Star
It was the next day, and Tank was gone. He didn’t say where he was going, only that he’d be gone until late.
I knew that this was my chance to leave.
I plotted out my escape once again, figuring that if I left at around noon I’d be able to make it to the nearby town by mid-afternoon. Then I could find a ride towards Gainesville, and then … I didn’t know. I didn’t have any money, and I’d be in just as bad of a spot as I’d been before all of this insanity happened. But at least I’d be free; that was all that mattered.
I stuffed a few things into a little duffel bag that I’d found in one of the drawers—mostly clothes, along with some food from the kitchen and a few bottles of water. I briefly considered taking a few valuable-looking things from Tank’s house, just some things I could sell to make a little money. But I just couldn’t do it. Grandma Dove had done her best to make sure I had a good moral spine to me, and even though Tank had kept me here against my will, he’d treated me fine for the most part. Besides, I still felt raw about leaving that check at the diner unpaid, even knowing that Tank had covered it. Stealing just wasn’t in my nature.
So, bag ready and phone map pulled up, I set off. The fence was a little rough to climb, but I made it just fine. Taking one last look at Tank’s enormous estate, I turned to the road and started down it. From where I was walking I could see about a mile down, and not a car was to be seen. Still, I couldn’t take any chances. Pulling the map up on my phone, I headed down into the woods, close enough to the road that I could still see it, but far enough that anyone passing wouldn’t spot me.
The woods were the humid, wet type you only see in Florida. Bugs abounded, and the low-hanging trees went on as far as I could see. Down deeper into the woods I could see the light reflecting off of the pools of water that were common in the Everglades. I stayed as close to solid ground as I could, knowing that gators were no joke here.
After an hour and a half or so of walking, just like I’d planned, I arrived at the town—if you could even call it that. It was a rundown little smattering of buildings, and as I got closer I realized that it was more like a small settlement for loggers in the region. There was a small store, a couple of restaurants, and a few large apartment complexes. It looked like the type of collection of buildings you’d see in one of those little towns off of a major highway.
I approached the diner, thinking about the last time I’d been in one of these. I didn’t feel up to dining and dashing, so I pulled out one of my granola bars and chomped it down. I had no way to get back to Gainesville other than by the good graces of these people here, so I took a deep breath and approached the nearest man I could find, which was some burly-looking, working-class guy filling up his truck at the gas station. He told me that he was here for the day, but there was usually a truck or two leaving and heading down the road, and that I might try my luck with one of them.
Sure enough, one pulled into the restaurant parking lot. To my surprise, a stout woman wearing flannel, jeans, and work boots stepped out. I ran up to her, and I must’ve looked like a damn charity case because as soon as I asked for a ride she offered me not only that but a meal at the diner. I agreed, and I happily ate the eggs and bacon she bought for me. As we ate, she asked where I was coming from, and I the best I could come up with was that I had been out in the woods with some friends and they’d left me behind. It was a weak excuse, and the woman’s skeptical expression made it clear that she didn’t quite believe it. But she must’ve figured that my reasons were my own, which I was glad for; I wanted to get out of Tank’s place, but I didn’t want to turn him over to the cops.
After our meal and a drive, I was back in Gainesville. And as soon as I stepped out of the truck the realization that I had nowhere to go hit me hard. Sure, I had known this when I escaped, but being confronted with the reality was something different altogether. I had no money, a few clothes, and I’d even ditched my phone back at the diner for fear that I could be tracked through it.
I walked down one of the main roads in town for a while, and soon I came upon a familiar sight: the graveyard where Grandma Dove was buried. I decided that paying my respects was the least I could do. So, picking up a handful of wildflowers from the side of the road, I headed into the cemetery. It took me a few minutes to find Grandma’s tombstone, what with it being a humble little marker and nothing more. I sat in front of it, my mind awash with memories of simpler times, back when all I had to worry about was being on time for dinner. Part of me wished that Grandma had done more to prepare me for the real world, but I knew that her sheltering me was just her showing her love in the only way she knew.
I sat there for a time, tears forming in my eyes as I thought about how much I missed Grandma. I set the flowers on the marker. It was a pretty humble arrangement, but Grandma would’ve liked it that way: she was a humble woman.
Then I saw something that I never expected to see, not in a million years. A bird descended, landing right on Grandma Dove’s marker. And it wasn’t just any bird—it was a dove, the same kind of dove that dangled from my necklace. I wrapped my fingers around the necklace, holding it tight as the dove sat upon the stone. My heart skipped a beat. I remembered Grandma Dove telling me that this breed of dove was particularly rare, especially in this part of the country. But sure enough, as I held the dove on my necklace up to the real one, I saw that they were one and the same. The dove even had the small streak of pink on top of its head, just like my necklace.
Then, just as quickly it had arrived, the dove left. And as soon as it was gone, I heard the revving of an engine, that sharp snarl that you only hear from motorcycles. And I’ll be damned if my heart didn’t fill with gladness at the thought of it being Tank. I stood up and turned to face the road. It was a bike, but I could tell from where I stood that it wasn’t Tank.
What the hell is wrong with me? I wondered. I just ran away from this guy and now I’m hoping he shows up to find me?
I turned my attention back to Grandma’s grave. The dove, the motorcycle … it was strange. I wasn’t normally the superstitious type, but some part of me felt as though I’d received a sign.
What if I was meant to be back with Tank? It was a crazy idea, but it hadn’t just been in my imagination that he’d been … softening, almost, towards me. Almost as if I was finally getting past that hard front that he felt the need to always have up. But maybe that was all in my head. I kissed my fingertips and touched Grandma’s grave one last time, wondering what she would think I should do.
“Just listen to your heart,” she’d say—I could hear it in my mind clear as day. But what was I supposed to do when my heart was pulling me in two different directions? Towards freedom on the one hand, and the potential of love on the other?
I knew that I had to make a decision. Returning to the street, I walked until I reached a crossroads. One direction or the other—it was up to me to decide, and me alone.