He had been as far west as Buffalo once, on a basketball trip. As far south as Jamestown on one school field trip, and to New York City after the World's Fair on another.
La Crosse, Albert Lea, Sioux Falls. Poor, one-blanket Indians building fires to survive till morning and the woolly black herds pushed back off the land they had covered like a robe. Sometimes it was hard to believe.
It had to be a note, not a letter. A last small word, something final. Like the boy in the Mexican War who drew a black bean — "Mother, in one half hour my doom will be finished on this earth." This wasn't a trip, a vacation, he wasn't off to CYO summer camp with her waving at the depot and name tags sewn on his underwear. He was leaving for good.
Dear Ma. Or better, just Ma. He wondered if there was still such a thing as Western Union. Like in the movies. As a boy he always thought of famous sayings coming by Western Union telegram.
DEAR SIRS STOP HAVE NOT YET BEGUN TO FIGHT STOP JPJ
He wondered if he should go north along the Lakes and through the Badlands or slide down south first. Roanoke, Knoxville, Chattanooga.
MA STOP KILLED ME A BAR TODAY AT THIS TREE STOP D BOONE
He heard creakings down the hall, his mother's insomnia. He tried not to rustle the country. She could never leave him alone if he stayed up late, she'd toss and turn and go to the bathroom and finally come out squinting and shivering and say oh, are you up?
They had never talked much, but only since the old man was gone was it so obvious. What had ever possessed them, at their age? His third-grade teacher on Open House night, complimenting them on their grandson's imagination.
He would leave her a note.
Ma — I wrote to school, the refund should be in the mail. I'm not going back.
He heard the toilet flush down the hall. The bathroom held her odors, he used to wait to use the ones at school in the morning.
Fort Scott, Wichita, Dodge City. Drunken cattlemen, crooked marshals, mannish whores. Kit Carson, Pueblo, Durango.
I am taking off and will send you postcards. Have enough money for now so don't worry.
Brian
He thought to mention he was heading west, but then where else was there for him to go? He thought to do his signature, the one he'd been working on, but then just printed it out like the rest of the message.
The light in the hall flicked on. He heard one of her sighs and pocketed the note.
Amarillo, Tucumcari -
"Oh, are you up?"
Her voice was moany with sleep. She squinted in the yellow kitchen-light and hugged herself with her arms. Thin blood, she always said, it ran in her family.
Santa Fe. Pony Express, stagecoaches, silver mines.
"You're reading the map?" It wasn't a question, she wasn't looking at him. She padded among the kitchen utensils as if she had come out searching for something lost, pushing at dishes and forks with one finger the way she always did.
"Would you like some hot cocoa? Help you sleep?"
"No thanks, Ma."
She got a pot and milk as if she hadn't heard. She never drank cocoa herself, it made her sick.
Your mama like a cup of coffee, he thought. Hot, black, and waitin for the cream. How safe the dozens had been for him to play, how far removed his mother was from cheatings and beatings. His mama never did anything. He watched her face over the stove and for an instant he felt bad.
"Think you could get some things at the market for me tomorrow?"
He had gone over every item, packing only what he couldn't survive without. The sleeping bag he'd bought cheap from a guy at school was out on the landing, along with the old man's boots. They had shared the same foot size.
"I don't think I'll be around tomorrow."
"You going somewhere?"
"I'm going away, sort of." He swiped cake crumbs off the map as he said it.
"Oh. Whereabouts?"
She stirred the milk a little. He could smell it now. Her spoon scraped gently against the sides of the saucepan and Brian held his head in his hands.
"I'm not really sure. I'll be gone awhile."
"You have enough money?" She frowned into the boiling milk.
"Yeah. Yeah, I've got plenty. No sweat for money."
"Will you be back before you're due at school?"
"I'm not going-back."
The Coach would be the most upset about that. He was building his backcourt.
"Oh," said his mother, then, "We ought to talk about it."
"Yeah. We should. But I'm not going back."
She was silent for a while but for her kitchen sounds.
El Paso, Tucson, Yuma. Copper-colored desert. Old men with brown-paper skin, baking like lizards on rocks.
She slid a cup of hot cocoa in front of him, covering New Orleans and most of the Gulf.
"Help you sleep."
She washed the pot out as he wondered where he would hit the Coast. Where else was there to go?
She yawned and stared into the dish-filled sink. He could hear her mind working, trying to think of something else to say, to ask. He wondered if he should say the words to her now. Say good-bye. He kept his eyes on the map, elbows propped wide on either side of the country. She poked at a few things in the sink as if testing them for signs of life. The cocoa smoked and grew a skin.
Sacramento. Eureka -
She started as if from a dream, stared for a moment at the cup of warm milk that lay between them, and began to shuffle toward her bedroom.
"Well. Have a nice trip, Brian."
The hall light flicked off.
"Good night, Ma."
"Night."
It was hard to believe, sometimes. But at one time they had been right there. Along the Hudson. Up and down the valley. Syracuse, Elmira, Binghamton were the western frontier. They had been right there.
Buffalo.
Fission
WO PUDDLES OF FLAB lifting and flopping down again. Feet. The toes were tiny and round, baby peas pushed into a mound of mashed potato. Mary Beth drove her old standard Chevy barefoot, shifting through the traffic flow on Interstate 8o. They were surrounded by miles of flat, after-harvest cornfield. Mary Beth's cat, a huge, white female named Justine, slept on top of Brian's duffel bag in the backseat. The sun was nearly straight overhead.
"Not much to see out here, is there?" said Brian.
"Nope. Not a hell of a lot."
Mary Beth had picked him up just outside of Iowa City, going west. He had tried sleeping out the night before but it was too cold, mid-October, and he had shivered in his bag. till daybreak. He hadn't eaten for two days, his stomach kept doing little fluttering things when he thought of it. He hadn't seen a mirror for a while and figured he must look pretty scruffy. He didn't get a single bite on the road till around ten o'clock when Mary Beth pulled up, two-hundredplus pounds of her packed into an apricot-colored shift. "Hop in, honey," she said, "I'm goin your way."
There wasn't all that much room in the front seat. Mary Beth had to spraddle her legs apart so her thighs didn't jam the steering wheel, and the squashed buttock closest to Brian spread out toward him, flowed against his hip. She felt like some thick, slow liquid sitting there, like warm molasses in a cloth sack. Brian got the impression, not so subtle, that she was coming on to him.
"Listen, honey," she said, "You're going to the West Coast, I can get you there in one ride." She had already told him she lived in San Francisco. "I got to stop down in Kansas City two-three days, then, to Denver a little bit, but the people I know there can put you up no trouble and I'll be. going straight on through to the Golden Gate. How bout it?"
He considered, then shrugged. "I think I'll take my chances on the road. You get back up on 8o, maybe I'll still be out there, you can give me another ride. Thanks for the offer though."