The hot noonday sun beat down upon his face, causing sweat to start beading upon his brow. His eyes were slats in his weathered face; creased, wrinkled, scarred, and defiant. His gaze roamed around aimlessly and drifted upward to the sky, where he gave a start and froze. The sky was crowned with triple strand concertina wire. Where fluffy white clouds should have been were instead tightly coiled rings of razors, wound tight and silent, reflecting the bright afternoon sun. He blinked in disbelief, the image not fading away, then lowered his gaze to the horizon and slowly shook his head.
“I guess there is no escape,” he thought. “Out of one prison and into another. Condemned to live, on permanent parole. At least this cell is bigger.”
The words of the deputy that dropped him off returned. “If I were you I wouldn’t stay around here long. If our paths cross again I promise you’ll never spend another day as a free man. I’ll personally see to it.”
He didn’t know what kind of freedom the deputy spoke of. He had never been free a single day of his 44 years.
“There’s good work in North Dakota, in them oil fields and everything,” the deputy continued. “Play your cards right and you can make some decent money, though they’ll work you like a dog.”
The farms flew by as they sped down the road. The corn stood still and the air was dead. All living things were seeking refuge from the oppressive summer heat.
“You can probably catch the last Greyhound out if you can get yourself a ride to the station.”
As they pulled up to the Wal-Mart, the deputy looked at him for a moment in the rear view mirror.
“I would wish you the best but scum like you deserve the worst. Get out.”
With that warm farewell finished, the former inmate opened his door and stepped out into the bright sun, all worldly possessions inside a worn out duffel bag in his hand. He stood there for several minutes watching the road where the car had disappeared. This was the moment he had been waiting for for the last 12 years. Day after agonizing day, night after sleepless night. It was a moment that truly seemed like it would never arrive. And now he was here, outside a Wal-Mart right off the interstate, and it was not the joyful feeling of relief he had hoped for. Instead it felt like a transfer. He felt on edge and tense, like a hunted animal. He could be out here, free, but he didn’t feel that way.
He looked down at the clothes he was wearing. They were the same ones he put into his inventory bag that had disappeared into some musty storage locker 12 long years ago. Faded jeans splotched with paint and spackle, and a worn out shirt from a building materials supply company that had gone out of business years ago. Thinking some new clothes would help begin the transition process, he began walking across the parking lot to the front door.
Halfway across the parking lot, a car horn blared and jarred him out of his thoughts. He started up and the man behind the windshield threw up his hands and was shouting something inaudible over the racket of the engine. The walk felt like an eternity and a sense of dread came over him as he approached the front door.
A woman pushing a shopping cart with a small child in it approached the door at almost the same time. They both stopped, then he motioned to her with his hand that she should go first. She smiled at him and nodded her head, disappearing through the entrance. That was the first time someone had smiled at him in 12 years without there being some kind of sinister motive behind it. He stood there for a moment reflecting on the magnitude of this gesture then walked inside.
A wall of cold air enveloped him as soon as he stepped through the door. Looking around the store put him into a daze. The sheer number of products available to purchase was staggering. The building felt crowded though only a few shoppers milled about.
Finding the clothing section was like wandering through a maze. He thought about asking an employee for help but didn’t want to have that conversation. It felt strange to be making choices for himself. No choice feels genuine when you are incarcerated. Every act occurs in an alternate reality where you are dispossessed of almost all of your most basic human attributes so as to facilitate the smooth operation of a system where protest and pity fall upon deaf ears. This system was set in motion long before you arrived, and would endure long after you were gone, perhaps until the end of time, or so he thought. It was time to learn how to live again, and this could be done with a size L shirt instead of the 3XL that had belonged to someone else.
His arms full of clothes and other items, he made his way up to the register. In front of him in line a woman unloaded items from her cart onto the conveyor belt. It looked like she was planning a cookout. She confirmed this thought by turning around and asking him “Do you think it will rain today?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He tested out a smile but wasn’t sure if it had worked. It must have because she smiled back and nodded her head in agreement.
