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JUNO

April 1986

”Well?” the old man demands. He rests his arm on top of the window. He’s not laughing anymore, and maybe it’s because he’s gotten a good look at my facial expression. I see his wedding band visible on his ring finger, gleaming in the harsh sun. “Answer me.”

I freeze. I normally don’t spook easily. But I suddenly sense chills running down my back. I slip on my flip flops and try to reach for my knife, but I can’t move fast enough. He’s already getting out his car, reaching for his cane as he hobbles over to me. My eyes dart towards the empty seat. Before I can understand what I’m doing, I make my way around him and jump into the truck, which is filled to the brim with cigar smoke. My hands grip the steering wheel, and as I press down on the accelerator I can see him standing in the middle of the road, covered in a bellow smoke, shouting on the top of his lungs.

My breaths are shaky.

I don’t know where I am going. My map is missing, and I realized I must’ve dropped it on the side of the road. My mind is spinning as I go down one road after another, hitting curves between either seventy or eighty miles per hour. All of the thirst in my mouth has evaporated, gone up on the air. After what seems to be a thousand miles, I park at a gas station, just across the street from the People’s Drug Store. I finally slide out of the driver’s seat and sit on the baked pavement—the familiar wave of nausea coming over me.

I remain there for nearly the whole day. The sky grows darker with each passing minute as the heat starts to dwindle. I watch customers come and go at each gas pump. It’s like a dream, and intense shame washes over me. My eyes wander towards the phone booth, and I decide to call the cops and turn myself in. Just as I was about to grab the receiver with a shaky hand, the sudden sound of squealing tires catches my attention.

A white Subaru appears in front of me, stopping directly in front of the convenience store. The door to the driver’s side opens, and out storms a woman, probably in her early twenties. Her bulging stomach pushes through her white T-shirt hanging over her jeans, and thick fuzz covers her arms, decked in beaded bracelets. Her thick, curly black hair is tucked back underneath a colorful headband, and she has nose and lip piercings. Once her round gray eyes fall upon the blue truck, and then me, a lump gets stuck in my throat.

“You!”

Her voice echoes across the entire parking lot. She suddenly storms towards me and roughly grabs my left arm, nearly twisting it out of my socket. Her long nails dig into my flesh. I can see her strong resemblance to the old man’s face, and yellow spots are visible on her crooked teeth. Her face is so close to mine I can smell what she’s had for lunch. I shrink under her cold gaze—she hates me with each and every fiber of her being. And how can I blame her?

“You done and stole my daddy’s truck!”

”I’m—I’m really sorry….” I try to get out, but she already has me pressed to the ground so fast, the left side of my face is squashed up against the warm concrete. She’s more on the chunky side, so I have no doubt that she can overpower me. I close my eyes, momentarily preparing myself for a swift kick to the jaw or ribs. My fingers curl into the ground, and I can feel the gaze of other onlookers. I wonder why no one’s saying or doing anything, until I realize this is a small town, where about every person knows each other. Word about my mishap must’ve spread fast. Any hopes of me perhaps making new friends or becoming acquainted with these people are dashed.

Her gigantic fist slams against my mouth, and all the rings on her fingers don’t help. I taste metal on my tongue. Someone loudly hoots in the background, and as her blows plummet against my head, I try to focus on the rusted ice box machine, the weeds growing through the cracks on the pavement, anything to not look into her large gray eyes, which are wide with fury. I curl into a ball, but she drags me backward against the ground, pebbles and debris lodging in my back. The crowd around us jeers.

I deserve this, I really do. I think.

She spits in my face. I’m about to let her strangle me when someone shouts at us. The passenger door to the white Subaru swings open, and their footsteps make their way across the gas lot. My eyes are puffy, and I can see drops of blood landing on the ground.

“Rana!”

