All it said was “Make her leave”.

I put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot, knowing exactly where I was going.

When I entered the diner, the sound of the bell over the door brought a rush of memories.  Sure enough, the reality of the situation was true to what I remembered.  I looked over at the corner booth, which could easily seat six people, but at that moment only held two girls.  One was athletic, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, her clothing tight on her body.  This was Becky, my little sister. A wave of nostalgia washed over me and it was hard not to burst into tears.  My sister had stopped talking to me ten years ago, after I married Kevin. I hadn’t realized I had ached for her company so much, but in order to change my path and talk to my younger self, who sat on the other side of the table, sulking and drawing on the paper napkins with a ballpoint pen, I would have to get past Becky, or at least figure out a way to charm her. Then her pager went off, and I knew immediately how to get her out of the way. 

“Here”, I said, digging in purse and pulling out a twenty -fortunately my money seemed to have reverted to old bills as well.  “Go call whoever you need to”.  

Still trusting of strangers and not one to question where money comes from, Becky only perked up and then clambered out of the booth towards the payphone near the bathroom, which left me to talk to…myself.

“Thanks for getting rid of her”, 17 year old me said.

“You’re welcome. Do you mind if I sit with you? I hate eating alone.”

She shrugged, and I took that as a sign that I could sit. She was hunched over, careful not to sit back because every time she did, she would hiss. I remember that I had gotten a terrible burn on the beach at Santa Cruz and probably should have been hospitalized, but my father didn’t believe in hospitals. I had been in terrible pain. I looked into my purse and found that rather than my cell phone, there was a bottle marked “burn lotion” inside instead. I took this out and pushed it across the table. “Here”, I said. “This should help”.

“How could you tell?” she asked.

“The way you’re sitting. Looks like it hurts.”

She nodded.  “Who are you?”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Just a person.”  

“Well ‘person’ thanks for your help. It does hurt.”

“You should probably get checked out by a doctor.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if. I haven’t been to a doctor in years.  But this should help a lot.  Thanks.”  She put the salve down on the seat beside her and continued her doodling.  I looked over at what she was drawing. It was a flag and an orphan underneath it- a gross approximation of the Les Mis Original Broadway Cast album cover. She was not an artist.  It was a talent I would never really pick up. 

“Is that supposed to be Cosette or Eponine?” I asked. I had been obsessed with Les Mis for most of high school. It was the first musical I had ever seen live. 

“Cosette. She’s the child lost in the woods.”

“Right, she’s looking for her ‘Castle on a Cloud’.  Sounds like a nice idea, doesn’t it?”

She shrugs again. She’s non-committal. From the phone bank, I can hear Becky raising at her voice, probably at her boyfriend Eric, who wonders where she is. She didn’t choose Angel’s Camp any more than the girl who sits in front of me did. That conversation isn’t going to be over soon. I don’t have very much time.

“Listen,” I say quietly.  “You need to get away from your father.”

She tucks a hair behind her ear and nods. “I am aware.”

She doesn’t seem to be surprised by this revelation.

“You can’t until you’re 18, but you know that you need to get away from home. Do you know what you’re going to do?”

She shook her head.  “I just know that I need to get away. I tried to run away. It didn’t work.”

Those three days had been the most liberating and the scariest time of my life. But it had also taught me a very valuable lesson. One that I apparently needed to be reminded of now. “Running away is never really the answer.”

“Yep”, she said quietly. “I learned that one the hard way.”

I take her arm gently and twist it until the soft pale flesh is exposed under her wrist. “This isn’t the answer either.”

She squirms out of my grasp and places her hand in her lap, covering the scars. “It makes me feel better.”

“Trust me.” I say, and pull back the sleeve of my shirt, exposing my identical scars faded from time. Her eyes fill with realization for just the briefest second and then fill with gentle tears. “So, you know what it’s like.”

“I do.  Only you can save yourself.”

“You sound like one of those commercials.” She draws an arc in the air with her fingers. “The more you know”.

“Maybe, but it’s good advice.”

The phone slams down and Becky comes back, fuming from her conversation and throws her pager on the table. “Fucking Eric” she says.

“Boy troubles?”

“Screw him. He can stay in Stockton by himself.”

“He will.” I say and then stand. “Think about what I told you.”

The girl who will become me shrugs again, and then nods very very slightly.

“You have to confront it.” I said to her, but then they were words that I needed to hear as well.

I left them there and went back to the motel room, exhausted from the conversation and maybe a little bit from what seemed like time travel. I needed to get out of here and go back to where I came from, from the time I came from. I stroked the now very small Puck, who just fit in my hand and mewled at me looking for milk. In a few seconds, his warm little body relaxed in my hand.  I took this as a cue and fell asleep as well.

When I woke, there was no longer a cat on the bed with me and I cast my eyes up and down the mattress looking for him. Puck had been my companion through everything and now he was lost.  I made a keening sound, grief coursing through me at the loss of my best friend and curled into myself not wanting to know what else was different in my world.  The grief was short lived, however, as I heard a familiar rustling from the bathroom and Puck strode out, tail high and shaking litter from his back paws. He was full grown again and he jumped up on the bed and put one of his paws on my nose as if to say, “What’s wrong with you.”  I scooped him into my arms and squeezed him. 

“We can’t run away, Puck.  We have to go back and figure our own way out of this mess.”

He rubbed his cheek against mine in answer, and then jumped out of my arms. 

The trip back down the mountain to Weberstown felt like it took less time than it did to get there, and as the forest opened up to the valley, I could feel that I had made the right choice.