Transcontinental (33 page)

Without looking at him, Ant said “Not me.”

Voice shaking, Leroy said “Yes, you. I called everywhere.”

“It is not me.”

“What?”

“It is not me.”

* * *

Leroy opened his eyes. He was alone in the stall.

That was enough sleep for him.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, then unzipped his backpack and took out his pad of paper. He lifted the top page, left blank to protect the contents from prying eyes, and saw the many failed iterations of his monica, or at least his attempt at one. A realization hit him: he’d never gotten to show it to Ant. Correction—he’d never gotten the
nerve
to show it to Ant. He’d had the chance. He’d had plenty.

Leroy decided in that moment, against his better judgement, which he no longer felt he could trust, to try to wait for Ant. It was just a matter of time until Ant would be released, then they could meet at the nearest train station.

And he knew exactly how to pass it.

The bathroom door opened, and the clack of a man’s dress shoes traveled to the other stall, then closed and locked it. Leroy heard the unzipping of the man’s pants before they fell to the ground, and the man let out a long sigh.

Staring at the pad of paper in his lap, at the attempted monica, a vision flashed in his head. He flipped to the next page and set his pen to work connecting the letters, weaving the double-helix for the ‘i’ in Mr. Twist, and everything came together. For once, he was able to translate from his imagination to his hand, and he’d hardly even tried. When he saw Ant again, the sketch would be the first thing Leroy showed him.

In a timid voice, Leroy said “You know what time it is?”

A smooth voice from the adjacent stall said “Uh…” and for a moment Leroy felt foolish. Then the man said “I got ‘bout eight o’clock.”

“In the morning?”

“Course in the morning.”

Leroy stuffed the pad of paper back in his bag, then swooped both of them up and headed out of the stall. He had shopping to do.

* * *

In a new dress shirt and slacks, Leroy stood before the downtown McDonald’s, the biggest he’d ever seen. It had a separate kids’ playroom full of tangled plastic tubes to crawl through and a ball pit. The children inside couldn’t have been happier, judging by their faces. If only they knew what the future held, Leroy thought. This wasn’t quite how he’d imagined his life would turn out.

Yet here he was, alone again, ready to start a new life, in which
he’d
have control. He’d have a steady job, an income, with which maybe he could find a cheap place, and then go from there, at least until he reunited with Ant. Then, perhaps, he could think about finding Rehema. He was tired of moving, of traveling. He wanted to stay still. He just wanted a normal life, however he could scrape it together.

Leroy walked to the door with a light limp, then stepped inside.

The smell of frying beef beckoned him like the bit in Looney Tunes where a scent cloud would form a feminine hand, drawing the target nearer with a seductive finger curl. His stomach gurgled as he neared the register.

A girl who couldn’t have been much older than Leroy began her rehearsed greeting: “Good morning, would you like to try a combo today?”

“Actually, I’m here for the interviews.”

“Oh…” she said, her voice trailing off. “Okay, I’ll get a manager.”

Leroy’s head cocked to the side as she walked away. What was that supposed to mean? Was he visibly unfit for employment somehow? This job was the last hope he had. Further, he hadn’t realized, although it seemed obvious now, that he’d have to deal with a manager. His insides stirred.

A man wearing a grin as goofy as his cheeseburger-and-fries necktie met him at the counter, which took some of the pressure off. Anyone willing to wear that tie to work couldn’t take themselves
too
seriously.

“So you’re here for the interview?” he asked, suddenly stern.

Leroy closed his open mouth, then nodded.

The manager’s eyes lit up as he threw his arms out. “Well you’ve got the job!” He stuck out his hand. “Just kidding. What’s your name?”

“Leroy Smiley.”

They shook hands.
 

“Alright, Leroy. Follow me.”

He stepped out from behind the counter and led Leroy to a door between the two restrooms. “This is our torture room,” the man said casually as he unlocked the door and turned on the lights, revealing a windowless tile room with a metal table in the middle. It looked just like so many interrogation scenes from police shows he’d watched. “Come on in.”

The joke was more accurate than he even knew, Leroy thought.

The manager closed the door then sat across from him.”First of all, thanks for choosing McDonald’s. Can I ask why you did?”

“You guys had open interviews,” Leroy responded without thinking, as if it was obvious, and realized his mistake soon after. Off to a great start.

“Fair enough. Do you have any previous work experience?”

“I, uh, never had a job.” He was suddenly aware how unqualified he was.

The manager scribbled on his clipboard. “Gotta start somewhere, right?”

“Yep,” Leroy said as he forced himself to correct his posture.

“And are you in school?”

For a moment he considered the question, then repeated “Yep.” He wasn’t sure
where
he’d be going to school, but he would be going.

“What grade are you in?”

“Going into ninth.”

“Freshman, huh? The trick is to beat someone up the first day.”

Leroy stared, a blank look on his face.

“Ha. I love a good prison joke.”

Leroy didn’t love them. He bet the man had never known anyone in prison. It certainly didn’t bring him laughter to think about his dad having to beat someone up, or getting beat up, or doing anything in prison.

“That takes care of the easy stuff. Ready for the
real
thinkers?”

Leroy swallowed hard. “S’pose so.”

“What… is your biggest weakness?”

He retreated into his thoughts. There were so many, how could he pick just one? He searched for an response, then shakily said “My biggest weakness is that I got too many weaknesses.”

“A bit vague, but a very honest answer, I’ll give you that. Care to explain?”

Leroy hid the scowl that tried to form. He hated talking about himself. There was nothing to say. He was just a kid, like anyone else.

