Runaway Twin (6 page)

“His name is Snickers.”

“Snickers?” she said, as if it were a foreign word that she'd never heard before.

“Right,” I said. “Snickers, as in candy bar.”

“Oh,
that
kind of Snickers. I was thinking of a mean type of laugh.”

She petted Snickers again, then headed back to the kitchen. Soon she returned with a plate of table scraps. “I thought Snickers might enjoy some leftover stew,” she said.

Snickers stood as she placed the plate before him. He wagged his tail.

“It's for you, Snickers,” I said. “Go ahead.”

“Would you look at that?” said June. “He's trained not to gobble down his meal until you tell him it's okay? I never saw the likes!”

“I didn't train him,” I admitted. “He just always waits until I say he can eat.”

“Now that is the most polite dog I've ever seen,” June said. “He's welcome here anytime.” She poured water from a pitcher into Snickers's bowl. “You new in town?”

“Passing through,” I said. “Is there a place to rent a room?”

“Are you alone?”

“No. I'm with Snickers.”

June laughed so hard that she had to wipe her eyes on the bottom of her shirt.

I didn't think it was that funny, but then there probably isn't a lot of comedy in this town.

“Myrtle Fishby used to take in boarders, years ago. She might rent you a room. Depends on whether her Social Security check covered the utilities this month. I'll call her.”

I could hear June's side of the conversation. “Myrtle? Do you want a tenant tonight? It's a young girl and her dog. I don't know; a funny-looking dog, with big ears. He's very polite. Yes, I did say a girl; I meant the dog is polite. The girl is nice, too. Just a minute, I'll ask her.” She held the receiver against her chest and asked, “Are you staying only one night?”

“Yes.”

“One night, Myrtle.”

June spoke to me again. “It would be ten dollars.”

“I'll take it.”

“Okay, Myrtle. I'll send her over after she eats.”

It was the best grilled cheese sandwich I'd ever had—golden brown with a buttery taste, and the cheese all melted and gooey and oozing out the edges. It was real cheddar cheese, too, not the “cheese food” they use for nachos at fast-food restaurants.

The apple juice was served icy cold in its can and tasted great with the hot sandwich. I wished I could have all my meals at June's.

“That was delicious,” I said as I swallowed the last bite. “How much do I owe you?”

“Two dollars.”

Only two dollars?
For a home-cooked sandwich, a can of juice, and stew for my dog? I couldn't believe my good fortune. I laid three dollar bills next to my plate, and asked how to find Myrtle's place.

June pointed. “One block down, on the corner. The yellow house with the pots of petunias on the porch.” As I left, June said, “I'm cooking breakfast tomorrow. Pancakes and eggs. If you're interested, come on down any time between seven and nine. You too, Snickers.”

“We'll be here,” I said.

Myrtle had turned on the porch light, so I had no trouble finding her house, even though it was dark by then. She led me to a small room furnished with one twin bed, a wooden chest of drawers, and a table lamp. A braided rug on the floor would work for Snickers. I handed her the ten dollars.

“You don't have to pay until you leave,” she said.

“That's okay. This way you know you have it.”

The sheets on the bed smelled of sunshine. Rita always hung the sheets outside to dry, so the smell of fresh air made me think of her. Until I had lived with Rita, my sheets and pillowcases had always come out of a clothes dryer, except at Jerod's apartment, where they never got laundered at all. At first I had thought Rita was foolish to lug the wet sheets into the backyard and hang them on the clothesline, even if it did conserve energy, but once I got used to that fresh, clean smell, I found I enjoyed it.

I slept soundly, awakening once when a train rumbled through town and blasted its whistle. As I fell back asleep, I heard Snickers snoring softly on the rug beside my bed. I felt safe here and wondered what it would be like to grow up in a small rural town, to live one's whole life in a place where a dog gets invited into the restaurant and served a free meal of table scraps. That would be against all the Health Department regulations in every place I'd ever lived. It was probably against the rules here, too, but the difference was that here nobody cared.

