“That’s weird,” I said, imagining a leg in a jar somewhere, itching with no hands to scratch it.
“What I’ve got, I think it’s phantom parent syndrome.”
“Major mindfuck,” I said.
“Don’t say ‘fuck.’ You’re little. But, yeah. It’s a major mindfuck.”
Sitting there on the curb with Bronwyn — the new and improved Theresa — I think about how I never had phantom parent syndrome. No itching leg in a jar somewhere. No mindfuck. Just a blank space.
I tell all this to Bronwyn. I ask her how I’m supposed to make peace with a blank space, with a thing I don’t know.
She shrugs. “I dunno. I guess you have to imagine things. Or make shit up. You know, sort of fill it in. That’s all you can do with blank spaces.”
We’re not even expecting it when Dom comes and plops down next to us. He’s holding a loaf of bread, a pack of smokes and a big bag of beef jerky.
“What’s the bread for?” I poke the bread.
“For the beef jerky.” He says this like it should have been obvious to me.
“Beef jerky sandwiches?”
“Well, why not? The beef jerky was easier to snag than the bologna. And it’s more delicious.”
“You took the easy way out?” Bronwyn laughs. “You’re getting rusty.”
“Hey, if you two don’t want any, I’ll eat all the beef jerky sandwiches.”
“No!” I grab the loaf of bread. “We want, we want.”
Hunched over and huddled together to hide the evidence of our crime from the night shift clerk inside, we sit there on the curb in front of the 7-Eleven eating beef jerky sandwiches. Aside from a short discussion about which condiment would make them even better, we chew in silence, absorbed in a brief moment of peace.
11. MOOD FOR TROUBLE
BRONWYN IS THE first to give voice to what we’re all thinking: that this is boring, our trip was a bust and we may as well head back home.
“Yeah.” Dom lights a smoke. “Maybe we should’ve come down on a weekend. Weeknights are always sucky for trying to score or find a party.”
I know it’s an excuse. Anyone could score acid in a college town full of hippies if they really wanted to. We didn’t try. We didn’t want it bad enough and didn’t care about wanting. We all knew it before we began walking down the highway earlier tonight, but no one was going to admit it. We just didn’t want to go home, where we would be surrounded by what we truly are and all that we pretended to be, facing what we might never reach.
Home never has enough distractions, only walls and mirrors.
I turn and look at the clock on the wall inside the store. “You think the buses are still running?”
Bronwyn shakes her head. “Nah. They stopped like, an hour ago. I sure as fuck don’t want to hitchhike all the way back. All the crazies and rapists are out now.”
I consider telling Bronwyn that the crazies and rapists are out all the time, but I don’t want to be a bummer for anyone right now.
“We could walk to the bus station. They’ll let you sleep on the benches,” Dom says. “The hobos are cool. Then we can get the first bus in the morning.”
“It’s kind of far,” Bronwyn yawns.
“Well, let’s just start walking.” I’m tired of sitting in front of a convenience store. Every time I look inside, the guy behind the counter is staring at us. Or maybe he’s staring past us, into the night, but I feel like a blemish on his view of the parking lot and would rather be where no one will notice me.
“Hold up.” Dominic reaches into his pocket. “Let’s count our cash again. Maybe we have enough for a taxi.”
“Dude. Taxis are expensive. That’ll cost way too much.” Shaking her head, Bronwyn reaches into her pocket anyway.
As we’re digging into our pockets, we’re thrown into a spotlight. Headlights glare in my peripheral vision. Bronwyn and Dom squint. A gleaming, dark blue Nova pulls up right where we’re standing, the front bumper almost touching Bronwyn’s legs.
“Jesus,” she says in a low voice. “They can’t see us standing here, or what?”
Two guys who look to be a few years older than the three of us step out. Both of them stare at us as they walk past. The expression on their faces, I’ve seen it before. It’s the same expression anyone gets on their face when someone else in the room farts and they’ve been hit by an unexpected foul stench.
We add up what’s left of our dollars and coins.
“Okay. That’s exactly jack shit.” Dom flicks his cigarette butt out into the parking lot. “But, maybe it’ll get us part of the way. We can just tell him to drive us until the money runs out.”
I consider this, not totally opposed to it. “Well, do you think we’ll end up very far? Maybe it’s not worth it if we only get a mile up the highway and have to wander around in the dark until morning with all the crazies and rapists.”
“I dunno.” Dom looks up, past me. The bell on the door behind me rings. I turn around and see the two guys with the Nova and bright headlights coming out of the store, opening the plastic twist caps on their bottles of soda.
“Hey,” Dom says.
“Hey.” The driver’s expression of contempt is replaced by amusement.
“Hey, um… you guys wouldn’t happen to have a couple bucks? We’re trying to scrounge together enough to get a taxi back—”
The passenger laughs.
“Fuck off, loser,” Driver says. He flicks his bottle cap at us.
“Jeez, we were just asking,” I say. “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
He shoves me. Not hard, but enough to make me stumble backward into Bronwyn and Dom.
“Shut up, skank.”
Passenger laughs and opens his door. He pulls a bottle of
