Envious Moon(34)

In a small town I found a McDonald’s and pulled through the drive-through and got coffee and a sandwich. I ate on the road, which led me up and over soft rolling wooded hills. It was a nice day, sunny and mild. Now and again I looked at the map, but mostly I just drove. I liked driving, I decided, especially on a nice day. The truth was I didn’t really know where I was going. I knew where her school was but I had no idea if she would be there. I had no idea when school started and my worst fear was that because of all that had happened, that Hannah might have changed plans somehow. But Miss Watson’s was all I had to hang my hat on, and from the map it looked like I would be crossing practically the whole state of Connecticut to get there.

I drove through small farm towns that looked like they could have been anywhere. And then through towns with greens where all the old houses seemed to be white and the churches were too. Then into the glass towers of Hartford and back out again. Crossing the Connecticut River and back to small towns, more woods and hilly land. And finally, in the late afternoon, I drove down the country highway and into the town of Lincoln, home of Miss Watson’s.

I don’t know what I expected but there wasn’t much to the place. The land was pretty, I’ll say that. Mountainous compared to what I was used to. Narrow roads and steep hills. Tons of woods. But beyond that the town seemed to consist of this one road, a few stores, nice older homes right on the road, and then the school itself, a mass of brick buildings on both sides of it, surrounded by open fields and forest. I decided I would just drive by the school the first time. I slowed down passing it and the place seemed empty. In front of one of the buildings I did see a police car and this got me worried that maybe they figured out this was where I was heading. The car looked empty, though. But I didn’t see any students, or any people at all, other than one fat guy cutting grass on a riding mower and an older couple walking a dog.

It was still August. I figured school had not started yet, but I knew it wouldn’t be long. I needed a place to hunker down and wait. I needed to be patient.

I drove past the school and several towns away, on the same rural highway, I came upon a campground. It cost five bucks a night and had showers and bathrooms and the guy running the office showed zero interest in me. He barely looked up when I paid in advance for a week. There were a few other people camping there, but mostly it was empty. I picked a spot deep in the back and against the woods and next to a small brook. It could not be seen from any of the campsites in use. I didn’t have a tent and the last thing I needed was someone raising questions about me. I was too close for that to happen.





In the mornings I drove those winding roads to the nearest good-sized town, Litchfield, and I ate either McDonald’s or Burger King and then I drove by the school to see if anything was happening. The place was deserted. Occasionally someone who looked like a janitor or a maintenance person was walking around but that was it. No students that I could see. There was also no sign of the police car I had seen the first time I drove by and this made me feel better. No doubt half of Rhode Island was looking for me, but they hadn’t figured to look here yet. Though perhaps that was only because Hannah had not arrived.

With my one piece of work taken care of, I had nothing to do but kill time. Once I went to a matinee movie at the theater in Litchfield, which took up most of the afternoon, but I knew I couldn’t do that every day. There weren’t a lot of Portuguese boys my age in that town and like on Cross Island, I stood out. The rest of the days were interminable, to tell you the truth. I sat around my campsite and thought about home, and about Hannah, and about everything that had happened. I bought some firewood from the camp office and at night I built a fire and at least this was something to look at. I’d watch the burning logs for hours, stirring the coals with a long stick. I wished I had some beer or wine but I didn’t. I smoked cigarettes until I got so tired there was nothing left to do but curl up on my bedroll and go to sleep.

My third day there, I returned back to the campground to discover that the campsite closest to me was now occupied. It was through some thin poplars and also next to the brook. Parked there was a rusty pickup truck and one of those small popup campers in front of which, on a lawn chair, sat an old man with gray hair as long as a woman’s. It came down either side of his face and partway down his chest. He had an ample belly. It wasn’t even noon yet, but he had an open can of beer and a cigarette. He waved to me when I pulled up and I waved back. I got out of the car and stood at my meager site trying to figure out what to do about this guy who would soon know that I didn’t have a tent. That I was sleeping on the ground or in my car. I didn’t know much about camping, but the one thing I knew is that no one slept on the ground intentionally. You were on the run from something, most likely, and were probably someone to be avoided.

And as I stood next to the brook thinking this, the old man called to me. I didn’t hear what he said but I knew he was addressing me. I turned and looked at him through the small trees and he was raising his can of beer at me. I heard him clearly now. He said, “Have a beer.”

I wasn’t one to drink in the morning but I also didn’t know how to say no to that. I walked through the trees to his campsite and when he saw me coming he stood and climbed into his small camper. I didn’t know what to do so I stopped but a moment later he emerged and he had another lawn chair.

“Come on, sit down,” he said. He had a deep voice, gruff-sounding but friendly enough. I went over to him and was going to shake his hand but he just motioned at the chair. It was only about a foot away from him and facing the same way, toward my campsite, so that to look at him, I had to turn sideways. He handed me a beer and said, “I’m Terrence.”