The woman glances up, one of her giant palms still pressed against my head. I can see the old man, hobbling towards us with his cane. The lights of the gas station illuminate his figure from above, like he’s an angel. When he glances at me, I look away. I’m too ashamed to make eye contact with him. I want the ground to swallow me up whole.

”Stop. Let her go,” the old man says.

Rana’s mouth dropped. “What?”

“Let her go.”

“Daddy, have you lost your mind? You’re lucky I haven’t called the cops on her.” She roughly yanks at my hair, causing me to wince in pain. “Rotten thief.”

”And when the police come here and find you on her like this, whose story are they gonna believe? Yours or hers?” The old man shook his head. “She ain’t drive the truck up too far from where I was. And besides, at least it’s all in one piece. So you need to let her go.”

“Let her go? We’ve been driving all afternoon looking for your property, and now you want to let her go?! This scum left you in the middle of nowhere,” Rana snaps. “In this heat, Daddy! And you know that it’s not good to overexert yourself. Anyone who messes with my family, messes with me.” She kicked my waist with the toe of her boot. “I’ll tear her up before I let her go anytime soon. I promise.”

The old man gave her a stern look.

His daughter released an exasperated sigh, before I felt her grip loosen on me. I struggle to sit up in the dirt, blood dripping down my chin. My elbows are scraped raw, and the left strap of my dirty tank top is ripped clean in the middle. My flip flops are missing, and the bottom soles of my bare feet are black. Her hand grabs at my chin.

“I better not see you no more,” she hissed in my ear. “You cross paths with me again, you’re dead.”

“Rana,” Tom says in a low tone.

She reluctantly pushes past me. I watched her slink to her white Subaru, before she slams her door and drives off, tires screeching against the ground as she sped off in the distance. Smoke rises in the air above, headlights glowing in the evening night. The people around us break off towards their cars, clearly disinterested now.

I cough and spit up some more blood. One of my back teeth are loose when I push against it with my tongue. I try not to focus on it.

”She ain’t suppose to do that. Let me get you an ice pack.”

I shake my head. “No, sir.”

The old man stands still and gives me a thoughtful look. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled napkin. I don’t take it, just remained staring at the ground. I didn’t know how I was going to get back to the house because I didn’t have my map, and worse, it was getting dark and I didn’t know where I was—a fate far worse than spending the night in a jail cell. I haven’t even been here a day yet, and I’m already in trouble with the law for doing such a stupid thing. Rana is definitely going to call the cops on me. I’ll be leaving in handcuffs soon.

My mother would be so disappointed in me.

“Are you alright? You must excuse my daughter. She’s very high strung,” the old man murmurs, shaking his head at the sight of my bloodied nose. He was helping me to my feet, still talking to me. I don’t pull away—it is oddly comforting. Gravel clings to my torn jeans.

I slowly touch my split lip with my finger, then drop my hand. My eyes are watery. All those months of saving have completely gone down the drain. If he won’t go to the cops, his daughter surely will to report me. I want to disappear from everyone.

“Look at me,” the old man gently says.

I can’t. I’m afraid to.

“Now, now,” He pauses, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out more crumpled napkins for me to take, which I finally do. “How old are you?”

“Twenty six,” I whisper, dabbing my nose.

“You still ain’t answer my question. What you doing back there in that area? Someone leave you behind or something?”

I decide there’s no point in lying. “I brought a house. I moved in today.”

Surprise crosses his face. “A house?”

“Yeah.”

“And you ain’t got no one helpin’ you or nothing? You out here by yourself near those wrecked up pieces of junk?”

I don’t say anything. The old man makes a noise with his throat and places his hands on his hips. I think he’s going to leave, but he instead goes inside the convenience store, the door chime ringing. After a few moments, he returns with a plastic bag containing two water bottles and lemon lime Gatorade, silently handing them to me. It’s only after I’ve finished quickly guzzling them down that I can think much more clearly. I exhale with relief.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “All this hootin’ and hollering over a drink.”

