What I Lost

1: rusty old truck

I could see his hands shaking from across the street. He was nervous.

As the two men rounded the corner, he darted into an alleyway next to the half-lit tattoo parlor. He shrunk back against the hard metal edge of a dumpster, too weak to fight back.

He was the only one who had escaped. When I saw him run out of the house while his friends were being picked off one by one, I followed him. His hunched shoulders and wide eyes told me that he knew he couldn't avoid what was coming.

The more arrogant man always took pleasure in the kill. He swung the long knife in his hands and slowly whistled as he approached his prey.

His partner was focused and detached from the situation. His hand tightly held a similar weapon and he walked confidently with his eyes focused on the target.

I leaned against the side of the building, watching the carnage unfold across the empty street. The scuffling sounds of the fight pierced the stagnant air. The weak streetlights cast a dim light; I could barely see what was happening. It was over in less than a minute.

They got lucky; most of the things they hunt put up a bigger fight.

As soon as they picked up the head and body, now two separate pieces, I picked up my backpack and started walking away. After a kill they usually load the body up into their sleek black Impala to dispose of it later. I had always made a point of avoiding any direct contact with them, so I wanted to leave before they saw me.

The cold air bit my cheeks as I headed away. It was almost completely dark, and the temperature was still dropping. I adjusted my hood to cover more of my head and I shoved my hands into my pockets. Besides the sounds of my footsteps gently echoing off the sides of the buildings, there was another sound, a familiar pitter-patter and soft panting. I took a hand out of my pocket and stroked the soft fur of the mutt walking next to me. Finn was a medium sized dog, mostly white with dark brown patches on both sides of his face and a few over his back. Ever since the day I found him skinny and dehydrated wandering around on the streets, his presence has been a comforting one.

I scanned the bleak town, trying to find a sign with a town or state name, or any clue as to where I was. The traveling was what I hated the most. Constantly going from state to state, I got tired of the long days spent driving. It was Iowa last week, but it was a long drive to this new place. My guess was Illinois or Indiana. I no longer paid attention to signs telling me where I was, it didn't matter much anyway.

I wandered through the mostly empty streets, trying to remember how to get back to the faded motel. The smell of hot food wafted out of a nearby restaurant. My stomach growled in response to the smell as I passed by. Through the diner window I could see a few people and just barely made out a sign hanging on the wall proclaiming their limited food options and cheap prices.

I swung my backpack off my shoulder, dug into the front pocket, and fished out a five dollar bill. Spending money wasn't something I took lightly but it had been a long day and I was starving. Reaching into another pocket of the backpack I pulled out a leash, which I clipped to Finn's collar and tied to a telephone pole outside.

The warm air and smell of fresh food that hit me as I opened the door was so pleasant I stood still for a moment taking it in. I would have happily stayed there all night. But I couldn't. I got a burger to go and headed back outside into the cold, eating it as I walked.

Finally, I found the hazy light from the motel's big sign out front declaring there were vacancies. There were only four cars in the parking lot, including a black Impala. The two men had been staying here ever since they arrived a few days ago. I stashed my backpack next to a half-dead bush outside the front of the motel office, and Finn immediately laid down next to the pack, staying there.

I walked into the office and immediately a wiry old man came out of the backroom, yawning as he plodded over to me.

He sighed, "What can I do to help you?"

"I seem to be a little lost. What's the best way to get back on the highway from here?" Lying came so easily to me now.

He drew in a deep breath, annoyed to bothered by someone who wasn't a paying guest, and started gesturing to the road outside, giving directions. As his eyes were focused on the road outside the window, I leaned over the front desk to scan the wall behind him to see which room keys were still hanging on the wall.

"Thanks." I replied as I left the office.

I snatched up my bag and headed to room 108, one of the unoccupied rooms according to the wall of room keys, with Finn on my heels. I fished a lock pick out of my pocket and wriggled it around in the lock until I heard the snap indicating the unlocking of the door. It swung open and I turned on the lights to reveal a poorly decorated room filled with bad paintings and cheap furniture. I closed the door and put my backpack on a chair next to the window as Finn came in and curled up on the floor.

I took a quick shower, grateful for the hot water. I was born and raised in California so I was never used to the cold weather. I stood in the shower under the stream of hot water until my skin began to burn. When I was done I quickly dried off and got dressed in my jeans and a clean sweatshirt, shoving my dirty shirt and hoodie into my backpack, and pulling out a water bottle. After filling the bottle up under the faucet in the bathroom, I sat on the edge of the bed taking slow sips.

As I sat there I took my time rolling up the cuffs of my jeans. Nothing ever seemed to fit me right especially pants, which were always too long for someone my size. My mom's height was the one thing I had failed to inherit from her. We had the same round face, slender build, and brown eyes. My hair was lighter than her light brown hair had been but besides that and our major height difference, we had always looked similar.

A loud clatter from the room above the one I was currently in pulled me out of my thoughts. As much as I wanted to sprawl across the warm bed, I forced myself to get up.

I made the bed, adjusted the shower curtain, and straightened out the chair to make it seem like I was never there. Before leaving I made sure to turn off the lights and lock the door.

As soon as I stepped out into the biting cold I immediately wanted to turn around and curl up in the comfortable bed, but I knew I had to keep walking. Across the street from the motel there was a huge parking lot next to a bar. In the far corner of the lot there was an old, beaten down truck the color of egg yolks. That truck was the only constant in life besides Finn.

When I saw the rusty old truck for the first time I fell in love, wanting to drive it as soon as possible. I never imagined I would be living in it.

I dug the key out of my pocket and unlocked the backseat door. The car's interior was a welcome shelter from the windy night. I stretched out as much as I could across the backseat, covering myself in the multiple blankets that were thrown all over the car. Finn laid down on the car floor in front of me. The backseat, although it was cramped and I had to keep my legs tucked in, was home. It only took a few minutes for sleep to wash over me.