“How’s it going today?” The employee looked up for a moment from scanning items and briefly made eye contact as he asked the question.
“Pretty good, how about you?”
“Not bad, can’t complain.”
He walked back outside and had to squint from the sun. Although the heat was still burning everything in sight, it felt familiar and good to be back outside. He sat down on a bench out front and thought about how he would get to the bus station. He didn’t even know which one to take or where he needed to go; anywhere but here was fine. Maybe North Dakota made sense. People can start over anywhere, he thought.
He looked out into the parking lot and heard the crank but unsuccessful starting of an engine. A half ton pickup truck with the hood open sat not far away and a woman was leaning over the engine, inspecting something. He decided to go over and help. As he drew closer he recognized her as the same woman with the small child who he had met at the front door earlier. The kindness of that smile still rested upon his mind.
She looked up and remembered him from earlier as well.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” she frowned, lost in thought. “I just replaced the alternator, battery, and spark plugs recently, and the oil should still be good for awhile. Old trucks,” she said, shaking her head in amusement and disapproval.
He nodded and mulled the situation over. “Alright if I take a look?”
“Go right ahead. There’s tools in the bed if you need any. I’m going to take her inside the store because this heat is just too much right now.” On the passenger seat sat a baby carrier with a sun shade pulled over it.
She watched his hand disappear into one of the dark recesses of the engine from inside the Wal-Mart. Her daughter slept in her arms, her head resting against her mother’s shoulder. She could tell he had been inside-his mannerisms and general demeanor gave it away, along with the duffel bag. Several of the men in her family and friend group had also served time. The pain of their experiences made her empathetic and wary. Normally she wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with someone like him, owing to painful past experiences in her own life. But he was different, although it was hard to describe how. It seemed like that world and institution had not completely hardened over his heart and mind; there was still a spark of life left in him somewhere inside. That must be it, she thought. She watched as he dropped the hood shut and walked around to the driver’s side. He put his hand through the window and turned the key. The engine turned over for a moment before roaring to life.
“Thank you,” she said as she approached. “What was wrong?”
He stared at her for a moment then a half grin spread across his face, turning back the years on his countenance. The scars and defiance gave way to thoughtfulness and humor.
“Loose wire, of all things. Your truck’s good though. You do a real good job taking care of it. How many miles on there,” nodding toward the engine.
She thought for a moment. “Almost 300,000.”
He let out a low whistle and stood off to the side, ready to pick up his bag and leave. She began to pull out her wallet.
“Put that away,” as he waved his hand. “I mean, I appreciate it, but that’s not necessary.”
“Anything I can do in return?”
He was silent for a moment. “Maybe a ride to the bus station?”
“Yeah, definitely. When do you need to be there?”
“Before the last Greyhound to North Dakota leaves, whenever that is.”
She nodded, familiar with the schedules.
“You’ve got some time. Are you hungry? There’s a McDonald’s close to the station. We could swing by and grab something.”
He was really hungry. He hadn’t eaten that morning or the night before on account of all the nerves. McDonald’s sounded great.
“Yeah, that sounds good. I could eat.”
She smiled. “Hop in then,” jerking her head slightly towards the truck.
All three of them sat in the cab. She drove, her daughter was in the middle, and he sat on the end. They merged onto the interstate and the air felt slightly cooler as it blew through the windows and rustled around little pieces of paper on the dashboard. Cars, trucks, and tractor trailers rushed by and swarmed around them like a school of misfit fish. All were headed somewhere; one person’s somewhere was another person’s nowhere.
He looked down at her daughter, who, to his surprise, was looking up at him with wide open brown eyes, the characteristic expression of child-like wonder. He smiled at her and she smiled back. Then for some unknown reason, he stuck out his pinky finger near her and she reached out and grabbed onto it, holding on and pulling gently for a few moments.
