Race to Refuge

Chapter Ten: Mallory

The funny thing is that, back at the apartment I never really was a great sleeper. I'd try different things, like going to bed earlier and setting my alarm to wake up early. And going to bed late and sleeping later in the morning. Exercise in the morning. Exercise at night. Fast at night. Eat at night. No matter what, I spent restless nights staring at the clock and feeling like the only person in the city who was still awake.

But at that makeshift campsite that Joshua set up, I slept like the dead. Maybe it was because the dead had been chasing me all day long, but I slept harder than I remember having slept for ages. You'd think I'd have had horrible nightmares. But, despite the situation and what really was a pretty grim outlook, I felt safe.

When I woke up, Joshua had already gotten up. His white hair stood around his head like a halo in the gentle breeze. He'd even made a small fire, waving the smoke away with a book as it burned—I guess so that it wouldn't alert anyone, living or dead, to our presence. Over the fire he'd taken some of the bread from the car and the ready-to-eat bacon I'd thrown in and made toast and bacon.

He spotted me coming out of the tent and gave me an apologetic smile. "I would have trapped something, but it sounded like you weren't really at the point where you were ready to eat fresh meat yet."

I nodded wryly at him. "That day will, unfortunately, probably come. But for right now, eating out of the car is all right with me. Thanks, Joshua."

We ate in a companionable silence, the sounds of the woods making a peaceful background noise for us. Finally, I said, "Joshua, this is none of my business and you can remind me of that." I hesitated. "It's just that—well, I was wondering—it's just that you seem so organized and knowledgeable."

Joshua gave me an understanding smile. "You mean, how did I end up being homeless? It's okay, don't worry. Your question is only natural. And it's one that I've asked myself many times. If I'm knowledgeable, as you say, it's because I've really honed my survival skills as a homeless person. But how did I end up this way? It all really comes down to one single thing: bad decisions. That must be hard for you to understand, since you seem to be a very professional person who probably doesn't have much experience with poor decisions."

I shook my head. "On the contrary, I made a really bad decision less than a year ago. I got in a toxic relationship with someone—a relationship that was bad for me in every way. Everyone could see it but me. Somehow I either couldn't see it, or just couldn't own up to the fact that I'd made a mistake."

"Stubborn?" asked Joshua.

"And how."

"That's something we both have in common, then," said Joshua, carefully cleaning up the napkins and the paper plates that we'd used and putting them in a makeshift trash bag. "I'm exactly the same way. And, like you, I made bad relationship decisions. I also made bad decisions in every other aspect of my life, too. I wasn't a good father. I couldn't stop drinking, even though it kept me from holding down a job or being a good husband or parent. Plus, I stubbornly refused to seek help or even acknowledge there was a problem to begin with."

I sighed. "If I'd only paid attention sooner and realized that I wasn't in a healthy relationship."

Joshua said kindly, "But the big difference between us is that you didn't allow your bad decision to continue impacting your life. You said that it was less than a year ago. In my case, my bad decisions compounded and impacted my life and my family's lives for decades."

"But you seem well now," I probed.

"Lack of funds can definitely help contribute to sobriety," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I think you need to pat yourself on the back for having the strength to get out of your situation instead of beating yourself up about it."