Leaving

        I walked over to the fireplace and threw the stack of papers onto the blaze. I sat down on the hearth, probably too close to the hungry flames, but I paid no attention. I had to make sure I did this perfectly. I watched as the generic white pages with meaningless black type were devoured by the yellow and orange tongues and black mouth. I watched as the faces from my past-pictures, newspaper clippings-curled up into green flames and turned to blackened, fragile ash. I used the poker to turn the pages, flipping through the faceless photo album of my life. Suddenly, a face sifted through the ash that I immediately regretted placing on the blaze. William's blue eyes penetrated through the mass of black and orange yellow.
        "Damnit," I muttered under my breath. I reached in the fire without thinking and snatched the picture, burning my hand in the process. "Shit!" I spat. I gingerly turned over the picture. It was singed around the edges, and even though half of his face was black, I could imagine the rest of his perfect face. I closed my eyes and imprinted William's smile, nose, cheeks, on the back of my eyelids. I opened my eyes and looked at my bags sitting next to me. My eyes flitted back and forth from the luggage that contained what was left of my life to his face, the reason I stayed here so long. It couldn't keep me here any longer. Focus on the bad times, the mean words, it will make it easier to leave... I thought. But of course, there were never bad times with him, only good.
        Tucking the picture into my pocket, I stood up and watched the fire burn. Once it had been reduced to a crackle here and there with a few glowing red dots, I picked up my bags and left the room.

        Outside sat my car, the vessel that would lead me to a new life. Inside, sitting proudly at the driver's seat was John. Freedom for my '84 Dodge Ram pick up. Well, freedom and a couple hundred bucks to get me to where I wanted to go in exchange for my truck and John's silence and lack of knowledge as to where I might be found. He agreed to take me as far as the state border, after that, he was going to turn around and leave me to fend for myself. That didn't matter to me. I would probably grow sick of him by then. I threw my stuff in the back and climbed into the car, beside John.

        As we drove along, I found excuses not to look at or talk to John. A prolonged glance or intense conversation would provoke him and his male hormones in ways I didn't want to think about. My eyes remained glued either to the highway in front of us, the passing landscape outside my window or my fingers playing with the frayed edges of my sleeves. I noticed the sunshine penetrating the curtain of hair in front of my eyes. I scrutinized each tiny strand. The golden red of my hair was transformed into white blonde, shining and glittering like diamonds in the deep sea. I ran my fingers through it, feeling the silky smoothness caress my rough touch. It smelled faintly of processed flowers, the scent that only cheap shampoo gives off. Intertwined in a mangled mass of golden straw, the ends splay out in all different directions, a million paths from one origin.
I could feel my eyelids drooping. Sleeping in the car would be a lot safer than gambling and sleeping in some cheap motel room; I knew I would spend most of the night fighting off John and his unwanted advances. I fell asleep to the same whiny country ballad I woke up to. He must have had the CD on repeat.

        We pulled over to get gas. While John walked up and down the aisles undoubtedly searching for the condoms he thought he was going to need, I wandered into the kitschy gift shop. A cheap music box caught my attention for reasons I didn't understand. I picked it up, looking at the familiarity of the foreign object in confusion. I turned the knob and reluctantly opened the box. The several notes that drifted out over the twirling ballerina's shoulders unearthed memories I had long buried. I saw myself as a fair haired youth, twirling around and around on a never ending merry go round, wanting to be just like the gold leotarded plastic ballerina. And as the notes slowed I couldn't help but think of snow falling. The notes seemed so sad and final, like the ballerina was slowly freezing to death.
        "Ready to go?" John's deep voice, with its forced sex appeal, was behind me suddenly. He must have noticed that I was startled because he placed his sweaty palms on my shoulders.
        "Yeah," I said, hastily slamming the music box shut and simultaneously shrugging off his touch.
        I tried to shrug off the memories unearthed by the box, but I couldn't. Flooding back into my brain were birthday parties, school, dresses and friends. I saw my father beating my mother and my brother taking off without a backwards glance or a spoken goodbye. I saw all of my life's disappointments and triumphs and realized more fiercely than before that I had to leave.