When he looked up they were pulling into the drive-thru line. It was near dinner time and crowded. Cars were inching around the busy parking lot like shiny mechanical snails. Trigger happy drivers were quick to let off a blast of the horn. People crossed in between vehicles without so much as a glance.
“Get anything you want.” She emphasized the anything, sensing how hungry he was. “I’m buying.” The half grin reappeared and he nodded.
As they moved through the line, thoughts raced through his mind. He didn’t know where to go in North Dakota. He didn’t even know anyone at all in the state. Part of him wanted to remain in Iowa; be near some family and a couple friends. But staying felt like signing his own death warrant. It was then he realized he really did want to live, he just had to find a way back to that place. Something will come through, he thought.
They pulled into a parking spot and ate. He devoured the food and offered a silent prayer of thanks for the kindness of strangers. The radio was on a low volume and some forlorn country music from far away came through the speakers.
“The Greyhound station is right up the street.” She covered her mouth with her hand and finished chewing. “Let me know when you want to go.”
He nodded and opened the door. “I’ll be right back.”
She looked into the mirror as he walked into the McDonald’s and disappeared around a corner. As soon as he was out of sight, she went into her purse and took out her wallet. She pulled out several crisp bills and an old receipt, on which she scribbled her name and phone number and her brother’s name and phone number. He was the foremen of a crew of men at one of the drilling sites in North Dakota. He could hire him easily or likely knew someone who would. She folded the bills into the receipt and quickly got out of the truck and leaned into the bed. She slid his duffel bag over and in an outside zippered compartment, she tucked the contents into the pocket and got back into the cab. Several moments later he came back and climbed in.
The Greyhound station was little more than a plain brick building with a sign out front and some buses out back. The heat of the day had receded slightly and dusk was beginning to set in, casting shadows that crept out in all directions. She parked out front and turned off the engine. They sat in silence for a few moments then he spoke.
“Thanks for the ride.” He remembered the warmth of her smile and thought about it again.
“No problem. Thanks for fixing my truck.” She looked at her watch. It would soon be time for her to start getting ready for work. The sun was on its way down and its orange glow set the tops of the corn ablaze in an orange and red sheet of flame. She put her hand on his arm and they made eye contact, staring at each other for several moments.
“Be safe out there.” She spoke with the quiet sincerity of the heart. “There’s something for you in your bag, but please don’t look at it until you’re on the bus.” She punctuated her sentence by giving his arm a short but strong squeeze and now it was his turn to smile and nod.
An unexpected thought rushed in just then and caught him off guard. “Maybe she would want to go with me.” He thought about asking then dismissed it a moment later. “No, right now I have to go this alone. Get back on my feet and learn how to live again. That life is done, it’s behind me now. I’m going to bury it forever at the state line and never visit the grave again.”
He opened the door and got out. Leaning into the bed, he grabbed his bag and walked a few paces. He then turned for a moment to smile at her and threw up an arm. She waved and the engine roared to life. The truck slipped into gear and slowly eased out of the parking lot onto the road. For the second time that day he spent several minutes staring in the direction the tail lights had been. Then turning towards the station, he made his way inside.
The idling of the diesel engine of the bus was like the soft purring of some giant machine. He sat towards the back and waited patiently as the few passengers going boarded. The sun was down now and only the faintest glow of where it had once been remained. The bus began to inch forward gently and his journey was now underway. It merged from the on ramp to the highway and was for a time subsumed into the flows of traffic before these gradually began to fade away, until all that remained on the road was a pair of twin beams piercing the inky blackness of the night. He thought about what was in the bag and decided to take a look.
Outside the world was nothing but darkness save the headlights. The bus came to an intersection and the light was green. A few dozen yards off the road sat an abandoned movie theater and in the parking lot was a pickup truck with a man sitting on the tailgate, watching this Greyhound and the world flash by late at night. Each continued to maintain their long, silent vigil; standing post by gazing straight into the heart of Midwestern darkness.