Chapter the 2nd
Michael slammed a twenty on the counter at the drugstore which doubled as Milton's bus station. The hard-faced man at the counter looked skeptically at the boy in the ill-fitting baggy pants who had not washed his light-brown hair in several months. Michael thought the man should have been a butcher instead of a druggist.
"One way to Carelin," said Michael. "The eleven-twenty."
“Where’s that?”
“Don’t know. Driver’s supposed to know.”
“Not if he’s never heard of it.”
“Driver’s supposed to know his route.”
“What town did you say?”
“Carelin. It's the eleven-twenty bus tonight."
"There’s no bus at eleven-twenty tonight.”
“There is, too.”
“Look, I’m the one who knows the bus schedule here.”
“Good thing you told me or I’d never know.”
“What town did you say?”
“Carelin,” Michael repeated. “That’s C-A-R-E-L-I-N.”
With a grand show of impatience, the dealer punched out some keys on the computer, then shook his head and glared at Michael.
“There’s no Carelin anywhere in these United States.”
“There has to be,” Michael insisted.
“No there doesn’t.”
“Yes there does.”
“Maybe there is, but the bus doesn't go there. What's the nearest town?"
"How should I know? I don't want to get to the nearest town, I want to get to Carelin."
A gentleman, dressed in a suit and tie entered the store and stood behind Michael to wait his turn at the counter.
"You may have to find the nearest town and get off there if you want to take the bus."
"Not if I take the eleven-twenty bus tonight."
"I said there isn't one."
"Yes there is."
The ticket broker slammed his book shut and narrowed his eyes on the boy who returned the stare with interest. The man behind Michael shuffled his feet with impatience.
"Are you playing tricks with me?"
"Not unless the world's playing tricks with me," Michael replied.
"Why do you want to leave town anyway?" asked the dealer. "Are you trying to escape school or something? Or have you gotten yourself in trouble with the law?"
"There's nothing worth while for me to run away from."
"Maybe Milton isn't much, but it's home."
"Not at my house it’s not,” said Michael.
"For a boy with nothing to run away from, you don't have much idea of where you're going."
"I do too know where I'm going. I'm going to Carelin. My Uncle Martin invited me to visit him there."
"Then call up your Uncle Martin and ask him where he really is and then let me know where you’re really going. And stop playing your tricks with me."
Michael shrugged angrily, threw a couple of quarters on the counter, snatched a candy bar at random and walked out of the store. With his supper in hand, Michael had nothing to do but wander up and down Main Street for the hours remaining before the bus came. He walked aimlessly in and out of several stores. Even the jewelry store was worth browsing in when he had nothing else to do. After that, he looked over the wares in the health food store for the first time in his life. Maybe the food was healthy to eat, but Michael couldn't help suspect that it all tasted like cardboard. At least fast food hamburgers were a juicier version of cardboard food. By the time he came out of the health food store, the black wrought iron street lights were on, making Milton look more charming than it really was. One by one the stores closed until only the drugstore, the restaurants, and the game arcade were open. Michael knew he wouldn't be welcome back at the drugstore, so he wandered into the arcade.
All of the games were in use except one. Michael had never seen it before. It laid out a route through a dark forest where monsters jumped out and attacked without warning. A good chance to be the knight in shining armor for once, thought Michael. He placed coin after coin into the machine while he refined and then perfected his battle technique. The variety of monsters fascinated him. Some were outlandish dragons, some oafish ogres, but his favorite was a giant spider with gleaming red eyes. Sometimes he lost the fight and was "eaten" by the monster. Sometimes he won. Michael did not to care what happened to him.
As the hour grew later, the crowds thinned out. Michael paid no heed. He held his cigarettes in one hand and pressed the buttons on the game with the other. He choked on his own smoke without paying any mind to the tobacco he was inhaling. He left the game only to change more of his bills or buy another pack of cigarettes. He reached into his pocket for quarter after quarter until he came up empty.
At that moment, Michael remembered that he still did not have his bus ticket. He wasn't sure if he was more upset over not being able to play the game anymore or not being able to take the bus. He should have made the man in the drug store sell him the ticket whether he wanted to or not.
"Closing time!" called out a man who seemed to have climbed out of the woodwork just to make the announcement.
Michael looked at the clock, noted it was five minutes to eleven, and nodded.
Outside, the air had grown colder. The only spots of light left on Main Street were the marquee of the movie house and Donna’s Donuts. Flashing lights proclaimed that the movie was rated "R" so he couldn’t get in without finding an adult kind enough to corrupt his morals. Michael peered into Donna’s and swore at what he saw. Frank’s gang, the gang of his so-called friends was there. Michael preferred to stay outside to see if the bus really did stop at Milton at eleven-twenty. After the incident a couple of days ago, Michael was not sure how he would be received by the gang.
What had happened that day was that Frank's faithful follower, Tom, was showing off a bottle of maple syrup he had brought for the school assembly. Tom suggested they spread the syrup on the floor of the auditorium and see what happened. Michael went one better by suggesting they get an empty Windex bottle, dilute the syrup with water, and squirt the syrup at some girls in the row in front of them. The suggestion was greeted with guffaws of excitement. That was enough to make Michael wonder if anybody in the world besides himself had any brains. The predicted commotion occurred when the maple syrup stuck in the hair of their victims. The speaker had to stop in mid-sentence when the confusion became too noisy for him to continue. Tom was indignantly pulled out of the auditorium by the ear by Miss Gleason, the teacher most skilled at such maneuvers. By the end of the day, it was known throughout the school that the principal had suspended Tom for several days. Michael wondered why he had not insisted on following his own advice himself and been the one to escape school for that length of time.