        Still shaken by my experience with the music box, I made my way to the car. John placed the brown bag of necessities by my feet. I peeked into the bag and saw a six-pack of Budweiser, for you to break the ice, some beef jerky, fuel for scum like you, a box of extra strength condoms, for that supersperm of yours, and a pack of Marlboros, for your post coital smoking. I felt a damp hand on my knee, slowly sliding upwards. John leered at me and his grin was interrupted while his tongue slid over his chapped lips. I reared back and slapped him across the face. He looked injured-and not just his cheek.
        "What's your deal?" he asked, not comprehending that I wasn't interested in him.
        "Um, maybe I just don't like you," I said, allowing the inner bitch to come out.
        "Are you still thinking about W--"
        "I don't want to hear that name ever again, John."
        "Okay, sorry," he mumbled. He kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel.

        It got darker as we traveled closer to my destination. We found a motel off the side of the highway and I braced myself for the long night ahead. While John found us a room, I wandered along the porch towards a machine that dispensed coffee. I counted the numbers as I went along, 301, 302, 303...311, 312, 313...I found the coffee machine in-between 313 and 314. Walking back towards the entrance, John met me and guided me back towards room 307, conveniently in the middle of the coffee machine and the exit from the motel, and next door to a couple having obscenely loud sex.
        John opened the door and I found myself staring at a heart shaped bed that I'm sure once was red. I fought the urge to laugh. I thought they only existed in movies or books. There was even a slot next to the bed where you could put in a quarter and be gyrated into slumber. I sat down on the edge of the bed carefully afraid I might break it. John sat down next to me and slid his arm around me. I slapped him.

        The next morning I awoke with a start to find John curled on the floor in a huddled mass of drunken slumber. I quickly (and happily) noted that all my clothes seemed to be on and undisturbed by forced entry. I stealthily moved from the bed and attempted to remove my backpack without waking John. I had no such luck.
        "Wha…what are you doin'?" John slurred, muddled and confused.
        "Me? Oh, I, uh, was just going to get into the shower," I stammered together quickly.
        John murmured something and started to snore softly again. I was pondering how to leave the room without waking him again when I realized that if I left him here, stranded and without the promised bribe to keep quiet, he was going to rat me out. Once he got home, he would run and tell everyone where I was going and how to find me. After that, I would spend the rest of my life running, hoping they wouldn't find me again. Sighing in defeat, I decided a shower couldn't hurt.
        I turned on the water and stepped in. The hot water burned my skin, but it felt good. It detracted from other feelings. I turn around in the tiny shower, smaller than a telephone booth, and scorned the water that trickled out so slowly of the showerhead. When the shower was over and the water was off, I remained in the shower, shivering and dripping. The air is moist. I didn't want to leave my cocoon, wrap a towel around my shaking body and greet another disappointing day. I laughed because I didn't know where that last part came from. Today wouldn't be disappointing. Today I was finally going to be free.

        When I had changed I found John still sleeping. I awoke him with sharp slaps about his cheeks and forehead. I brought him some coffee from outside and once he proved he was awake and sober, we started on the road again.

        John broke the silence after forty-three minutes. "Why are you doing this?"
        "Doing what?" I responded, praying he wasn't about to ask me the question I didn't have an answer to.
        "Leaving."
        "Because I have to."
        "Why?"
        "Because there's nothing left here for me. I need to get away from my life and this town and what it means to me and what it reminds me of," I said quickly, shocked at how easily the truth came out.
        "Oh. You mean you're trying to get away from Wi-"
        "Yeah."
        John was quiet again. In the midst of all the planning and reasoning I had done, John's question came up multiple times. Why, why, why. And I could never answer it, until about five seconds ago, and then the answer popped out as easily as it would have had John asked me my name.
        "Just because Wi--he died doesn't mean you have to, you know. You can still live a normal life."
        "I didn't say that John so why don't you shut the hell up since you obviously don't know what you're talking about."
        "Sorry."
        I stared out the window until I the exit signs told me we were approaching the state border. John pulled over at the first rest stop after the WELCOME TO CALIFORNIA billboard. I climbed out before he could grab me and hoisted my bags from the bed of the truck. I walked around to his side of the car.
        "Thanks," I said, maintaining a distance from him and the car.
        "Be careful, you don't know what's out there."
        "Okay." I turned around then and walked out of the parking lot. I walked to the highway and stuck out my thumb. Here goes nothing, I thought.