The Runaway

I could feel the heat- dancing across my skin like his fingers had the night before. This was a bright, blinding world he gave me- nothing like Dull Creek, Oklahoma. Out here you could finally make sense of what they were trying to sell you in the magazines: The American Dream. Dull Creek gave you nothing to hope for but leaving. We all think we will one day. We talk about it as children; we say we’re gonna make it big and never look back. But nobody ever does. I really thought I was something when I got keys to be the overnight attendant at the only five and dime store in town. Soon, I realized it was just more of what the rest of my life had been- drunks and boredom. But I guess there is a God, because I prayed real hard and he sent me an escape.

It was three days before my eighteenth birthday. I remember watching the fluorescent lights, listening to their buzz fill the silence, when he pointed the gun at my face. “I don’t want no trouble, mister-“ I’d begun “That’s a nice rifle you got there. My daddy had one just like it. Browning, right?” He chewed my words over before spitting his own back “He ever put it between your eyes?”. I’d smiled, remembering the smell of tobacco and Brute that’d clung to daddy. “Just once. I’d say it was my fault, really-“. He pondered this for a moment, bewildered by the audacity. “Look, kid, just give me the damn money. Or I will do what your daddy didn’t and pull this.” he’d said, tightening his grip on the trigger. “Oh, you’re like that man they talk about on the radio. That Clyde Barrow feller. You know, where he’s from ain’t too far from here- just about a hundred miles south into Texas. I always wanted to go to Texas but-“ I rambled, I’m still not sure if I was stalling or just lonely. “You ain’t ever been to Texas? You ever been outta this shithole? This Bull Creek.” he grumbled. “It’s Dull Creek, mister. It was a spelling error, but it stayed- just like everything else. I always thought it was a fittin’ name- Dull Creek. Ain't nothing here but some lifeless, muddy, dull creek. They found a body in it once that'd washed down from The Washita River. That was exciting.” I’d continued, wondering if I’d be the next body they found. For the first time, the man smiled and I’d noticed his striking appearance- his untamed chestnut hair falling into his tired, amber eyes. He must’ve thought I was something too, because before I knew it, I had finally made it out. We flew down the backroads that lead anywhere away from Dull Creek and that little five and dime shop- it’s safe and register contents now in the backseat of that old, red Roadster. “What’s your name, girl? And where’d you get that bruise?” he asked, either with contrite or intrigue. “Greer-“ I’d said, instinctively reaching up to touch the sore, dark circle that laid beneath my left eye “My name is Greer, and this was nothing. You know, family stuff again.” He never asked about my family after that, letting my life stay where I'd abandoned it. “What’s in that little notebook?” I’d questioned, searching the vehicle for something to talk about and landing on a small, black, leather bound notebook resting on the dash. “None of your damn business, girl.” he said, silencing me. I’d come to learn, eventually, that book was my real way out. After a few moments, he glanced over at me through the dark “There any other states you ever wanted to go to?” I beamed back at him.

So, there we are-settled in a motel, hidden just inside the Arizona border. We’d arrived a couple days before, one month and four other dime stores away from Dull Creek. Every night was a new reason to live- to never lose the feeling of freedom that found its way into a world I once loathed. I now lived by three rules- boundaries he kept in place to tether me to his jurisdiction: don’t touch the black book, don’t interfere with the robberies, and don’t you dare touch the damn money. I complied, never once missing the home I’d never gone back to. The rules were different there, and mother was too often too drunk to save me from breaking them. The bruise beneath my eye, which had now turned a pale yellow, was a fading, yet constant, reminder of why every breath I took now felt stronger. The weight of believing everything I’d ever known was the best it would ever get was now lifted, replaced by the hands of a man I barely knew, but loved deeply. I’d wished so many times, as I watched him fiercely run a fountain pen across the pages of that little black book, that he was writing the ways I saved him too. I’d thought I had. I thought he saw something in me that made him want to love and be loved in return, though he’d never known how it felt. I was mesmerized by the light that refracted off his broken pieces and prayed he was blinded by mine, but those edges were sharp. I knew how to piss him off, but I knew how to make him kiss me. I knew how to make him forget that, beyond the four walls and the roads ahead, there was a time for reckoning. That, one day, we’d pay for the chances we took. That when life burns this bright, we too will soon be ash. “I would’nt have it any other way-“ I’d promised, as he drew invisible lines across my back. “I was thinking about cutting Arizona short-“ he began, pausing to contemplate “Maybe do one more hit and then head over to California. We could see Los Angeles and that big sign they put up a while back.” he’d continued, hopeful. I’d begged him to leave right that moment, but he insisted on waiting. “Ask me again in the morning-“ he said, smiling for the hope of what was to come.

*

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned-“ I had whispered to myself, pressing on the gas pedal harder with each moment that passed. The cool, dark Arizona desert was a blur as I’d tried to make my way away from her, and -for the first time in my life- I’d missed Dull Creek, Oklahoma. Leaving the motel that night, though, I had a choice. I could’ve crawled back home, I could’ve turned him in and everything he took, I could’ve dropped to my knees in church every Sunday and begged God to forget what I’d done. Instead, I ran. I ran away from the man who made me run away in the first place. I’d watched him fall asleep that night- at peace with the trust he believed we shared. I can’t say I regret what happened next, but I can’t say I’m proud of myself either. They say curiosity killed the cat, but if I’d never opened that little black book, then I probably would’ve been dead soon anyways. I had become an interference- a liability- I’d learned. He would take me to Mexico, he’d written. He’d fool me with the idea of California- the City of Angels with her promise of opportunity and streets paved with gold. I’d wished so many times since then to have seen his face when he woke up to nothing. He would try to find me, but I would be long gone. I left with $26,000, but I took something worth so much more- my freedom. I had the open roads in a world of possibility, so I gave myself what he had promised, though never intended to keep. I was now 167 miles outside of San Bernardino- and I could feel the heat dancing across my skin like his fingers had the night before.

*

May 23, 1934

This is where my story would begin, I’d decided. I would no longer be the girl from Dull Creek that would be made a fool of. I would no longer love a man who was determined to fall and drag me to Hell with him. I’d seen the future with him- where we go down together, walking the fine line of reckless abandon. Now, I would fly.

Exhausted from short stays and long nights, I checked myself into a beautiful white building called Roosevelt Hotel. Here, I would gather myself. I would decide what to do or where to go next. I would hide in these hills, surrounded by beauty and hope.

“Excuse me, ma’am, you dropped this-“ a handsome young man said, holding the little black book that I’d stowed away in one of the gateway bags. “Oh dear! Thank you, Mr...” I’d smiled, trailing off and taking the notebook and holding it to my chest- along with the secrets and scribings it held. “Kennedy-“ he announced. I gleamed, enamored by the accent I’d only ever heard on the radio. “Thank you, Mr. Kennedy.”

He shook his head “That’s what they call my father. Call me Joseph.”