A few cars drove by, but the street's emptiness swallowed them. As Michael lit another cigarette, a familiar face loomed out of the darkness. Scott Simpson. The pale light coming through the restaurant's window almost canceled out the freckles on his face. His red hair almost looked brown in the shadows. Scott's harmonica stuck out of his front shirt pocket. It had been ages since Michael had last heard him play it. No loss there. Scott almost looked like a friend as he approached, but he couldn't be. In Frank's gang, they were buddies, not friends. Or so Frank decreed.
"Frank wants you," said Scott.
"Bully for him."
"Says it should be worth your time. You can pick out the doughnut of your choice on the way to our table."
"Big deal."
Scott hesitated, trying to think of what to say next.
"You don't have to come," Scott said.
"Thanks a heap for the permission."
Scott shrugged his shoulders and went back into the restaurant. Michael hated it when Scott acted as if he really cared about his joining the others. Michael looked down the street but saw no sign of the bus. Remembering that he was hungry and, tired of waiting in the cold, Michael followed Scott into the restaurant after all. He arbitrarily picked out a doughnut without looking at it and ordered a cup of coffee to go with it.
The gang was huddled together in one booth so Michael squashed Scott into Toby to make room for half his body on the edge of the seat. Michael looked at Tom's moon face for signs of hostility and prepared for a debate over the issue of personal responsibility in following others' suggestions. But nothing in Tom's face showed that he even remembered the incident or his suspension from school. Michael took a sip of his coffee without waiting for it to cool down and burnt his tongue. When he bit off a piece of his doughnut, he realized he had picked out a powdered sugar one that he didn’t really care for. He wolfed it down anyway.
Scott was preoccupied with something other than whatever business was at hand. That was not unusual. Scott often tuned out from what the rest of the gang was doing. This time, however, Michael knew there might be a reason for it. Scott was probably thinking of his father again. Having a father in the clink was no fun except that it got the old man out of the house so that he couldn't interfere with his son's activities.
"We were just talking," said Frank when he sat back down.
"And?" Michael responded as he sipped some more coffee to wash down the doughnut, and burnt his tongue some more.
"Lacy needs our help."
"That Sleazeball?" Michael interjected.
Frank filled his rugged face with a sense of dignity far above any insults Michael could come up with.
"Lacy can be useful from time to time," said Frank.
"Name one,” Michael replied.
"He's got a fresh shipment of grass. Good stuff."
"So we all get a puff?" asked Michael.
Tom snickered, but then stifled his laughter after a sharp look from Frank.
"We take some puffs and we sell some puffs," said Frank. "Lacy needs fresh sellers for the fresh grass. Keeps the coppers from catching up."
"You know," said Michael, while looking out the window, "we should save some for Miss Gleason. If one of her cigarettes should turn out to be special, English class might become interesting for the first time in world history."
Several guffaws expressed approbation at the thought of the stern English teacher getting a high while trying to stuff English grammar down their throats. Scott was too preoccupied to hear the suggestion. A waitress looked over at the group apprehensively, as if fearing she might have to call the police on them any minute.
"I take it you aren't planning on going home tonight," said Frank.
"Wouldn't if you paid me."
"In a few minutes we’re going to Lacy's house."
Michael frowned. He heard the rumble of a large vehicle driving by. Scott seemed to hear it, too. When he looked out the window, his face came to life.
“Wow!” Scott cried.
“Wow, what?” asked Michael.
But he, too, looked out the window and saw what had amazed Scott. A large, silvery bus with wings came to a stop in front of the drugstore across the street. Under the street lights it looked like a phantom ship.
“Wow, nothing,” Frank muttered.
Tom appeared to have seen the bus, too, but he promptly deadened his face and pretended it hadn’t come.
"Must be eleven-twenty," said Michael, struggling to appear cool and apathetic..
Frank looked at his watch.
“Yea. So what?”
Michael rose from his seat.
“I’ve got to go,” said Michael.
"Where are you going?" asked Frank.
"It's time for me to take a pee." The boys looked at him. "I always take a pee at eleven-twenty at night," Michael added by way of explanation.
Then he ducked out of the restaurant and ran to the bus. A scuffling of footsteps followed him. Michael ran round to the front of the bus and pulled himself up to the first step by the handrail.
"Can I come too?"
It was Scott.
“No, I need someone to deliver the papers until I get back.”
“Please!”
Michael gave Scott a kick and ran up the steps as the revved up. Scott cried out in pain. Michael decided he wasn’t hearing anything. His breath grew shorter as he continued up the steps. He couldn't believe there were so many. Finally, he had to slow down just to catch his breath.
“Please help me!” Scott cried.
Michael saw him laying in the street, clutching his ankle. Michael almost felt like climbing back down to retrieve Scott, but the coach took off at such a speed that Michael had to hold on tight to keep from falling off. All he could do was shrug his shoulders. One more step up and Michael was in the bus.