Plans

Chapter 8

"Can I drive?" Fern asked one day as we were getting into the car after a stop at a gas station. It had been 6 days since we ran away and we were running low on food so we spent the last of our precious money on gas, chips, granola bars and water.

"No! You're only 11!" I said, putting the food in our bags in the backseat of the truck.

"You're only 15 so neither of us are supposed to be driving. What does it matter anyways, we're taking the backroads, right?" She whined.

Fern made a good point so I let her drive. There weren't many people driving along the South Carolina back roads anyways. The first few miles were filled with me instructing her but she quickly got the hang of it and I was free to relax. I stared out the window as the sun started to go down and thought about what life was like before we ran away. Before Lily killed herself. Before Lily was deranged. I thought about the picture of our family underneath the willow tree. The day it was taken was the day my life was ruined. The picture was taken only moments before everything went downhill.

We were on vacation in Washington state and found a weeping willow tree that we decided to have a picnic under and take some family photos. It was the day that Lilly told us her plan. We took the picture and she pulled me aside as if joking then she told me. If she had not kept a straight face I would have laughed but she was dead serious. She said it was because we would be better off dead.

I doze on and off while Fern is driving. We take turns driving and go until we have no money or gas. We stop at an old woman's house 3 days later. We are starving and in need of money.. We knock on the door and she walks up to the door and opens it kindly.

¨May I help you" She asks in a kind inviting voice

¨I was just wondering if you had any food to spare for me and my sister¨ I asked

She walked away and beckoned us into the quiet and still house. The only noise made were her cats meowing at our feet..

The house was 100 degrees and I had sweat dripping down my face in an instant. I listen to the soft rustling of things moving in the cupboards as I beckon Fern to sit down on the couch. We sit down and sink our tired bodies into the soft, plush cushions.

Soon the old lady came back with a large bag of canned food and a can opener, clinking and clacking together in the bag. She tells us a story similar to ours of a young girl and a dog driving down a lonely road in an old beat up car.

"It was a hot summer day. The girl left around noon in her rusty old Chevrolet, with her dog sitting beside her. The heat made them both drowsy, but they had somewhere to get to. The girl tried to stay awake, tried to keep her head up, but it was very hard. The dog slept beside her, and she wanted to join him. Finally, she just couldn't take it anymore. The girl pulled over on the side of the road to take a quick nap so she could be on her way. While she was asleep, the dog awoke. He growled and jumped out of the car, waking the slumbering girl. She followed him as far as she could, through the cornfield on the side of the road, calling his name the whole time. Finally, she saw a sign of him; tracks in the mud. She followed them with renewed energy, but alas, they ended at a coyote trap. The dog was caught, his neck snapped by the metal jaws, The girl wept and wept, but eventually she had to continue home, so she opened the trap and took the dog's limp body in her arms, making her way back to the truck. She died in a car accident that very same night. The truck she was in when this all happened looks just like that one you're driving. That's why I thought of it. I'm so very sorry if I depressed you."

I listen with interest as the woman tells her story and it ends with the tragic loss of her dog followed by the death of the girl. Fern and I ask the woman who the girl was and she dipped her head and whispered, "My sister."