Rabbit Road

The boy ducked his head, slouched down low in his seat. The two cops stomped by, keys jangling, radios rasping.

He was just a kid eating ice cream, nothing to see here. Unaccompanied minor? No sir, my dad, he's uh in the bathroom. Or in the car, taking a nap. We had a long drive....

He stopped holding his breath as he watched them leave the diner with their steaming styrofoam cups. He went back to his dessert, shoveling vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce into his mouth.

He caught sight of himself reflected in the metal napkin holder. A skinny 14 year old, messy blond hair, ketchup stains on his white t-shirt, a smear of chocolate on his cheek. He needed to get his shit together. No way he was gonna escape unwanted adult attention if he didn't clean up a little.

Sometimes escape anyway. Sometimes he needed to encourage attention. But not from cops, or the nice waitress who gave him extra fries for free.

He jammed his battered but beloved Nintendo DSi into his backpack, dug out $6, and arranged the cash neatly on the table. He left the diner, heading into the public showers next to the lot of parked semi-trucks, gleaming in hulking rows under the phosphorus lamps.

Heat still radiated from the ground, despite the sun setting an hour ago. At least he could wash out a couple shirts and have them dry pretty quick.

It was quiet in the showers; relieved of either having to ignore or encourage the inquisitive stares he often got, he was able wash thoroughly, unselfconsciously, and scrub out his meager laundry.

He walked out back towards the back of the truckstop, found a scraggly little cottonwood tree to hang out his clothes. It was dark back here, away from the lights. He unrolled his sleeping bag and stretched out. There was no loneliness, no beckoning waves of terror, just the most profound exhaustion he'd ever experienced. It felt like he hadn't really slept for the last eight weeks. Or was it seven...? Time didn't matter much when there was no need to keep track of it.

Deep sleep covered him quickly, a descending curtain of velvety darkness.

---

Sunlight pushed insistently through the thin membranes of his eyelids. He yawned, stretched, went for a piss. Washed his face, brushed his teeth, and packed up his gear.

Crunch crunch crunch along the gravelly roadside, his Chucks purposefully marching along. Towards a new beginning, freedom from tyranny. His imagination kept him occupied through the long miles. He was a soldier, a lone sniper out on a top secret mission. Only he could track and assassinate the notable terrorist, Vasily Petrenko. Now he was in disguise, marching along with ten other hired mercenaries paid to protect the Petrenko compound.

A long procession of Joshua trees watched his regulated steps, a tireless formality of desert officials.

An hour later, he was an escaped convict. He had been wrongfully convicted, it was a setup. He was on his way to prove his innocence and enact vengeance on those responsible. It would probably involve Samurai swords.

Halfway into this story line, a battered pea-green station wagon pulled up next to him. A middle-aged woman with giant sunglasses peered out the window at him. He straightened his back, trying to embody the persona of one of his characters. Confident, friendly, innocent and above all, older than 14.

"Hey there, young man. Where are you headed? You lost?"

"No ma'am, not lost. Just looking to get a ride, headed north."

"Well, that's pretty vague. But climb in, I'm headed to Burbank. That's sorta north from here, anyway."

"Ok, that would be great! Thanks!" He slid into the passenger seat, the vinyl almost hot enough to burn him through his jeans.

"Sorry, AC died about 30 miles back." The woman lifted her sunglasses, revealing a faded bruise around her right eye, and gave him a once over. Trying to decide if he was a serial killer, the boy figured. He gave her his most trustworthy smile. "Thanks again for picking me up!"

"Welcome. Not much fun to be walking in this heat. You look awfully young. You have someone waiting on you... up north?" She started the car and lurched back onto the road, stomping on the gas as if the old grocery-getter was a sports car.

"Yeah, my grandparents; I'm gonna go live with them and help them on their farm. They live in Humboldt."

"That's awful nice of you. How come they didn't pick you up? Or have you fly out?"

He had prepared a story for just these types of questions, but this was the first time someone had grilled him. It had sounded better in his head.

"Well they're kinda broke, and my grandma's health is bad, so my grandpa can't leave her. My dad just lost his job and had his car repo'd, so he couldn't afford to pay for my way either. This way I'm less of a burden to my dad, and can be of more help to my grandparents."

She raised her eyebrows, which looked to be entirely drawn with a sharpie. "I see. You're certainly resourceful and considerate for a boy your age. What are you, 15?"

"16. Almost 17." This lie came out mumbled and unconvincing. He mentally crossed off 'actor' as a future career.

He didn't think she bought any of that but oh well, she was still driving and hadn't called the cops yet. The only grain of truth was the part about his dad. He wondered if he missed his "burden" yet, or if he just found some poor saps at the bar to take out his frustrations on.

"My name is Sarah. Sarah Lawrence, like the college." She offered her hand. He thought that was a funny name for a school.

"Joe Wright. As in Wright brothers." He shook her hand firmly.

He used his real name, figured it didn't matter. If someone was going to turn him into youth authorities, a fake name wasn't really going to help. Besides, he would bet his last dime that his dad hasn't reported him missing.

