Every time you leave a comment, a child learns to read

The eighteen-wheeler pulled into the truck stop off of I-15 and applied the airbrakes. The passenger door swung open and a young girl jumped out, waved a thank you to the driver and walked toward Las Vegas. She had a small backpack thrown over one shoulder of her denim jacket. All she had.

The driver had been a nice enough guy. He had picked her up along a stretch in Utah and enjoyed the company. He said that he had a daughter back in Memphis and that he couldn’t imagine seeing her walking the roads out west at her age. When they pulled into Vegas he handed her forty dollars from his beat up wallet, and though she objected at first, both knew that she needed it more than he did. Plus, he thought the money would sooth his conscience for leaving such a naïve creature on the doorstep of Sin City.

She walked most of the morning through the boarded up streets northeast of the strip thumbing the button holes on her jacket which was now in her hands and wiping the sweat from her brow, the desert sun turning her shoulders red. She met the few cat calls and periodic requests for change with downcast eyes and silence. She was scared. This is not what she had come out west for. The girl checked into a rundown 50’s motel that was half vacant.

“You eighteen?” the desk clerk asked as he wiped some crumbs off of his stained wife beater t-shirt.

“Yes”, she replied without giving eye contact.

“Uh huh” he said as he slid the key to her and snatched up the twenty dollar bill she laid on the table. She went to room 7. Lucky number she thought. She took a shower and pulled out a shirt from her backpack. It was dirty, but still cleaner than the one she wore on the way in. She would have to find a laundrymat, but the thought of spending money from her dwindling supply on clean clothes seemed like an extravagance that she could not afford. The girl dried her hair as best she could with her towel, and though it was only early afternoon, she curled up on the bed and fell asleep.

She was awoken the next day by a pounding on the door. How long had she slept? She looked at the clock and it was half past noon. The pounding continued,

“You dead in there? You only paid for one night! You get out now!”

She ran around the room collecting her things and hustled out the door.

“You need another night?” the clerk asked.

“No, I don’t have the money.”

“I’m sure we could work something out,” he said looking her up and down. Her heart rose to her throat and the combination of fear and loathing almost made her vomit. She turned and kept on walking out to the street as fast as she could.

The girl’s stomach roared, so she found a diner and stepped inside. She walked to a booth and sat down looking over the menu. A middle aged woman came over in a classic “Mel’s Diner” uniform and looked her over.

“My my, you look like you’ve been through some things” she said tapping her pad of paper. “What can I get you?”

“Some toast, and some water.”

“You need more than that honey. I’ll get you something good.” Within minutes the girl was staring down a full plate of pancakes, sausage, toast, and a tall glass of orange juice. She scarfed it down quickly as if someone would come and steal it before she was done.

“How much will that be?”

“Don’t worry honey, I got it. You want anything else?”

“Coffee?”

“Sure thing.” She sat in the empty booth drumming her fingers and sipping her coffee while lost in a daydream. She paid little attention to the people coming and going from the diner, and did not notice the man who sat down in the table next to her, nor did she seem to notice his constant eyeing of her. He ordered his food and began to eat but kept his eyes on her. Coming to, she glanced over at him.

“Can I help you with something?” she barked sarcastically.

“Naw, don’t think so. Just wondering what runaway story you got.”

“I’m not a runaway”

“Uh huh. You planned on moving to the streets of Vegas?”

“I’m on my way to LA. Just passing through.”

“How you getting there? You walking?”

She ignored him and looked out the window. She thought the conversation had ended when he sat down in the booth across from her. He brought his plate with him and kept on eating.

“You need a ride somewhere?”

“No” she shot back and got up to leave. He grabbed her wrist and she sat back down. Fear shot through her veins as she stared at the man across from her. His green sepian eyes were motionless, resting in their sunken sockets.

“Listen missy. I ain’t done nothing for you to be rude. I’m just trying to help. This city can get pretty mean. The bus stop is way across town. It’s a long walk.” His tone was soothing but firm. She thought about the fix she was in. Running low on money and coming from the motel with the creepy clerk had put her on edge. Perhaps she was being over reactive. Maybe this guy just wanted to help. The trucker from Utah was like that, but his Santa Claus appearance squashed any reservation she had had. This man across from her now confused her. He was dirty, some might say greasy, but he appeared to be genuinely concerned.

Her shoulders eased. “alright, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. Now, Helen here can vouch for me,” he said, pointing to the waitress behind the counter who continued on with her work not noticing the conversation between her two customers. “She knows I ain’t no crazy man. I just don’t want to get home tonight and see your face on tv.”

“Alright,” she whispered.

He scooped another fork full of scrambled eggs into his mouth and chewed slowly. She watched him eat, studying his face. Back home she thought she was a great discerner of people. She would be at the mall with her girlfriends and would come up with back stories for the hapless shopper who crossed her gaze: That one is a trophy wife, that one is a banker but secretly spends all his money on porn, that one hates his life.

But since coming out west her powers had become unreliable. There was a clerk in Iowa who stole her change saying that she only gave him a 5 when she knew she had handed him a 10. There was the bus driver in Denver who wouldn’t open the door for her until he got a real good look at her backside. There was the motel guy who still creeped her out an hour later. And now here sat a black haired mechanic looking local who she could not peg.

As he continued eating she watched his hand move with the fork from the plate to his mouth and back again. She could see in the webbing of his hand between his thumb and index finger a blob of ink. Probably a tattoo poorly done. It captured her gaze as she tried to make out what the image was. He stopped eating and put his hand on the table palm down.

“Looks ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

“What?” she said coming out of her daze.

“This tat?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Uh huh. Suppose to be a spider. Word to the wise missy, don’t let some half blind and half crazy old man pin you down and ink you. It never comes out good.”

She laughed a small laugh and he smiled, exposing teeth weatherd by Pall Malls. Her defenses were slowly lowering as the guy across from her finished his breakfast. He seemed alright, in that hick hillbilly way.

“How much money you got?”

“A bit.”

“Prob’ly not enough, huh? Let’s get over to the bus station and see how much it is to LA.” He stood up and walked to the door. “Come on now, the invite doesn’t last all day.”

Trepidation still lingered inside her. Sitting in a diner with a stranger was one thing. Getting into his car violated everything her mother ever taught her. She thought about the woman back home who was probably sitting in her daughter’s room right this minute crying over her vagabond child. No, she could not go home now. It would smother her. She looked up at the man and decided, no matter how reckless, the only way was forward.

She got up out of the booth and followed him outside. He opened the side door of an old black pick up truck and helped her get in. He slammed the door and walked over to his side. She eyed him as he walked around the front of the truck looking for the tell tale signs of a sexual criminal or molester as if he would wear it on his clothes. He got in and fired up the truck.

“Okay, let’s get you taken care of.”