Chapter Thirteen

The Story of Brian Evans

By the time I’d reached the small town, I had insect bite marks all over me. There was a gash on my right leg from when I’d slipped and fell. My sack shirt was ripped, khakis were filthy, my shoes were caked with mud and my hair was dusty. My cracked, dry lips were bleeding—not to mention I had pissed on myself. I peeked through the window of a tavern where several white folks were dancing to country music, tossing back alcohol and having a good time. Many of the people wore cowboy hats and boots. They clapped their hands to the music, and appearing highly intoxicated, they slapped each other’s backs and twirled each other around. I was in no mood to party, nor did I want to break up the party. All I wanted was something to drink and to use the restroom so I could clean up myself. My eyes zoned in on a frothy mug of beer the bartender had slammed in front of a man who was sitting at the bar. I wanted just one sip, so I tidied myself as best as I could and opened the heavy wooden door to go inside. Almost immediately, many heads snapped in my direction. Nearly every eye was on me. The people inside froze like mannequins; the music came to a complete halt. Mouths were open—it was as if no one had seen a black man around here for many years. With my heart racing fast, I slowly stepped forward with a fake grin on my face and displayed my pearly white teeth.

“I, uh, just need to use the restroom, if that’s okay,” I stuttered. “Ca . . . Can someone tell me where I can find one?”

No one said a word. Until, finally, the bartender with a rugged red beard pointed to the right corner. “Over there,” he said in a husky voice. “Make it quick. We don’t want no trouble around here.”

“No trouble, sir,” I said while holding the fake grin on my face. “No trouble at all. I was on a camping trip with some friends of mine and got lost. Just trying to find my way back out of here. Can somebody . . . anybody help me find my way out of here?”

I examined the room, but everyone remained speechless. All I could hear was fire crackling in a floor-to-ceiling fireplace that had a deer head mounted above it. The bartender finally spoke up again.

“You don’t got no map? How can you go camping without a map?”

“I had one, but I lost it,” I lied. “But if anybody can show me the way out of here, I’ll get on my way and let you fine people get back to what you were doing.”

“I’ll show you the way,” said a man as he stood by a jukebox. “But it’s gon’ cost you about a hundred bucks.”

I didn’t have a dime on me, but if he was willing to help me, I was sure we could negotiate something.

“I’ll go to the restroom, and when I come back, we can talk about getting you something for your troubles.”

He didn’t respond and I didn’t wait for him to. I made my way to the restroom that had three stalls inside. I took a leak, used paper towels and water to clean the gash on my leg and splashed my face with cold water. I used hand soap and water to wash the dust from my hair, and I did my best to clear the mud from my shoes. I couldn’t do much about the foul odor coming from my clothes, but since my shirt was already ripped, I pulled it away from my buffed chest and tossed it in the trashcan. After I splashed my face with more water from the faucet and drank from it, I left the restroom. People continued to stand around, looking in my direction. Many whispers could be heard and some even shook their heads. I walked over to the bar and stood next to the man who had offered to assist me. He wore a cowboy hat, jeans and a plaid shirt. His beard was scraggly, cheekbones were gaunt, and with dark brown eyes, he narrowed them while studying me.

“Looks like you’ve been in some kind of fight,” he said. “If not that, are you a fugitive on the run?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you. But I assure you that I’m not. Just trying to get back to the camp grounds where I was at. If not there, I need to find the closest train or bus station. An airport may be helpful too.”

The man looked at the bartender. They both laughed. “There ain’t no airports close by here, but where are you from? People usually don’t go camping around here, only because those woods and mountains are real dangerous.”

“Trust me, I know. I’ll never go camping again, and I can’t wait to get back to St. Louis. That’s where I’m from.”

“St. Louis?” the bartender questioned. “You’s a long way from home. I think you best get going, and just between you and me, the people around here get a little uptight when black folk come showing up. Nothing personal. We just like to keep things quiet and have our own space.”

What he’d said was like a punch in the gut. It saddened me that some people preferred to live this way, but I guess it was their choice, not mine. I could’ve slapped myself, though, for believing that shit had gotten better with race relations. They hadn’t and being here was proof. I looked at the man next to me.

“I guess I’d better get going then. Would love to down one of those cold beers before I go, but unfortunately, I don’t have any cash on me. I do have some cash at the camping grounds, and if you can get me there I’ll gladly pay you something.” I held out my hand. “By the way, my name is Brian. Brian Evans.”

The man reached for my hand. “Leroy. Leroy Browning at your service.”

“Cold beer ain’t free around here,” said the bartender. “And if I give you one on the house, my customers may want one on the house too. Besides that, you need to go put some clothes on, boy. We don’t serve people who don’t have all of their clothes on.”

