Jesse guesses it’s about four hours to Cleveland from where we are, and from there we’ll keep heading south. The festival they keep talking about isn’t for another couple weeks, but Jesse seems to get a little antsy whenever they have a bad show. It’s the only time I see him look anxious at all. So we leave Buffalo the next morning after oatmeal and more Alien Garlic Bread, which truly is incredible, though not the greatest combination for taste or breath.
I feel like I’ve been away from home for months instead of days, and I have to keep reminding myself that it’s only Sunday and that Mom expects I’m arriving home sometime tomorrow. This thought is like a book that keeps falling from its shelf. Rather than look at it, I simply put it back on the shelf and keep moving on.
The two shows in Cleveland and the next day in Louisville barely yield half of what the Freegans made in Rochester. I’m beginning to understand why Lyle was interested in staying another night. Having a draw, like an artist’s open house or a street fair, makes a huge difference in the number of people who turn out and are willing to cough up a couple bucks for entertainment.
We’re hanging out around the van between shows in Louisville, and I keep looking at my watch as if the time passing is going to change what I know I need to do. I know Mom is out there somewhere, pacing the house, waiting for me to call and say I’m coming home. It’s two o’clock, and then it’s ten after, and then two thirty. Finally, at quarter of three, I stand up suddenly and announce that I need to find a pay phone.
“Do you want company?” G asks.
“Sure,” I say. This phone call will be harder, much harder, and not only because Mom is going to be livid when she realizes I’m not on my way back to Glens Falls. She’s going to want answers, answers that are only starting to take shape in my own head.
There’s a pay phone about a block and a half from the van, but the receiver is missing the cover, belching out a mess of multicolored wire. We wander around for a bit until we find a useable one near the public library. G takes a few polite steps away and pulls a set of juggling balls out of her pocket. I take a deep breath and make the collect call.
“Hi, Mom,” I say after she agrees to accept the charges.
“Hello, Andrew. I hope you’re calling to tell me what time your bus gets in.” There is a long moment of silence that follows this declaration. In that moment I realize that up until right now I wasn’t sure how this conversation was going to go. I wasn’t sure if I was going to let her convince me that it was time to come home. A hot shower and a homemade dinner does sound pretty good. But not good enough.
“Mom, I’m really sorry if this upsets you, but I’m not ready to come home. I really like these people and I’m having a good time. And as weird as this sounds, I think I’m learning something too.” I say this last part softly so G can’t hear. I don’t know why I bother, it’s not like that part even registers with Mom.
“I don’t believe this,” she hisses. “Andrew, we had an agreement. You said you would be home today.”
“Actually, you said I would be home today.”
“What about school? The quarter closes in less than three weeks.”
“I don’t think I was going to pass this quarter anyways.”
“I can’t condone this behavior, Andrew.”
“I’m not asking you to, Mom. Look, I know it’s not ideal. You don’t know exactly where I am or who I’m with but—”
“Do not minimize that!” For the first time Mom’s voice breaks, and I can hear that she’s crying. “You do not know what it’s like to have you out there, god knows where, with god knows who, doing god knows what. You do not know what that’s like as a parent, so don’t pretend you do!”
“I’m sorry.” I pause for a minute. “I’ll try and do a better job of checking in.”
“That would be helpful,” Mom says. Her voice is still tight. “You’re going to miss your grandmother’s funeral,” she adds.
“Yeah, I kind of figured that. I guess I’m hoping she would understand.”
My mother sighs loudly. “She probably would.” I know it takes a lot for Mom to say that, and I appreciate that she’s not using Mima’s funeral to guilt me into coming home. So I decide to pick on Dad a little to make her feel better.
“So Dad’s back from his vacation?”
“Apparently.”
“He left me a jerky message.”
“He’s worried about you too,” Mom says. Now I definitely need to get off the phone. My running away is not supposed to team the two of them up against me.
“I gotta go, Mom. We’re leaving soon, so I gotta go.”
“Andrew, where are you?”
“Uh, Louisville.”
“And where are you going exactly?”
