The Other Way Around (15 page)

“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.

The next morning Tim nudges me awake with his foot. He puts a finger to his lips and gestures toward the van door, which he opens without making a sound. I shake the sleep out of my head, pull on my clothes, and follow him outside.

“Secret mission,” he says when we're well enough away from the van. “Sausage, egg, and cheese.”

“Gross man. I'm not eating that out of a dumpster.”

He shakes his head. His trademark spiky hairdo is flattened from sleeping, and his boxers billow out the top of his pants. “No need, brother. My treat. In exchange for your silence.” We walk a couple blocks from the Louisville Walmart parking lot, where we slept for the night, and there are the golden arches. The trademark smell of grease fills the air. “You know, McDonald's manufactures those smells. They actually have to add the chemical smell to the food so all the food smells exactly the same no matter where you are in the country.”

I wave my hand at Tim to get him to shut up. “Just let me enjoy it, okay?” And I do enjoy it. We sit and silently scarf down two egg, sausage, and cheese biscuits each, some hash browns, and ice-cold Coca-Cola. It's kind of disgusting how much I enjoy it. Afterwards we're both just slumped there in the booth in
a self-induced salt and fat coma. “So I take it you're not really a vegan?” I say.

“Nah.” Tim shakes his head. “I mean, I see their point at all. It's better to eat less meat, lower impact and all that. And I don't mind eating veggie when I'm on the road with these guys. But I just can't give it up altogether, especially not pork product, man. I love me some bacon and sausage.” He smacks his lips, and we both sit there silent again for a while. I watch as a very pregnant woman balances a tray in one hand while holding the hand of a squirming toddler in the other. “I guess we should head back,” Tim finally says after the breakfast club of octogenarians clears out of the table behind us.

“Yeah, I guess so. What are you going to tell everyone about where we went?”

“Dunno. I figured we'd hit the Stop and Shop dumpster next door on our way back and come back with provisions.”

“Okay,” I say, and haul myself up and out of the booth.

The supermarket dumpster turns out to be a real jackpot. Tim hoists himself up inside and tosses back promising-looking bags for me to pick through. The first such bag yields several bottles of Fresh and Fruity all-natural smoothies. They are due to expire today, but they're still cold from the cooler. I pull these out and set them on the ground. The next bag doesn't have anything useable, or if it did, it it's now coated in an exploded container of cheese dip. A third bag produces several crushed boxes of Rice and Spice mix. The cardboard is ripped, but inside the plastic packages are intact. It's turning out to be a pretty good haul when we're interrupted by a guy with big chops and a gruff voice poking his head out of the store. “Hey, what do you think you're doing?” he shouts.

“Liberating you from the excesses of capitalism, man,” Tim says. It wouldn't have been my first response, and the guy with the chops doesn't seem to know what to make of it either.

“You can't be in there. That's private property.”

Tim sighs like the guy has uncovered the obvious, but he makes his way to the edge of the dumpster like he's going to get out. “There's no law against going through the trash,” he says. “Your store was throwing this out. It's not like we're stealing or anything.”

The guy squints at us, like he's trying to put it all together. “We got plenty of stuff inside,” he says. “Why don't y'all just come in and buy something here? Can't have you in the dumpster though. Can't imagine we've got insurance on that.”

Tim hops down with another big sigh. “Thanks anyway, man.” The guy doesn't say anything when we collect the stuff I've already set aside, but he watches to make sure we leave and waits until we're out of the parking lot before he disappears back into the store.

“So, Andrew,” Tim draws my name into a deep breath in my face. “Do I smell like sausage?”

I recoil at his warm breath in my face. “No, mostly you smell like dumpster.”

“Good, because I wouldn't want Emily to give me the meatolyzer.” We both snicker as Tim describes a make-believe device that would flag and capture vegetarians when they fell off the wagon. When we get back to the van everyone's excited about the juice and the other stuff we got. No one even asks why we were up and out early.

***

Once we get going it's a long day of driving from Louisville to Nashville and then on to Memphis. We stop the van so the Freegans can perform in Nashville, but they barely bring in enough to cover a tank of gas. Lyle wants to try another spot, but he's outvoted by everyone else who would rather move on to Memphis. It's another three and a half hours on the road, and by the time we pull into Memphis everyone is ready to get out of the van for a while. It's too late to set up for a show, so we decide to split up again and scout the area. This time I'm with Jesse. We wander the streets in the main tourist area until we end up at the Beale Street Landing on the banks of the Mississippi River.

“Have you ever seen it before?” I ask Jesse.

He nods. “I've been across a couple times on road trips. But you know, it's funny. I don't think I ever got out of the car and really stood next to it. That's something different, you know?”