The next morning as I ate scrambled eggs and blueberry pancakes at June's, she brought her cup of coffee to my table and sat down across from me. “Where are you headed?” she asked.

“Enumclaw, Washington,” I said.

“You have kin there?”

“My sister. I'm going to live with her.”

“How are you fixing to get there?”

“The bus, if the driver will let me take Snickers along. The last driver wouldn't allow him on the bus, so we walked awhile.”

“Tell you what,” June said. “I need to visit my aunt today and I'd just as soon go now, before it gets too hot. You and Snickers could ride along, if you want. It's about fifteen miles west of here. The Trailways bus stops there.”

“That would be great,” I said. “Thank you.”

I helped her wash the dishes. When she put a CLOSED sign in the window, I said, “Aren't you worried that you'll lose customers if you close in the middle of the day?”

“If I'm not here and they're hungry, they'll wait until I get back. Where else are they going to go for a meal?”

We piled into June's Jeep and off we went, with Snickers's nose aimed into the wind and his ears flapping out behind him.

The town where June's aunt lived turned out to be a sad-looking cluster of houses, some unkempt mobile homes, and a large grain silo. A one-pump gas station appeared to be the only commercial establishment in town. The peeling paint and dirty windows made me wonder if it was open for business or abandoned.

“I'm afraid it isn't much of a town,” June said as she pulled up in front of the dilapidated gas station. “The bus will be along soon, though.”

“Thanks for the ride,” I said.

“You be careful, honey,” she said. “Stop for a meal if you ever get back this way.”

Snickers and I climbed out. I watched June's car cross the road and turn left, disappearing behind a windbreak of trees.

T
here wasn't a real bus stop—no shelter of any kind, no bench to sit on, not even a sign. I opened the door to the gas station and went inside, where I was surrounded by loud music, the kind the radio stations call “golden oldies.” I didn't recognize the song—something with a saxophone solo. An old man in coveralls sat on a high stool behind the small counter with his eyes closed, tapping his fingers to the song.

“Excuse me,” I said.

The radio band continued with the sax replaced by a string section. The man swayed to the beat, a half-smile on his lips.

I spoke louder. “Excuse me!”

The man opened his eyes, frowning. He turned the knob on a large brown radio, and the music faded. “What can I do you for?” the man asked.

“I want to catch the bus, and I was told it stops here. Do I get a ticket from you?”

“From the driver. Just stand on the side of the road, and when the bus comes, wave your arms to signal the driver to stop. He'll pull over, and you can pay your fare then.”

“How soon does it come?”

He consulted a large, round wall clock. “About fifteen minutes. Don't miss it; it only comes by once a day.”

I thanked the man, and went back outside. Before the door closed behind me, I heard the music swell again.

The gas station provided a rectangle of shade that felt several degrees cooler than the air beside the road. I was tempted to wait there, but I feared I wouldn't see the bus in time if I didn't stand close to the road.

When Snickers started to follow me, I pointed to the shade and told him, “Stay!” There was no reason to make him swelter out in the hot sun while I watched for the bus. He lay down beside the building, and I wondered again about his past. Who had trained him? He kept his eyes on me as I walked to the edge of the road, but he didn't try to follow me.

As the mid-morning sun beat down, waves of heat echoed up from the asphalt. Sweat trickled down my neck, but I didn't bother to wipe it off. Thoughts of my room at Rita's house sneaked in the back door of my mind. Her house wasn't air-conditioned, but Rita closed all the windows and pulled the curtains shut early each morning to keep out the sun, so the house stayed cool. In the evening, she opened the curtains and the windows to let the breeze blow through. She called it Nature's air-conditioning, and it worked.