I scratched my chest and looked around again. Something told me to hurry up and get the hell out of there, so I quickly reached out to shake the bartender’s hand. “I understand. Enjoy the night and I apologize, again, for the intrusion.”

He nodded and many eyes followed me and Leroy as we exited the tavern. Within a few minutes, the music started playing again. I followed Leroy to his truck, but before we got inside, he stopped to light a cigarette. He took a puff, before blowing smoke into the air.

“Do you have any idea which direction those camping grounds might be?” he asked. He looked around while scratching his head. “I’m not sure if I should travel north, south, east or west.”

I shrugged and looked around too. “I’m not sure either, but if you have a cell phone I can use, maybe I can try and call somebody.”

He gathered spit in his mouth and spat it on the ground. “Ain’t no cell phones out here. No TV’s, none of that stuff. The closest you gon’ get to a phone is like fifty or sixty miles away.”

“What about the train? How close are we to it and is there a train station close by?”

“There’s a train that travels through here at night, but it rarely ever stops. It travels from east to west is all I know. Are you trying to catch a train or find out where your camping grounds is at?”

“I would like to find the camping grounds, but if I can’t, I’ll have to get on the train and take it as far as it’ll allow me to go. I know you mentioned money, but I don’t have much to give right now. Maybe I can drop something in the mail to you, once I get back to St. Louis.”

Leroy cackled loudly then opened the door to his truck. After we got inside, he sped off. We passed by a few people who stood by their cars talking. They stared at me like I had shit on my face. Leroy waved and kept driving.

“I hate to ask this,” I said. “But when is the last time you’ve seen a black person around here? The way everyone looking at me, I’d say never.”

“Let’s just say we don’t see black folks around here very often. The last couple who came here got lost too. That was about three or four years ago. They followed a friend of mine, Randy, all the way to the main highway. He got them back on track and they were damn sure happy about it.”

We both laughed and continued to talk. Leroy turned up the volume to a country music song that blasted through the speakers. He bobbed his head, and while speeding real fast down the road, I heard could hear a train. I reached for the volume button to lower the sound.

“Is that a train I hear?” I asked.

“Sure is. I’m not sure how close it is, but do you want me to drive in that direction?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I’d thought about what getting on the train could do for me. This could all be over with, and I could very well be on my way back home or get as close as I possibly could to St. Louis. There was no need for me to go back, especially since I’d come this far. It made no sense to go back, and what if, by now, those idiots knew I was missing? They were probably out looking for me now; I’d be a fool to take the same route back. Had Malcolm come with me, he probably would’ve done the same thing. The logical thing to do was get home first, and then contact the police . . . NAACP . . . anybody who would listen to me and send some help. Then again, maybe I’d just get the hell out of here, relocate when I got back home and never look back. Aubrey had always handled shit in the past. She was a strong black woman and I knew she would always look out for our kids.

Leroy snapped his fingers in front of my face to get my attention. I was still in deep thought about what to do. I cleared my throat and released a deep breath.

“To the train. Take me to the train. I’ll find my way back to St. Louis, just as long as I get on that train.”

Leroy sped up, and within ten or so minutes, I could see the train with my own eyes. They filled with tears—I was starting to feel relieved.

“I don’t know how you plan to jump on that thing,” Leroy said. “If you ask me, it’s moving mighty fast. You may have to wait until it slows down a bit. It slows down sometimes.”

“Fast, slow, I don’t care. I’ll get on it for sure. You can pull over and let me out. Tell me what address to use so I can get some money to you. I’m a man of my word, and I promise I’ll send you something for helping me.”

Leroy threw his hand back and unlocked the door. “I sholl appreciate that, I really do. Open the glove compartment and get me a piece of paper out of there so I can write my info on it. I think I already got a pen in my pocket.”

As he lifted up to get the pen, I opened the glove compartment. The light came on inside, and as I quickly searched for a piece of paper, I saw something else inside that immediately grabbed my attention. It was a gold nugget ring that displayed the initials PL in bold. My heart dropped to my stomach. I swallowed another lump that was lodged in my throat. And right after I pulled a piece of paper from the glove compartment, I reached over to give it to Leroy, without looking at him. I was so nervous that the paper shook in my hand.

“He . . . Here you go,” I said. “Write it on there.”

He removed the paper from my hand. As he started to write, I eased my hand towards the doorknob so I could quickly open the door and get the hell out of his truck. The second I touched the knob, I felt him grab my arm.

“Doggone it,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to see it. I forgot about that stupid ring in there and—”

I pulled away from his grip and rushed out of the truck. As soon as my back turned, I was hit over the head by something that sent me crashing to the ground in a daze. I blinked several times to focus. All I saw was a blurred vision of Leroy standing over me with a crooked grin plastered on his face.

“Idiot,” he said, before lifting his foot, then stomping it hard on my face.