I reach up to give him a hug. “I love you too, John. Be careful.” As old words roll off my tongue automatically, the familiarity of seeing him off on a run makes my skin crawl. But this is different, I remind myself again. This is the last time.
“If everything goes right, baby, we’ll be out of here by this time next week.” He is shaking a little as he squeezes me tightly for a long embrace and a kiss. He stares deep into my eyes, traces my lips with his thumb… like the old days. “I love you, baby. I’ll be back by morning.”
The Malibu revs up in the lot below the window for a good ten minutes. I can see John fussing repeatedly with the rearview mirror and visor. Finally he rolls out onto Hollywood Boulevard like… the old days.
Bang, bang, bang! “Hello, miss!” The motel manager is at the door.
“Yes?” The chain pulls tightly as I unlock the door.
“Checkout time! Checkout!”
“Um, yeah, okay. Um, he’s… um, my boyfriend isn’t back yet. Can I wait for him a little while longer?”
“I can’t do that, miss. I’ll get in trouble.”
“Please! I don’t have any money. He’s coming right back!”
He thinks for a moment. “Okay. You got till one o’clock! That’s all I can do!”
“Thanks.”
Holding Thor in my arms, I wait nervously on the bed, my green Army duffel bag packed and ready at my feet. As every minute of the clock ticks excruciatingly by, I will each noise outside to be John’s approaching Chevy. Shadows move behind the thin drapes; the maid and her cleaning cart make me more and more anxious as they wheel closer to my door.
Boom, boom, boom! “Housekeeping!”
I know my time is up. “Coming!” I call. With every minute dragging into two or three more, I pick up my bag and walk outside. Where is he? Oh God, no. He left me! Where do I go? What am I supposed to do now? I panic. Like something forgotten, discarded, I slowly step out of the boundaries of the motel toward a small cement ledge near the sidewalk and flop down.
In the bright afternoon light, the people on the street take notice. Young men with gold chains strut by, again and again, whistling and making comments under their breath. I look away, clutching Thor close to my chest, and can’t help the flood of tears that drenches my cheeks. I can’t think. Where is he? Why hasn’t he come back? Why did I leave Oregon?
A teenage boy looking like a pimp in his white suit and gold chains has been staring at me from across the street. Making a beeline in my direction, he wants to strike up a conversation; I can tell. I hook my foot around my duffel bag and huddle further into myself, wrapping into the safety of my mental walls. Please don’t let him talk to me.
A flood of despair rains down from every inch of the afternoon sky. Drenched with disbelief that I am back here… to this, I break down and weep hysterically.
With no thought of what to do next, I weep uncontrollably, sobs heaving and shaking me down to my bones. I have given up. I think about the warm bed at my mother’s house, my family, Grandma’s rocking chair, and the new friends I made at work and wish with all my heart I could erase the last couple of days. I give in to the despair of being totally lost, abandoned, and terrified for my safety. I weep and weep and weep.
“Miss? Miss? Are you all right?” A female voice is louder now. “Miss! Do you need help?”
I lift my head. Through a veil of tears, I notice a plain, short-haired, stocky, slightly overweight woman calling down to me from the window of her white Volkswagen van. I wipe my face and nod. “My, my boyfriend… didn’t come back and, and I got kicked out.” My tears rush out again.
“Do you need a ride somewhere? I’m safe. I promise. I run a Christian youth group. Can I take you somewhere? Somewhere safe?” She tilts her head up and down the street.
“Mm, hmm. Yeah! Thanks.” She looks kind, but I’m nervous. Through my blurred tears, I can see a few others seated in the back of her van. I gain my composure and quickly jump through the already open door. God, I hope she is real.
“My name is Sally.”
“I’m Dawn.” I don’t offer any more information.
“So where do you want to go?”
“My mom’s in Oregon… The Glendale bus station, I guess.”
“Do you have a ticket?”
“No. My boyfriend… he left me. He was supposed to be back before checkout, but he… well, didn’t make it.”
“Do you need a place to stay for a while?”
I look at her, suspicious of the offer. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I run a Christian youth group,” she repeats, “and we hire out to help with odd jobs for the elderly. We got extra work if you want to earn money for a bus ticket. You can crash at my place till you do. I assure you it is perfectly legitimate and I’m safe. Really!” She smiles, seeing my cautiousness. “Just ask these guys. They work with me every day. I’m picking them up for a job.” She points to the young, paint-splattered men in the back row of the van.
“Yeah, she’s cool. She’s kind of a missionary. Sally’s been running the youth group for over a year. You’re okay, girl. You got lucky. This is no place to be left on the street.”
“Yeah… sure. Sounds all right. Thanks.” I relax and let out a long, steady breath—so much that even my bones feel deflated. I let my mind adjust to the sharp change of my new environment, and I feel as though I’m being wrapped in a soft, warm blanket, my tears wiped dry.
Where is John? I worry.
Sally smiles and turns up the Christian tunes on the radio. “Let’s get to work! Hope you know how to paint.” She hums, content, like a mother bird blessing her nest with her song.
The second day with Sally is ending, and I am exhausted. I joined her and her crew on their painting job to have a safe place to stay while I save money to go back to Oregon, but secretly I am hoping to hear from John. Sally lives on the second floor of a plain, two-story apartment complex adjacent to a wide, busy street in Studio City. After my long afternoon of painting the day before, Sally did as she promised and brought me to her apartment to let me crash on her couch for the night.
“Can I use the phone please? I’d like to try to call my boyfriend’s answering service. In case he’s in trouble or something…”
“Uh, yeah… you sure about that, Dawn? I thought you said he left you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know why! I’ve just returned from Oregon. We got back together and he was only going…” I let my voice trail off. “He was supposed to come right back. He’s never let me get kicked out of a place before. I’m worried. Something’s wrong!”
Sally sighs. “Well, if you really think you should, the phone’s over there.”
I leave several messages for John in the evening, letting him know where I am, and again the next morning. In the past, sometimes John has left me a message with the operator at his answering service, but nothing is waiting this time. By late afternoon the next day, there still has been no word. Tired from the day’s physical work, Sally and I grab some takeout.