“I just… got a lot to learn, still, is all.”

“You really don’t give much up, do you? Let’s try another one,” the man said, glancing at the clipboard. “Are you a hard worker?”

He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Well, I get my class work turned in on time. And momma…” A thousand memories flashed through his mind at once. “Sorry. Momma used to make me do all the chores, so I’m used to working.”

“There we go! That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Leroy was stoic, then realized he had to respond. He shook his head.

“Which is more effective: a laid back or a serious work atmosphere?”

“I don’t know about anyone else, but for me I think laid back would be better. That way I wouldn’t feel rushed and I could do my job best.”

“Interesting position. Although if we do hire you, you will be expected to work in a fast-paced and demanding environment. Can you?”

“I think so.” He didn’t think so.

“Do you consider yourself a team player?”

The process was excruciating for Leroy. It really
was
an interrogation.

“Much as anyone else, I guess. But a team depends on all the players.”

“That is true,” the manager nodded. “What would you do for McDonald’s?”

Leroy shrugged. “Whatever you guys need me to.”

His lips curled in a goofy smirk. “I mean, what would you add to the workplace? What could you
be
for this specific McDonald’s?”

“A good employee?”

“Hm. Okay. Just one last question: are you a follower, or a leader?”

Leroy wrung his hands together under the table. Was he supposed to answer the question truthfully, or was he supposed to claim he was a leader, even if he wasn’t? Is that what a leader would do?

“Follower.” He looked up at the man. “Gotta start somewhere, right?”

“Yes, yes you do. I think we can use you, Leroy. If you’re willing to start at the bottom, you’ve got the job. Not kidding, this time.”

Trying to comprehend what he’d just heard, Leroy stood and shook hands. After what’d seemed to him an awful interview, he had actually gotten the job. It was fully terrifying and exciting at once.

“I’ve got to get back to work, but someone will be in soon to get the rest of the required information—address, social security, all that stuff.”

“I don’t have an address,” Leroy blurted before he could stop himself.

The manager stopped mid-step and looked back. “Well, that would explain the bags.” A doleful look dominated his face. “I’m sorry, Leroy. I can’t legally hire anyone without an address.”

His hopes came crashing down. It made no sense; you couldn’t get a job without a place to live, but couldn’t get a place to live without a job.

“But why?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” he shrugged. “It’s just the law.”

Their eyes were locked in silence.
 

“It was nice to meet you, Leroy.”

He couldn’t bring himself to stand. This was all he had left.

“Look, I get a free meal a day. Come to the register, and it’s yours.” The manager took one last pitying look at him, then left.

Leroy sat alone in the interrogation room as the door swung to a heavy close, feeling as if he’d just been denied bail.

* * *

Sitting against the ceiling-tall windows of the playroom, Leroy tried to salvage some enjoyment from his free meal. It was a bittersweet burger, though. It reminded him of that saying—give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime. He could buy his own meals if he had a job.

He shook his head. Should’ve just made up an address, although that probably wouldn’t have worked in the end. The whole situation was just another in a line of his thoroughly half-baked ideas, much like his entire journey thus far. He chewed his food, which was tasteless from stress.

The idea of waiting around for Ant to find him now seemed futile. The only way it would be feasible is if he lived on the streets. He would run out of money quickly, and then what? Eat from dumpsters?

Besides, it occurred to him that the nearest train station was the one where Ant’s incident happened, and likely the last place he’d want to visit when he was better. He might not want to hop a train at all. And that was assuming he’d be in any condition to hop a train.

No, waiting around made no sense anymore. In fact, it was the exact opposite of what he’d set out to do. What had happened to Ant was horrible, and it may well have been Leroy’s fault, which devastated him, but there was nothing he could do to change it. He hadn’t needed Ant to start the journey, and he didn’t need him to finish it. Leroy hoped they’d meet again, someday, but he decided his top priority should be his own wellbeing, which awaited in the home of Rehema Shepherd, not on the streets of Topeka.

Still, guilt nibbled at him like piranhas. It’d only been two days since the incident, and Leroy was already set to skip town. He’d tried everything he could think of to find Ant, to help in any way, but he just wasn’t good enough. It hurt.

So, back to plan A. His fervor to find her wasn’t as intense anymore, but if it’d provide him a decent life, it would all be worth it. He wondered how far he could get with forty-five bucks; further by train than by car, or cab, he assumed.

Leroy tossed his trash and set out for the last place he’d seen his friend.

* * *

Entering the train station lobby, there was one thing on Leroy’s mind—not the children chasing each other through the aisles, not the length of his trip, not the price of his ticket, but the cop that had beaten Ant. Leroy was desperate to avoid a run-in with him, not only because the man might recognize him, but because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain his rage, which would end badly, one way or another. The fury he felt thinking of the aggressor was apt to rot his insides if he dwelled too long on it.

Avoiding the children, he stepped over to the ticket counter. A cheery brunette woman smiled, eager to help. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I got thirty bucks and I need to get to Tampa.”

Her eyes crinkled as regret strained her face. “I’m sorry, but thirty dollars won’t quite get you all the way to Florida.”

“How far
will
it get me?”

“Well, I’ll need some more details. Generally, you want to be traveling east, since there aren’t any south-east lines out from this station. There aren’t really any until you hit St. Louis,” she said, studying a map on the desk. “Given that, I would recommend the one-way to Washington, Missouri, which is an hour west of St. Louis, but just fits your budget. It leaves at noon and comes out to twenty-eight fifty.”