I hop down from the cab and close the door quietly and relock it. I then turn toward the rest stop bathrooms but am frozen in my tracks as I see two men walking in my direction. They are smoking cigarettes and chatting and haven’t noticed me yet. But it is only a matter of time. I scan the area quickly. There’s a gravel ring at the edge of the parking lot that gives way to a field of tall cat-tails and wheat grass; the darker woods set further in the skyline behind it. When I look back, I am met with squinting eyes and the slow but steady walk of someone who is approaching with caution, shoulders slouched down, head cocked forward.

“Hey!” one of them yells.

“What are you doing?” the other shouts.

I panic. I have no answers for them that will suffice. Especially not with my appearance. I do the one thing I can and run towards the field.

“Hey, motherfucker, we’re talkin’ to you!” the first trucker yells as they begin to pursue me.

They continue yelling as they chase me, but my mind is a blur of panic, and I only catch bits and pieces: “…cocksucker!” “Stop…” “…faggot…” “I’ll kill you!”

I hit the tall grass, but don’t stop. With my hands holding on to the stolen clothing I can’t protect my face and the stalks scratch and cut my cheeks as I run. The constant battering makes my eyes water and swell closed. I don’t stop running until I am deep into the woods again and I can no longer hear the voices behind me. I find another tree to hide behind just in case and slump down to catch my breath.

After what feels like a reasonable amount of time for people to quit searching, I think about getting dressed and moving on. There’s a small tickle on the back of my hand, and when I look down, there’s an ant crawling across my skin. “I know, bud. I know,” I say to him.

As I change out of my prison garb and into the confiscated trucker get-up, another drop of water strikes my bare back and sends shivers up my spine. I look up and watch as the branches dance in a slight breeze that rolls through. Waving at me, taunting me. The arms pointing out once again to leave the way I came.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be here either,” I say looking skyward.

New clothing fully in place. I go back to the rest area to see if the truckers have gone. I still need to find a map or get to a phone, but for that, I might have to wait till night.

55. Sarah Morgan

55

Sarah Morgan