"I'm driving out for a funeral. An aunt of mine, we weren't very close. But there's some sort of inheritance, lord knows I could use all the help I can get." Sarah rambled on pleasantly, talking about her ass of a husband, how she was going to leave him this time. Permanently. "This money, it's a sign, I'll finally be able to move on." She talked about her job as a home health aide, how degrading and exhausting it could be. "I'm going back to school, become an RN. No more bedpans for me."

Joe dozed off and on. The woman didn't seem to care if he was actually listening. He was just happy she didn't keep peppering him with questions.

They stopped at a diner, got a burger and milkshake for him and a salad and diet coke for her. She insisted on paying. It felt strange, having people look at them and assume she was his mother. He didn't remember his mom, she'd either run off to "find her dumbass self" when he was 3, or was "probably dead" depending on the version of the story his dad gave him. This was usually dependent on how drunk he was. When his fists came out, the comparisons did as well. "Yeah you just run. Run away scared little bunny, just like yer whore useless mother." Sometimes he refused to run. He would trade bruises and broken bones and missed school days for a little bit of pride.

Sarah excused herself and went to the restroom. She was gone so long, he would've thought she'd ditched him, except he could see the wagon still parked outside.

She came back, looking simultaneously scared and yet strangely happy at the same time. Her pupils were way too wide. He'd seen that before, and a little worm of worry squiggled in his stomach.

"Ok let's hit the road Jack! Off we go, adventures await!"

"It's Joe, my name is Joe." He smirked, looking at her sideways.

"Just get in the car before I start calling you 'jackass'. Or maybe 'jackrabbit' on account of those long legs and big ears you got."

Joe pretended to be offended, and then hopped his way to the car, giggling.

Sarah turned on a hard rock station and they drove for the next few hours without speaking. Her phone blinged non-stop until she asked if he could please turn it off for her. Joe obliged, catching the name "Mr Fuckface" repeated in the long list of missed calls and text notifications on the screen.

"Do you have a phone, kiddo?"

"No... I mean I had one but I lost it."

Sort of true; some John had pinched it off of him during an unfortunate business transaction. That's how he liked to think of them. Unpleasant but simple business transactions. Just a way to get money, like any other job. The dude gave him $300, he didn't know why he'd taken the cheap generic pre-paid phone. Maybe as a memento. Joe shuddered. Even 103 degree heat couldn't suppress some chills. No one else had stolen from him. On the contrary, he often got gifts from his 'customers'; new clothes, watches, games, most of them he sold as quickly as possible, aside from the DSi. That guy didn't touch him. Just wanted to watch cartoons, play video games and eat Lucky Charms all day. Just a sad, lonely 40-year-old, pining for his lost childhood.

Sarah looked at him, opened her mouth to say something, but then seemed to change her mind.

After some hours driving in the dark, Sarah said she was planning to get a motel room. "I'm not as young as I used to be; I need some serious sleep and a shower."

"Ok, I can sleep in the car, no problem." He could afford to get a room now, but didn't want to spike her curiosity when he pulled out a bunch of cash.

"Don't be silly; I'll get a double. Won't be fancy accommodations but it's better than the wagon." She gave his knee a reassuring squeeze.

He jumped a little, wasn't expecting the touch, not at all used to it from women. But he didn't get that slimy creepy feeling that often acted as a second sense. Sarah was weird, and likely a little nuts, but he didn't feel unsafe around her. Quite the opposite. It was nice to have an adult around, took the pressure off of trying to not stand out all the time.

They pulled into a Motel 6. Sarah went for a shower, swallowed some little yellow pills and passed out within minutes of dropping on the little twin bed.

Joe did the same, minus any little pills.

He woke early; pallid early morning light filtering through the dirty beige curtains. Being on the move for so long, it always took him a few minutes to get oriented.

Usually he eased into reality by first incorporating it into a story. If he awoke on the chilly hard ground, he was a knight who had camped out on his way to a great battle. The King himself had summoned him, and he knew once he proven himself worthy, he'd have land, wealth and a hot princess bestowed upon him by the Royal family.

If he woke in a large, echoey suburban McMansion next to some balding guy with a beer gut, he'd play the part of a spy. He'd been drugged, and now must skillfully escape his captors. Ninja-quick and silent as a dust bunny.

And so his dusty clothes, aching bones, frequent hunger, and the unfamiliar landscapes simply became a part of the current escapade.

He was having trouble coming up with one now. The previous day with the wacky lady seemed like enough excitement as it was.

Although he was getting far too old to fully immerse himself in his fantasies, he knew there were plenty of real-life adventures to be had. He was going to join the military, or become a sea captain, or maybe a pilot, or a firefighter. If there was lots of action and the opportunity to be a hero, to help people and never be bored, that was for him. We all should have at least 5 lives, he thought. It's not fair at all to have only one, and just live one particular way.

He took another shower, having learned it was best to bathe whenever you got the chance, and ran over to the motel lobby, grabbing two styrofoam cups of bad coffee.

She was still dead to the world when he got back, a small silent lump under the covers.

He threw his pillow at her. "Hey let's hit the road, Jack! Adventures await!"