The Dream

I was on a train running, running from some murdering stranger. My heart was racing, my mind was racing, my legs were racing. Breathe. Breathe. I can't breathe.

Suddenly I was in a rest stop bathroom. The smell of mildew in the air, dirt in the grout of the tile, water leaking from a broken toilet, and ants crawling on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. My heart jumped, a tingle went over me, the hair on my arms stood up. He walked toward me. This chiseled chest bare and his blue jeans, loose. He placed his hand on the small of my back, and my body swayed closer to his. I reached up and ran my fingers through his wavy hair, his other hand caressed my cheek. I closed my eyes. Salt, I tasted salt. His lips were on mine, and then...

Wind was blowing through my hair. I could feel the hot sun on my face. I opened my eyes. Trees were moving past me. I was on a highway, in a convertible, however I was not driving. I was in a convertible on the back of a car carrier, in the middle of nowhere, moving fast.

The only thought on my mind, "Who was the man in the bathroom and how could I get back to him?"

Is this what I wanted?

"Is this really what I wanted?" She thought as she sat in the passenger side of the old 1972 limestone green pickup truck. She stared out the window at him. The man in the gas station, not the one at the counter, but the one buying cigarrettes and a pack of gum. He ran his fingers through his long wavy brown hair. His cloudy blue eyes met hers and then turned back to the man at the counter. The tip of an unfinished tattoo on his right forearm, an eagle she thought, could be seen from just under his white tee-shirt. His jeans were worn, but in a good way and oil stained brown cowboy boots completed his look. "Do I love him?" She pondered biting her lower lip.

It was only a week ago that he had asked her to run away with him. "Marry me," he said with those irresistable eyes looking down at her. "Marry me." he had said again.

"I can't." she had replied, "I'm only seventeen."

"You'll be eighteen in a few months. Run away with me and we can make it official later." He had countered.

Run away. The thought had crossed her mind a time or two. Ever since her John had moved in with her mother, the trailer had become cramped. It was only a singlewide and with John on disability, he was there every waking momment. His foul beer breath and brown teeth, made her nauseous everytime he spoke. Around her mother John was always sweet as peach pie, kissing and loving on her, but in the hours after school and before her mother came home from work, he was everywhere.

That last Friday, after school, the last day she had been home, she had walked in the front door. "Your home early." John said with a lit Camel light hanging from the corner of his thin, dry lips. He was sitting on the orange and yellow floral couch, facing the TV. "Get me a beer, Honey."

She cringed at the word "Honey." She walked over to the dingy yellow fridge and pulled out a can of Natural Ice. As she turned around, there he was. Shirt less, stinky and drunk. His left arm on the fridge, the other on the counter. His sweaty body leaning closer to hers. She pressed the can of beer against his chest and proceeded to pull his arm away from the counter. "Move." She told him annoyed. It was only then that she realized his belt and top button were undone from his pants. He looked at the horrified expression on her face and spit the last reminents of his cigarrette from his mouth to the floor. As she began to say "no," he moved his hand off the counter and over her mouth. He closed the fridge with his left hand and pushed her up against the counter.

Tilting his head around to her ear, he whispered, "Don't scream or I will kill your mother." A tear fell from her eye and down her cheek, and she began to struggle to get free from his grasp. He grabed the fabric of her blouse and yanked, buttons clanked on the floor. He moved his hand from her mouth and began fondling her breasts. His dry, thin lips, were covering hers, pressing hard, his tongue forcing its way down her throat. She gasped for air, but his bulging tongue made her gag instead. She took her fists and began hitting him square in the back, however, this excited him more. He reached under her denim skirt and she felt what seemed like a bee sting on her buttocks from the ripping of her pink cotton panties. She clinched her thighs together in an attempt to stop him, an attempt that was short lived. Her body went stiff and she closed her eyes tight, so tight that her forehead creased, all she saw was darkness.

"That was good, Baby." John said as he pulled away and began zipping his pants. She slid down the counter and onto the floor, sobbing. John looked down at her as he grabed a cigarette from a box on top of the fridge and pulled a lighter from his pocket. He bent down and whispered, "I will kill her, if I have to." He lit the cigarette and then turned and walked back to the couch. She waited a few minutes. Then slowly she got up from the floor and crept ever so quietly to the door. She bolted outside, the screen door slammed behind her, and she ran as fast as she could. To her suprise, John did not follow her.

Later that evening she was in Billy's old 1972 limestone green pickup truck. "I won't marry you she said, but I will run away with you." Billy smiled a crooked smile and leaned in for a kiss. She squirmed and closed her eyes, all she could smell and taste was John.