I want to ask how he knew I was thirsty. But he kept shaking his head, examining my face.

“If you want to go to the police station and tell them your stuff, I’ll gladly take you. We can even go to the hospital to get you checked out. I’m awful sorry that it has come to this, and had I known that Rana had planned to put her hands on you, I’d have never told her.”

I look at him in disbelief. He wanted me to press charges on his own daughter? “I’m the one who started all of this. Aren’t you going to want to turn me in?”

The old man bursts out laughing. “It’s your choice if you want to go to the police or not, kiddo. I’m not stopping you if you do.” He scratches his scalp. “Now, do you want me to take you to the hospital or urgent care? Looks like you might need stitches.”

”But I stole your truck!”

“Yes, and I can’t help but wonder why. I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

I stare at my bare feet. Rana had tossed my flip flops on opposite sides of the world. “I…I don’t know.” Then, I sighed. “I’m really sorry, sir. I don’t…I don’t deserve any of this from you. If I can take this back, I would. I don’t know what’s been going through my head.” I gave him a nervous glance. “I’m really sorry.”

”My name is Thomas Brunswick,” the old man replied. “You can call me Tom. And since you don’t want to go to the police or hospital, I guess the best course for action is to let you spend the night at me and my wife’s place. Stay for supper, at least, so we can put some meat on those bones of yours. You look like a twig.”

I could feel heat spreading to my face. “Oh, no, sir. I…..I…..couldn’t do that. Not after…”

“Listen, child.” Tom held up his wrinkled hand. “Now I’m gonna tell you what you not gonna do. You don’t have a car. It’s the middle of the night, and you intend to walk in the dark, all the way to a wreck of a shack that hasn’t been lived in for the last twenty years near the woods. With no running water, no electricity, no nothing—just the clothes on your back.” He lowered his voice as I began to protest. “Stop being stubborn. I understand you don’t want to be a bother, but we all need help sometimes. And there ain’t nothing wrong with needin’ some.”

I sighed. There was no use arguing, and he had been mostly right, except for the electricity part. But I wasn’t about to mention that. I could only hope that all of my belongings in the world and my car would be there when I got back. The idea of someone smashing my windows to get my stuff my heart skip a beat, which is ironic, now that I am nothing but a dirty car thief. I am praying Rana won’t be there. Her father may have forgiven me, but I know that she is far from it. My stomach churns at the thought.

Tom chucked and lightly patted my arm. “Ain’t no need to stay all stiff like you see a ghost. It ain’t right to turn a guest away. Come, child.”

* * * * * * * *

The Brunswick home is a tiny, one story house in western Minden. It reminds of me the dollhouse I used to play with when I was a little girl—so tiny but incredibly cozy, as if it was only meant to be made for two people, and two people alone. Everything is clean, very clean. The lawn is mowed, and yellow daisies mark the side of bright blue porch.

There are so many antique shops and restaurants that I get dizzy trying to look at them all. The drive itself couldn’t have been more than ten minutes long, although I remained glued to my seat. Tom talked the entire time, smoking a cigarette and drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. When he smiles, I noticed a gold tooth visible below his lip. He says that he was born in New Orleans, but that his father had moved him and his ten siblings down to Minden to look for more work. He’s been here for over forty five years, and he doesn’t imagine being anywhere else. He says that the town itself hasn’t changed much either.

I admire how much he is proud of his roots, of where he comes from. I am glad he does not ask about where I come from, even though I’m already missing New York a great deal more than I expected. But I do not have time to make sense of these thoughts when we pull up in front of the house.

The screen door swings open near the porch, and an old woman rushes out, still wiping her wet hands with her apron. She is the spitting image of Rana, only smaller and shorter, and her dress is the same color as the house. Her hazel eyes glow with excitement as she makes her way across the yard, waving.

Tom smiles as he opens the door to his truck. “This my wife, Georgia.”