“I’m not really sure, Mom. South.”
“South? Where do you sleep?”
“In the van. It’s really pretty comfortable. Listen, I really gotta go. I’ll call you soon.” As I hang up I can hear her saying that she loves me. I walk over to where G is bouncing one of the juggling balls up and down on her foot, Hacky-Sack style.
“Hey,” she says. “How’d that go?”
“Eh, okay, I guess. She’s not happy that I’m staying.”
G shrugs. “Why are you staying?”
The question catches me off guard. “I don’t know. I’m having a good time, and I thought it was okay with you guys. I mean if it’s not, just let me know,” I stutter a bit.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. We’re happy to have you hang out with us. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t staying because of Emily.”
“Well, it’s not,” I reply shortly.
“Sorry, my bad,” G says. We walk together for a while without saying anything.
“Why do you care anyway?” I ask. “I mean, what if it was part of the reason for me staying? Would that be the worst thing in the world?”
“No. And it still wouldn’t be any of my business. I just wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Why do you say that? What do you have against Emily, anyways?”
“Well, for one thing, she’s a dry drunk.”
“A what?”
“A dry drunk,” G repeats. “Look, none of us drink, right? But I’m straight edge. I made a conscious choice to stay away from drugs and alcohol. I don’t want it around me; I don’t want it in my life. When we hooked up with Emily in Burlington, she was a mess. She had some boyfriend problem; she was drinking and probably other stuff too. Lyle helped her clean up her act, and she latched on to us and the whole straight edge thing too.”
“So what’s wrong with that?”
“Look, I’m glad that Emily isn’t drinking and that she’s doing better and whatever. But if you’re drinking to get away from something, you can’t just decide to stop and not deal with the stuff that made you drink in the first place. You’re like a ticking time bomb. Something’s going to set you off one day and you’ll be right back where you started from. She’s a drunk, just one who happens not to be drinking right now.”
“Like your dad?”
“Like a lot of people,” G says.
“Maybe she’s really changed,” I offer.
“Maybe. I wish I could believe in change like that. I wish I’d seen more of it. But what I have seen is that Emily likes attention and drama. A lot of attention and a lot of drama. And your arrival has neatly provided both.”
“What do you mean?”
G looks at me like I’m purposely being dense. “You’re like Emily’s little project, you know?”
“Oh great.”
“But seriously, she like gets off on introducing you to her hippie vegan pseudo anarchist ideas. And you think she’s hot, and don’t even try to deny it because I’ve seen you staring at her. She is cute. But she knows it, and that’s not so cute. She’s already got Lyle wrapped around her little finger, and she’s using you to stir up the drama.”
“So you’re saying she doesn’t like me for me,” I joke nervously.
“Heck, no. I mean yes, she probably does like you for you. I’m just saying that’s not her only motivation, and I’d hate to see you get hurt, or like throw away some other part of your life just to follow her around the country.”
“What makes you think my life is so great, anyway? Maybe I should be throwing it away.”
For the first time in the short time that I’ve known her, G looks pissed. “Whatever,” she says shortly. “I’m not going to go there.”
“Go where?”
“Explain everything you’ve probably got when you’re acting like a spoiled douchebag.” She stomps away from me, and my jaw drops.
I walk after her because I don’t have anywhere else to go. Should I be apologizing for something? Before I can stop her to ask, G turns around. Her face is still red. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I hope you will stay with us for as long as you want.” She pauses. “Even if it’s just for Emily.”
“I thought lesbians weren’t supposed to say douchebag,” I say. She rolls her eyes, but she smiles a small, tense smile. I don’t know how I can make G understand that when I’m with Emily, even when she’s rambling on about her old boyfriends, I feel useful, not used. “Thanks for looking out for me. I’ll think about that, really I will. I guess it probably sounds kind of pathetic and desperate to you. But I don’t think I really care what her motivations are.”
“And if it doesn’t work out, you can always go home,” G says.
“Yeah, I know.” I say this maybe a little too quickly. G cringes, but she doesn’t say anything more.