Transcontinental (10 page)

Thankful he couldn’t be seen blushing, Leroy shook his head.

“Geography is one subject I have never taught, but you might be in need of some lessons. To put it simply, Lebanon is above Africa.”

So he had been a teacher. That would explain the way he talked, his didactic nature, his wealth of knowledge. “What
did
you teach?”

“Philosophy, drama, art. The cushy stuff.”

The word ‘art’ shot through Leroy like Woods had threatened to a day prior. Of all the people he could be stuck on a train with, this guy happened to be an art teacher. It was almost too good to be true.

“I like art. I mean, I like sketching. But paintings are dope, too.”

Ant cringed upon hearing that. “Nothing is dope. Cannabis, perhaps. Paintings are fascinating, captivating, illuminating,” he said. “Paintings are beautiful. Terrifying. Do not undersell your intelligence, or their profundity.”

“Ain’t, dope… anything else?”

“Yes. Finna, whatever that means. You are not ‘finna’ do anything. You are either going to, or gonna if you are being informal.”

“I don’t think I’ve said that, ever. Definitely not in front of you.”

“An unrelated gripe,” Ant shrugged. “What do you sketch?”

Suddenly embarrassed, Leroy drew a blank. “I dunno. Anything, really.”

“Do you have something I can look at?”

“Not with me. It’s all at Ms. Stacey’s. None of this was planned.”

“I am starting to see that,” Ant grinned.

“So can you teach me?”

“Teach you what?”

“Art.”

With a chuckle Leroy took a little too personally, Ant asserted with confidence that “Art cannot be learned.”

“You just said you were an art teacher.”

“Professor. And I was. One must have a profession. But despite what they paid me to say, creativity is not tangible or quantifiable. Art has neither formulas nor rules. I can show you examples of it, and explain why they qualify as such. However, the capability to produce art is inherent. You have it, or you lack it.”

The claim shook Leroy to the core. The one thing he loved, his one aspiration, was potentially a futile endeavor. What if he didn’t have ‘it?’ He’d be doomed to live as so many other poor souls, working jobs they hate to make just enough money to scrape by.

“Do not look so down! Plenty of people completely devoid of talent have made millions as artists. Just turn on the radio.”

“I don’t care about millions. I just wanna live comfortably.”

“Unfortunately, that is harder to achieve than it seems. Life cares not about status; she hesitates to pull the rug from under no man.”

“You make growing up sound great.”

“Nobody said it would be,” Ant declared.

Leroy found himself tired of talking, and slid back again. Ant must have sensed Leroy’s sudden apathy or felt the same, as he, too, went silent.

And so they sat, each pretending the other wasn’t there, as greenery painted sections of the brown landscape like a patchwork picture. Small towns, if a handful of local businesses and a few roads qualified as such, came and went every so often, not much more than sand and shrubs between them.

As the train emerged from an awe-inspiring gorge of rolling bluffs, a blood-red length of land came into view, seeming to stretch on forever. Whether it was dirt or plant material that caused the coloration, he didn’t know, but it was a neat sight. Just when he became convinced it would continue forever, the red tide broke, and lush fields of vegetation flashed by on either side, sectioned off into simple divisions of land like a puzzle for a toddler.

Evidently, this part of California was used for farming. Leafy plants lined the ground in single file, proceeded by apple and orange orchards, the trees in tidy rows. There was something strange to him about seeing vegetation conform to regulation like that. It made nature seem unnatural. Leroy was confident, for once, they were planted that way purposely.

* * *

A quaint town came into view, each business bearing the word ‘Edison’ in its title. Ant looked on in fondness as the old fashioned buildings passed.

It was time to tell him, Ant decided. He would require time to absorb the situation, plan his next move. The rest of the ride, four hours, at least, would be more than adequate.

Squeezing his eyes shut hard for just a moment, Ant inhaled. “Since you are a minor, you will need an adult to visit your father in prison. I am afraid I can not be that adult.” He paused, his mouth agape, face strained. “It… was my fault, a crime of passion I fled long ago.”

Then, adjusting his tone and volume, he got a hold of himself and said “We are approaching Bakersfield. There is a decent chance we will pass through it, in which case you would be well advised to try to make yourself inconspicuous. It is a big town with plenty of security.”

Ant waited to hear back, but Leroy said nothing. Afraid he had upset the boy, he scooted forward to gauge Leroy’s reaction, but found his eyes closed, head propped against his backpack, out cold.

Disregarding his own advice, Ant stretched out and relaxed, resting his bare feet on the raised border of the platform, a reckless smirk on his lips.

* * *

“Wake up.”

“Baron?” The name escaped Leroy’s lips subconsciously. He twitched awake, rubbed his sleepy eyes, then shielded them. Blurry shadows and sunlight alternated as if he was watching an old movie projector. “How long was I asleep?” He didn’t give Ant a chance to answer. “How far to Folsom?”

Ant blew air through his loosely pursed lips. “Let me see… we just left Stockton, so at this rate, could be within the hour.”

Leroy felt his stomach churn. That was supposed to be good news. But as he thought about it, terror seeped into him. The next few steps in his plan would not be enjoyable, or easy. He had to get into the prison. This would be intimidating in itself. The place housed murderers. People who had killed people. He cringed at the thought. And that was assuming Ms. Stacey hadn’t reported him, which was out of his control.

Then, if he got in, and this was the worst part, he would have to deal with his father. Leroy didn’t know why the man was in jail, and he wasn’t interested in finding out. His father had been absent for the majority of his life. Nothing would change that. All Leroy needed from him was a name.

He pushed it out of his mind, a skill he’d become adept at in living with Adalynne Smiley. Sometimes, he’d learned, it was better to just deal with the situation as it happened, not before.