Voices approaching brought me out of my memory. I turned to see three boys emerging from behind the gas station. All wore jeans and T-shirts. The two in front, who looked about sixteen, swaggered and punched each other as they walked, full of their own importance. One was tall and lanky, with biceps that shouted “I lift weights!” His sidekick had an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

The third boy was younger, maybe ten or eleven, and he lagged behind the other two.

The boys stopped when they saw me.

“Well, now, looky here,” said the tallest one. He pointed at me. “Somebody new has come to town.”

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves,” said the second one. “I'm Hunker. This here is Zooman.” He pointed to the tall boy.

“Hi,” I said, then looked at the younger boy.

“I'm Randy,” he said.

“We're the welcome committee,” said Zooman.

Something about the older boys made me uneasy. Zooman's eyes were blank, and he seemed to look right through me. I wondered if he used drugs. Randy shuffled his feet and kept glancing nervously at Zooman and Hunker, as if he needed their permission to breathe.

I forced a small smile but did not say my name.

“What's in the backpack?” Zooman asked.

“Extra clothes. I'm going to visit my sister.”

“Taking the bus?” asked Hunker.

“That's right.”

“If she's taking the bus, she must have bus fare,” said Zooman, “and maybe some cash for while she's at her sister's house.” He stepped closer, with Hunker beside him. Randy stayed behind, making a circle in the dirt with the toe of his sneaker.

I clutched the backpack's straps and watched the boys warily.

“You owe me ten dollars,” Zooman said.

“For what?”

“I'm the one who gives permission to catch the bus here. Ten dollars is the permission fee.”

“No way,” I said.

“You're refusing to pay the permission fee?” Zooman said, sounding as if he had never heard of such an outrage.

“Then we'll have to take it ourselves,” Hunker said.

I stared at the boys but said nothing.

“Hand over the backpack,” said Zooman.

I shook my head no.

“Didn't you hear him?” asked Hunker. “The man told you to give him your backpack.”

My thoughts raced. Should I scream? Would the man in the gas station help me? Would he even hear me over his radio? Should I try to fight? Maybe if I kicked Zooman in the groin, he'd back off and the other two would follow. Or maybe that would only make them angry and they'd really hurt me.

I glanced up the road. No bus. No cars. No people.

Zooman held out his hand.

“Now,” he said.

“This is a public road,” I said. “Anyone can catch the bus here.”

“Not without paying me first,” he said.

Zooman and I stared at each other for a second. Then he lunged at me and grabbed hold of the backpack. He yanked so hard that one side slipped off my shoulder. I held on to the other strap and yelled, “Help!”

Hunker ran around behind me and tried to slide the other strap down my arm. I kicked at Zooman and missed.

A flash of brown and black fur shot out from beside the building, the loud barks startling all of us. Hunker dropped my arm. Zooman let go of the backpack.

Snickers rushed to me, then stood beside me, facing the boys, with his teeth bared. A menacing growl rumbled from his throat.

“He's trained to protect me,” I said. “Take one step toward me, and he'll go for your throat.”

The three boys backed away.

“Hey, we were only kidding,” Zooman said. “We wouldn't really have taken your money.”

“Yeah, right,” I said.

“Nice doggy,” said Hunker.

Snickers growled louder. He sounded vicious.

“Lucky for you he only attacks when I tell him to,” I said. “Otherwise the three of you would be hamburger.” I slid my arm through the strap and settled my backpack where it belonged.

The boys inched farther away, sliding their shoes on the dirt as if they wore skis.

I patted Snickers's head. “Good boy,” I said.
We're even now,
I thought. I saved Snickers from a life of begging for scraps, and now he had saved me from being robbed and possibly beaten.

When they were about fifteen feet from me, the three boys turned at the same time, like a school of fish, and ran down the road. As I watched them, I saw the bus approaching in the distance. The boys dashed toward it, shouting and waving their arms.

Oh no,
I thought.
Don't tell me they're going to take the same bus I am. If they get on, maybe I should try to find June and stay at Myrtle's house another night.