A Different Blue(23)

a prone position. He managed to splash a little water into his mouth but did not drink with the

gusto one would expect from a dog so clearly in need of water. He tried to stand, but now that

he was down he couldn't seem to find the strength to rise to his feet. I tried to support him as

he attempted to drink again.

“Where's Jimmy, Icas?” I questioned as his body trembled and he slumped to the dirt. He looked

at me mournfully and closed his bleary eyes. He whined pathetically and then was silent. Several

times throughout the day, I thought Icas was dead. He was so still I had to get close and check

to see if he was breathing. I couldn't rouse him to eat or drink.

I waited for two more days. The water in the camper tank was almost gone. I still had food.

Jimmy and I were frugal, and there were weeks at a time between trips to the store. But we were

frequently on the move, and we had been in this spot for a week before Jimmy had disappeared.

What finally forced me into going for help was Icas. He ate a little bit and drank a little

more, but he was lethargic and whined softly when he was conscious, as if he knew something he

was unable to communicate. On the morning of the third day, I picked up the dog and hoisted him

into the truck. Then I climbed up behind the wheel, scooting the seat as far forward as it would

go. I left Jimmy a note on the little table in the camper kitchen. If he came back, I didn't

want him to think I'd run away and taken all his tools. I didn't dare leave them behind. If

someone happened along our campsite, I knew the lock on the door wouldn't keep anyone out, and

if the tools were taken, there would be no more carving. No more carving meant no more food.

[page]There was a twenty dollar bill in the ashtray. It seemed like a lot of money to a kid. I

knew how to drive the truck, but I struggled to see over the steering wheel. I grabbed the

pillow from the bench that folded down into my narrow bed each night. Sitting on it gave me just

enough height to see the road beyond the wheel. Once I was out of the quiet canyon we had been

camped in, I narrowly missed colliding with several cars. My driving experience didn't extend to

driving among other vehicles. I didn't know where I was going, but I figured if I stopped at any

gas station and told them my dog was sick and my dad was missing, someone would help me.

I managed to keep the truck going in a straight line, but it wasn't long after I'd started

seeing homes crop up in ever increasing patches that flashing blue and red lights pulled up

behind me. I didn't know what to do. So I just kept driving. I tried pushing the gas pedal down

harder, thinking maybe I could speed up and get away. That didn't work very well. Plus, the

truck started to shake the way it always did when Jimmy tried to push it to go faster. I slowed

down and thought maybe if I went really slow the police car would just pass me by. I slowed way

down, and the police car came up beside me. The man behind the wheel looked angry and waved at

me with his whole arm, as if telling me to scoot over. I scooted and came to a rumbling stop.

Another car with flashing lights came speeding toward me from the other direction.

I screamed, now convinced that I had made a terrible mistake. Icas didn't even stir. I comforted

him anyway. “It's okay, boy, it's okay. I'm just a kid. I don't think I will go to prison.” I

wasn't entirely sure of that, but I said it all the same. No reason to make Icas worry.