As his emotions settled, he mulled other topics. He turned to Ant. “So what’s there to do on a ride like this? Seems like it can get pretty boring.”

Ant shrugged. “To some, perhaps. To others, it is no less than the pinnacle of the human experience.” Passion flashed in his eyes. “The breathtaking grandeur of the American countryside, the liberty to live as one wishes, and good company with which to share it all.” Ant spread his arms wide, gesturing to their surroundings: plush waves of wheat for miles on one side, and a marshy river with a rapid current racing the train on the other. “If you sought freedom, you have found it.”

Ant let that set in, then went on. “In response to your inquiry, we mostly do this.” He gestured back and forth from himself to Leroy. “Conversation.”

That was a letdown.

“The marvelous landscapes alone should be enough to ward off boredom.”

“When you’re not locked in a boxcar,” Leroy quipped.

“Right. Oh! And, of course, drinking. Which reminds me…”

Ant produced an unopened bottle of whiskey from his pack.

If there was one thing Leroy hated more than the harsh scent of cigarette smoke, it was alcohol. Cigarettes just smelled bad; alcohol actually affected him. He’d long suspected his mother’s blood was more amber than red.

Ant cracked open the bottle, stared at it fondly, then lifted it in a silent toast before knocking back a few swigs and drawing a harsh breath.

“They say not to catch out while intoxicated, but we are already on the train.” He chuckled and drank more, grimacing as it slogged down his throat. He held the bottle out to Leroy. “Eh? Eh?”

Leroy held up an open palm. “Nope.”

“Is this not every teenager’s fantasy? To be offered free alcohol?”

“Not really. Not mine, at least.”

Ant screwed the cap back on. “In Lebanon, the drinking age is eighteen, but we often start earlier. There is no stigma attached. Which is precisely why everyone here wants it. People will always desire what they cannot have.”

That was an interesting concept. Alcohol, if nothing else, had been plentiful in his household. He’d always had access to it, whether he wanted it or not. And he didn’t. Could that be why?

He decided it wasn’t. It wasn’t the only reason. His mother had given him ample cause to disdain the drink—mood swings, vomiting, incoherence, incompetence. He wanted none of it.

“If drinking and the view do not cut it, I suppose all we are left with is conversation.” Ant rubbed his hands together, smiling. “My favorite.”

Leroy wrung his hands, cracking his knuckles.

“I know just where to start, too. Care to tell me about Baron?”

The question was like a punch in the gut, nearly knocking the wind out of him. How did he know about Baron?

“It must be someone important. I find that those we speak of in our sleep usually are,” Ant responded as if reading Leroy’s thoughts.

After brief consideration, Leroy decided it couldn’t hurt to tell him about Baron. Yes, Ant might deem him crazy, but that was of little importance to him.

“Baron was my only friend,” Leroy asserted. “He wasn’t real, though.”

“An imaginary friend?”

“Uh-huh.” Leroy rested his cheek on his knees.

“A coping device. Completely natural for a young boy.”

Leroy felt lighter hearing that. “He seemed so real. I could hear him, feel him. Then one day he was just… gone. Poof.”

Ant nodded solemnly. “That, also, is natural. At a certain point, the mind outgrows the need for constant companionship, and—”

“I want him back,” Leroy stated, a flat tone in his voice.

“That,” Ant said, “is not natural.”

“I don’t care. He was my best friend.”

“You said he was your only friend.”

“Which means he
was
my best friend.”

“When one is young, you see, these things are acceptable. There comes a time, however, when one must grow up, live on his own. Both physically and mentally. Only then is he fit to call himself an adult.”

“Exactly.”

“Then again, there is nothing wrong with wanting a good friend.”

“He’s gone. End of story.”

“Okay. Now, is art a subject you wish to pursue?”

Finally, something Leroy
wanted
to talk about.

“Like, as a career?”

Ant nodded.

“Haven’t thought much about it, honestly.”

“I am starting to see a pattern here,” Ant said with a smile. “It is never too early to start. The most successful people in life plan, and plan thoroughly.”

Leroy inhaled deeply, looking away. “Yeah but what if I don’t have it? Planning can’t fix that.”

“Have what?”

Leroy thought back to how Ant had put it. “The capability to produce art.”

“The fact that you, of your own volition, have taken to sketching as a hobby tells me there is
something
there, some source of creativity. Maybe it will suffice, maybe not. But it is a start.”

That made sense. Sketching was the only thing that set his mind at ease, that fulfilled him. That had to mean something, which was a comfort.

“And school? You will be attending college, I hope?”

Leroy snorted. “So I can sit there while the professors lie to my face? Sounds great, can’t wait to go.”

“I never said I lied,” Ant corrected. “My job was to provide lessons on the history, important figures, and notable techniques of the broad field of art, not to assure the students that they would be successful artists, however one defines that concept. In fact, I stressed that the vast majority of them would not be successful. So yes, I gave them a reality check. But I also gave them hope. Each student left my class with the knowledge that the world of art is unforgiving and undefinable, but true creativity is unstoppable.” Ant gazed off, his eyebrows low. “I hardly think one should be admonished for that.”

That seemed to hit much closer to home than Leroy had intended. Time for a little backtracking. “I wanna go. I doubt I’ll have the money.”

Ant lightened up a bit. “You see, that is why high school is crucial. Work hard enough and you will not have to pay.”

Leroy raised his eyebrows. “I won’t have to pay anything?”

“If you get a good scholarship, that is correct.”

“Free college?”

“Free college.”

This was news to Leroy. No more slacking off when school came back, he decided, though he wasn’t even sure where he’d be by then.