“Yeah, it's browner than I thought it would be.” The water flowing past us is a deep coffee color. Jesse doesn't seem to be in any real rush to leave, so we just stand there for a while, taking in the sunset and the crisp air next to the riverbank. “Do you think you'll go back to school?” I ask him after a while.

“No, too much money,” he says.

“So what do you think you'll do?” Going to college has always been a part of any future I ever discussed with my parents.

“I'm not sure,” Jesse says. “My grams had to sell my dad's house, and pretty much everything inside it, when he died to pay off what he owed in college loans and back taxes. But there's some land she was able to hang on to. I might try and see what
I could grow on it. You know, a small operation—organic and all that. It's just an idea. I really like the idea of being able to support myself, live off what I can grow and all that.”

“Do you know how to do that stuff?”

“A little bit.” Jesse smiles. “Actually a buddy of mine from school has an older brother with a small place not too far from here in Arkansas. It's not exactly on the way, but I was thinking we might swing by and pay him a visit. See if we can work on the farm in exchange for food for a couple days. I'd like to see what he's got going for crops and livestock.”

“That sounds cool,” I say.

Jesse laughs quietly and looks down at his shoes. “You're a pretty open-minded guy, Andrew.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I don't know too many sixteen-year-old guys who would think becoming a farmer or traveling around in a van with a bunch of hippies is cool.”

I think about this for a while as we walk back to the van. I've been called a lot of things before: emo, goth, gay, lazy, an underachiever, apathetic, but never open-minded. Emily said it too. I decide I kind of like it.
I'm open-minded.
I try it on in my mind like a hat or a new piece of clothing. It seems to fit. I try and imagine telling this to Mom and Dad.
I ran away and learned that I'm really open-minded.
I can see their faces; Dad looking confused and Mom just disappointed.
It's not enough. Even I know that on some level.

Everyone's back at the van but Lyle. He and Tim apparently got separated when Tim stopped to record some street musicians. “We're going to have to be on top of our game to make some money around here,” he says. “Those guys were good.” Emily
and G found a spot called Court Square they like for performing the next day. Emily has the camp stove out and is boiling water for some spaghetti. I'm rooting through the plastic bags, looking for a box of pasta, when the phone rings. It's such an unfamiliar noise that we all stop and stare at one another.

“I thought your phone was dead,” G says.

“It is,” I say. “That's not my ring.” Everyone starts rummaging through the clothes, bags, and books on the van floor to find the source of the mechanical ringtone. Emily finds it first: a phone buried underneath a pile of dirty socks and long underwear. She shrugs her shoulders and flips it open.

“Hello? Who? No, I'm sorry, there's no Carter here. Up with People? Lady, I think you have the wrong number.”

Suddenly a very pale Lyle is standing behind her. He grabs the phone from her hand and walks away from the van, but not before we hear him say, “Hi, Mom. No, sorry, that was some stupid kid on the trip.”

No one says anything, but we're all trying hard to go about our business quietly and simultaneously look like we're not trying to eavesdrop. I see Jesse and G exchange a look, and I wonder if they knew more about Lyle than they've been letting on. After a few minutes Lyle is back with a tense, confrontational look on his face. “What was that all about?” Emily asks. “Since when do you have a cell phone? And who on Earth is Carter Delisle?”

“That's what my parents call me,” Lyle answers gruffly.

“I thought you didn't speak to your parents,” Emily says.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Tim interrupts. “You guys are both from Burlington right?” Emily nods, but Lyle doesn't say anything. “And you're a Delisle? Like
the
Delisles?
Like the ones who own Delisle Paper and like half the forest in Northern Vermont.”

Lyle's face has gone from ghost white to beet red. “It's not
me
,” he stresses. “It's my mother's family, and I don't have anything to do with them anymore.”

“Except when they call you on your secret cell phone,” Emily snipes.

“Take it easy, Emily,” Jesse says softly.

“Don't tell me what to do. Maybe you don't care that he's been lying to us. But I do. What the hell is Up with People anyways?”

“They're like student ambassadors around the world,” I offer. “They visit people in other countries and share their culture and stuff. We had some kids from Nigeria and Ghana visit our school at the beginning of the year.”

“So your parents think you're some kind of student ambassador?” Emily's voice is bitter. “That's rich! I can't believe you said you ran away. Do your parents send you care packages too?”

The whole thing is awful. Lyle looks mortified, and I can't even look at him or G, because it's a little sickening how much Lyle's life sounds like an echo of mine.

“I only told them that so they wouldn't send the police after me or some private detective. As long as I check in every few weeks, they don't care. They don't really care where I am anyway as long as I'm out of their hair.”