As the couple embraced, I can’t help but feel a pang of loneliness descend upon me as I study them from the passenger seat. Even if I got to keep my house, I wouldn’t be able to have anyone to share it with, let alone have visitors or family stay with me. I place my hands on my lap and bite my lower lip, trying to blink the water threatening to rise in my eyes. I realize that I don’t belong anywhere.

Georgia studies me. Her smile fades, and just like I’ve feared, a frown falls on her face. “Ain’t that the girl who stole your truck?”

My cheeks flush.

Tom wraps his left arm around his wife’s waist and faces me. “You never tell me your name, child.”

I quietly exhale as I slowly climb out of the vehicle and stand in front of them in the sweltering heat. Georgia keeps looking at me like I plan to bite her. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any shoes on, there is still blood crusted under my nose, and my tank top is torn.

“My name is Juno Alverez,” I breathlessly begin, wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans, “and I’m really sorry for—”

“—and she’s thrilled to spend the evening with us,” Tom finished for me, giving his wife a sideways glance. “Don’t just stand there. Come inside and wash up. We’ve got gumbo for supper.” He grinned as he started to make his way up the porch. “It smells wonderful.”

Georgia twists her lower lip. She has noticed the many tattoos upon my arms. For a moment, we stare at each other, before she finally speaks. “You too skinny. I fix you a plate.”

I nearly collapse due to relief. Hopefully she will like me over time, as much I as I like her. I wonder if she had made her dress herself. I think it’s pretty, but I don’t say this to her.

”Yes, ma’am.”

“Where your folks at?” Her accent is thick, very heavy. But I love the way she speaks, and I notice that her face is lined with freckles, her skin tanned from most likely gardening underneath the sun. She squints her eyes, like she’s trying to figure me out. Hopefully, she can be my first friend here.

”My mother is in Guyana. And my father, well, he’s from El Salvador, although he comes to the States twice a year. But I haven’t seen either of them in a long time.”

Georgia doesn’t say anything, and we make our way up the porch. I know she doesn’t trust me, and I will have to work hard to earn it. I am still so terribly ashamed of what I have done. But I try not to say too much myself, and try to focus on keeping myself calm until morning comes. The weight of finding a job pressed down upon my shoulders, and because of my stupidity, I have to look harder than ever, though the likelihood of ever getting hired is dwindling. But I plan to try.

* * * * * * *

It’s around midnight when the overwhelming sense of nausea comes over me. I’ve been fighting it ever since this morning, and I have finally lost the battle.

I scramble out of bed and make it to the toilet in the nick of time, upheaving the gumbo I had for supper. The ordeal lasts for a grisly fifteen minutes, and I slump to the bathroom floor, grateful that I haven’t gotten any on the long white nightgown Georgia had let me borrow. I can still hear the Brunswicks’ snores down the hall, and I am relieved that they haven’t heard me. After rinsing my mouth out with water, I flush the toilet and plan to head back to the guest room to sleep it off, before noticing a box sticking out of one of the drawers in the bathroom.

I pick it up. It’s an unopened pregnancy test.

Perplexed, I began to wonder why an elderly couple would have one in their bathroom, until I notice several folded papers smushed into the bottom left corner of the drawer. They are doctors’ notes, written prescriptions for antidepressants and pain medications. I notice the name Rana Brunswick visible on the right upper corner of the paper.

My eyes fall upon the pregnancy test again. I don’t think it’s worth trying, but these bouts of nausea have continued on and off for the last four weeks. After a moment of hesitation, I slowly close the bathroom door and began to open the box. I follow the instructions, and anxiously wait, biting my nails as I sit on the bathtub. My face is sweaty, and the room seems to spin. The lights flicker for a moment.

With my shaking fingers, I pick up the stick.

The two visible blue lines in front of me cause water to spill down my cheeks. I quietly sob, crouching down on my raw knees on the cold tile floor. I hug the stick as close as I can to my chest.