Return of the Runaway

Last I'd seen her, she had her gun pointed straight at my forehead, sure that my intentions were bad. No man had ever treated her that well-not without wanting something in return. The girl didn't get far before the town sheriff recognized the unusually erratic driving of my 84' Chevy. Tom called me personally to ask about the stolen vehicle, to which I had replied that it was mine to give, and hers to have. I figured that was that. Five years now gone by and here she stood at my doorstep handing me her gun. She hadn't observed the rule the first time, but she knew my policy, guns in, people out.

"May I come in?" She asked. I would hardly have recognized the shapely woman before me, compared with the haggard, wet anorexic tomboy of before, but I guess staring at possible death left a lasting impression. Her voice was steady, determined: no more fidgeting hands or darting focus. She held a look of more confidence now, but those were certainly the same beautiful doe eyes that had once been so scared and vulnerable with which my fixed eyes pled for mercy. I remembered how she looked soaked and trembling in the cold of the steady rain, demanding the keys to my truck, somehow more pathetic than me who willingly would have given her whatever else she may have needed.

It's not like I had the best feeling about picking up a hitch hiker to begin with, but it was in the middle of a hailstorm-miles from any town-that I came across this fourteen year old haggard runaway, who answered nothing of her past, little of her present, and appeared to have nothing of a future. We sat parked under a farmer's open barn for nearly an hour, mostly in silence, until the hail pelting the ground turned to rain. She definitely needed someone to take pity on her that night, but I have often wondered many times since how much good, if any, could have, or did come from it.

Today she was a nineteen year old, just finishing her first year of college as it were. She had pulled up in a modest Mazda 626 rather than the beater of a pickup truck she had left with. Shiny gorgeous wavy locks of red swayed across her shoulders over a familiar yellow dress, as she proceeded in to my living room to tell me about where life had taken her. There was a bounce in her step and a thrill in her voice at the possibilities that were ahead. She gingerly stepped free of a pair of raised heel sandals as she stepped into my home.

Back then she was going nowhere. She didn't care where I dropped her off when we finally arrived in town, and it was evident she hadn't arranged anywhere to go. She wouldn't even tell me her name, though I gathered she had fled far away from anyone who would have known her anyway. It didn't seem like too much to offer her something to eat. I drove her over to a local diner, but the closed sign hung for the night, a "hostess wanted" paper taped onto its lower edge. While taking her to my home was probably not the smartest idea, I had promised her a cooked meal and told her I wanted to see to it that she got one. She must have been real hungry because she didn't refuse my offer altogether, but she was obviously uncomfortable. She kept her distance from me as best she could while sure to keep a good eye on me at all times, somehow managing to always face me, even when scurrying past me through the front door. I understood how she might not want to part from any of her belongings and this is where I explained where guns belonged, but I told her she wouldn't have to remove her shoes or coat if she didn't want to, although I still let her know that she could feel comfortable using the front closet to stow them there if she wanted. She declined, on account of not wanting to stay too long, so I figured the best I might be able to do for her was to make some microwave dinners and send her on her way.

"How long has it been since you had a shower?" I asked her. Seated at my kitchen table, she shrugged, all the while watching the storm blow the trees around outside the window. "You know I could make something really quick, but that storm is not likely to die down anytime soon. I might as well take the time to make up something good. Meanwhile, you could put your clothes through the laundry. And I'm sure I could find a clean towel in this mess if you did want to take a shower." Seems silly, thinking back on my rambling, how I was somewhat embarrassed by my place not being presentable for her company. Joking about it didn't exactly loosen her up though. I remember well how she hesitated, looked at her muddy hiking pack in the chair next to her, and then without raising her eyes gave an uncertain nod that barely shook her hoody.

I led her to the laundry room where she dumped all of her darks and whites together into the washing machine. Asking her if that was how she always did it seemed kind of pointless. From the linen closet I grabbed a towel and handed it to her. "How long have you been on your own?" I asked her.

"I thought you said you lived alone." She clutched her hiking pack close to her chest.

"Yeah that's right. It's just me here," I told her, questioning her with a goofy puzzled expression.

"Whose dress then?" She pointed to a yellow white-laced fabric with green ribbon tied in a bow at the waistline hanging from within the opened closet. It was the first time she had smiled about anything.

I paused. "Um, it was my sister's. She's gone now." I concealed the dress back behind the closet door, securely shutting it in.

