“Dawn, huh? Good night, Dawn.”
I’m relieved. It sounds like he will just go to sleep. Tomorrow I will be free. I will be out of this terrible place. “Good night.” I crawl under my blankets, happy for this polished antiseptic floor, into a grateful sleep.
Morning arrives, and I am the talk of the senior home. Sam sneaks me down to the main lobby, telling the front clerk I am his guest who’s just arrived and needs to call the bus station. The clerk nods and hands me the phone book.
“Greyhound, Glendale.” The voice on the other end of the phone is young and chipper.
“Yes. Hello. My name is Dawn Schiller. Is there a ticket there for me? Did my mother call and leave one?”
“Uh, let’s see… from an Edda Schiller in Oregon?”
“Yes. Yes. That’s her! Is it there?” I hold my breath disbelieving that this is real, scared that he will tell me he made a mistake and there is nothing there.
“Uh, yeah, uh, it’s here, but, uh, someone just called looking for you. Some guy. He said he was your boyfriend.”
“Oh God! What did you tell him? You didn’t say anything, did you? He’s not going there, is he?” In my chest, the pounding sounds like thunder.
“Well, uh, yeah. I told him. He said he’s on his way.”
“Oh no! No! Don’t tell him anything! I ran away from him. He’s gonna kill me if he catches up to me. Please. Don’t tell him I called.”
“Well. He said you had a fight; he wants to make up with you. He made me promise to not let you get on the bus.”
“No! He’s lying! He just wants you to believe he’s a nice guy, but he’s lying. I ran away from him because he hurts me. Please, don’t tell him you talked to me!”
The crackling, silent line tells me he is really listening, believing me. “Well, yeah. Okay. The guy did sound pretty crazy, and your mom has been calling too. What do I tell him when he gets here?”
“My mom called? Tell him I already left. Tell him I never showed up. I don’t know—tell him anything!”
“Yeah! Okay. When are you going to be here?”
“I don’t know. I’m in San Fernando, and I have to find a bus that will go to Glendale. I don’t have any money, so I have to figure something out. I don’t know yet.”
“Well, uh…” There is that silence again. “Well, maybe I can come and get you after I get off. Your mom asked me if I would help you. She told me you were running from your boyfriend. She’s got five dollars here for you too, for food. I get off in a couple hours. What’s your address?”
The world around me seems to get lighter. Lighter than the colorless shroud that’s darkened everything in the past years. Thank you, Mom. A touch of hope is filtering in like the sun through a dirt-caked screen. I give him the address of the retirement home and hang up. Sam arranges for me to sit in the dining room with the other residents while they eat breakfast. The kitchen won’t serve me an extra plate. The residents will get in trouble, but that doesn’t stop them: Somehow my story gets around to them, and it isn’t long before extra pieces of toast and bacon wrapped in napkins and tin foil are smuggled to me under the tables.
The hours pass quickly. I dwell on the thought that I am actually going to get away. This is gonna work this time, my senses forecast. An old, white delivery van pulls up in front of the home, and a young man in his late twenties sporting a ponytail gets out and asks me my name.
“Dawn?”
“Yeah. That’s me.” I wave good-bye and yell a thanks to Sam and his elderly gang of bandits.
“He was just at the station. Your boyfriend.”
“Who? John? What did you do?” I’m sweating now. I’m not out of here yet. Maybe I won’t get away.
“I told him you just left a few minutes ago on another bus.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked which way it was going. Ha! I told him the opposite way, through Las Vegas.”
“Thanks, man. Was he mad?”
“No. Well, I couldn’t tell. He acted very concerned.”
“He’s crazy.” We pull into the Glendale Greyhound bus station, and my bus is already boarding. “Thank you so much. Thank you. You saved my life. I can’t tell you how much you saved my life.”
“Yeah. It’s cool. Your mom is real worried. Here’s the five dollars she sent for you and, uh, here.” He hands me an old long-sleeved, button-down shirt. “It’s cold in Oregon. Take care, and good luck.”
“Thank you. Thanks a lot.”
I board the long, silver bus and head for a window seat in the back. In my baggy jeans pocket is a piece of contraband toast, broken a little, the crumbs rubbed off. I lean against the cool glass, relaxed for the first time in so long, and bite down on the dry bread. Wow. This is the first time I have ever been away from John in years. It is a strange, queer feeling. Never having imagined that we would ever be apart, I make a mental note of my entire body. So this is how it feels. How it feels to be without him. So far, I am feeling okay—better than I have felt in a while. Still, I can’t deny the pain that lies deep beneath the numbness in my chest: the pain of the million bleeding pieces of my shattered heart.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
One Last Wonderland, Baby!
Lights flash in colored blasts around me. There is a whirlwind. I am in the eye of a tornado; the force from the surrounding current is spinning and sucking me down. A long, frayed rope hangs in the middle of the twirling black tunnel, and with bleeding hands I clutch it. It takes all my strength to not be pulled into the treacherous gale.
“He’s bad news.” The clear, sharp voice of sanity speaks clearly through the raging blast of the storm around me.
“But he’s all I know.” My defensive voice is frail, but audible through the noise.
“He hurt you.”
“But I’ve known him since I was fifteen. He taught me everything.”
My fear grows louder. Suddenly, my arm slips from the life-saving rope, yanked into the whirling tornado.
“My arm! I’m being sucked in!” I fight to wrench it free.
In a desperate internal struggle, I force my eyes open, hurrying to escape the deadly abyss. Slowly, soaked in sweat, my body breaks free of the paralyzing nightmare.
Mom is here—on her knees, next to me with my wrist in her hand, crying. “Mein Gott!” she whispers. “Look! You’re so skinny.”
“Hi, Mom.” I can barely muster a half smile.
“Vaht’s happened to you, Dawn? You’re so thin! I tought effrything vas good. Vas it drugs?” She wipes the tears from her cheeks as she stands to hover over my emaciated frame.
I avoid her eyes, stare out of the big picture window behind her onto the winter-barren Blue Mountains on the eastern horizon, and nod.
I can’t talk about it. Not to my mother. Anger is still buried deep, and it hurts too much to look into myself right now. Quick, short images of my life, a horror film, play in my head like shredded frames of a movie reel. John’s evil sneer as he ties me up and beats me mercilessly with a belt; my body crudely sold to strangers; being dragged by my hair on my hands and knees. Stop! I can’t do this. I can’t.
I stand up. “It was bad, Mom.” Not allowing emotion to raise my protective walls of silence, I walk into the kitchen. “Got anything to eat?”
Berrrrring! Berrrrring!
Thinking it’s my brother or sister calling about my arrival, I grab the phone that hangs off the cabinet above the stove. “Hello?”