"I'm sorry." The girl bowed her head.

"Why? It's not like it's your fault." I spoke gruffly, then with eased countenance I sighed. "Sorry, I need to get rid of that dress." I re-opened the closet, pulled the dress free from its hangar and handed it to her. "Maybe you could use it."

"You mean I can have it?" The girl exclaimed, surprising even herself with her own exuberance, a glint of hope flashing through her eyes. "I mean, only if you really want me to," she said timidly.

"Promise me you'll interview with the diner for their hostess position and it's yours."

She looked down at the floor.

"Look, you're going to need a job, and not many positions hire fourteen year olds. You do a good job and in a couple years you could be making good money as a waitress."

"What are you my father?" She had found her voice, and then spoke underneath her breath again. "He never really cared for me."

"What do you plan on doing with yourself?" I asked. She didn't answer. I handed her another set of clothes-pants and a tee shirt. "You'll need something to wear while your clothes are drying."

As I exited she whispered her thanks.

"Would you like something to eat," I asked the grown up lady sitting across from me now.

It was surreal catching up with Tammy; after all, it was only just barely that she had revealed her name to me for the first time.

"You didn't have any pictures on your wall before," Tammy announced during an awkward pause. She got up from the couch to get a closer look.

Still unsure why she had come, I acknowledged the implied question. "It got me into some trouble too, if you remember correctly."

"Yes, about that: I'm so sorry about everything, Mr. Givens. I was so scared! I've wanted to apologize ever since. I felt so bad. Are there only pictures of you and your sister? I don't see any of your parents?"

"You can call me James. I'm only twenty-nine, after all."

"Why did you do it?" Tammy asked.

"Do what?" I asked.

"Everything! You let me have your truck! Why?"

"I guess I figured you needed it more than me."

"So you're independently wealthy. It was like no big deal for you?"

"No, I actually had to ride my bike to a bus station for a couple years to get to work."

"See, I knew it. Who does that? I acted like the world owed me something and you paid for it."

"Your hair reminded me of my sister." I stared blankly at no particular spot in the room.

"What do you mean? Your sister has long beautiful flowing brown hair in these pictures. My father butchered mine to break my spirit."

I had only briefly seen her hair that fated night, when I insisted she remove her knitted hat for the dinner prayer, but she had it covered up almost as quickly as she shoveled food into her frail frame.

"What happened to her?" Tammy's voice interrupted the memory. She walked away from the pictures on the wall and came and knelt by my side. She held my hand in hers. "Will you tell me about her?"

"Our parents couldn't stay off drugs long enough, between jail stays, to be deemed fit for us kids. Kara and I were raised by foster care for the better part of our lives. We were moved from one home to another, sometimes together, sometimes not." Tammy sat up next to me on the couch. "Kara was older, braver. They promised they'd take her away the next morning, but they couldn't promise no other foster dad would hit her again. She chopped her hair so she'd look tougher, more like a boy. She ran away that night. I never saw her again."

"Maybe like me, she ran into someone along the way who rescued her from that." Tears streamed down Tammy's cheek. "I wished I had known that about you. It's just that I thought. Well, I thought-"

"You thought you ought to shoot me for being a dirty old man," I laughed.

"Well, it's not like you had any decorations, or remembrances on your wall: hardly any furniture, and you could have used a maid. What was I supposed to think?"

"Naturally," I joked. "So you couldn't just think I was the average bachelor."

"That was the problem," Tammy laughed, "I thought you were an average guy. There was no way I was staying the night no matter how stormy or how tired I was." She studied my understanding expression. "You have to admit your place feels much more like a home now."

"Yeah, if you hadn't come by, I may have never known how much you helped me," I said, in a somewhat snide tone like I used to use with my sister.

"I can't tell when you're teasing me, but I do owe you my thanks." Tammy pulled a key from her purse and dropped it into my lap. My boyfriend parked it around back. Sorry if you were partial to 84' Chevy trucks; this truck's brand new. Waitresses really can make good money, with good tips, and a lot of overtime. Oh, and a boyfriend who won't let me pay for a meal. He's probably wondering what's taking me so long, so I probably should get going."

"I don't know what to say." I got to my feet, turning the key over and over in my hand.

Tammy gave me a hug before she departed. "I can't replace your sister, but I'll be back to visit as long as you want me to keep in touch."

I told her I'd like that and waved my good-bye long after her car pulled out of view.