Freedom’s Child. Jax Miller
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She can’t explain what possesses her, the need to chase after this stranger. Perhaps this is who God sent.
“Have you seen that cook with the dirty apron?” Rebekah asks a bartender.
“Your hero just went to the back for a smoke,” she answers with a smirk as she dries mugs.
Using too much strength, Rebekah nearly falls through the screen door of the kitchen that leads to the back alley. Outside, the cook sits on top of a few red milk crates near full trash bags, smoking. The vents of the kitchen hum above them. “Thank you,” she blurts out. Suddenly, she feels awkward, with intervals of clearheadedness between the bouts of dizziness.
“It was nothing.” He smiles at her. She feels a flutter to her stomach, unsure if it’s the beer or the fact that she’s never before talked to such a handsome guy in all her life. He takes a crate and places it in front of him, waving her over to sit. “Where are you heading, anyway?”
She crosses her arms, too bashful to look into his eyes. “West Coast. Or as far as I can get.”
“Away from whoever did this to you?” He points to her face.
She clears her throat and looks down. “I had it coming.”
“No woman has it coming.” He winces with anger. “You don’t deserve that.”
“No, I did.” Rebekah looks to him for a moment. “Because I sinned.”
“Everyone sins.” His cigarette goes out and he relights it. “Doesn’t make it right, though.”
“I’m Rebekah.” She holds her arms tight, unsuccessfully trying to hide her body in the snug clothes.
“Gabriel.” He holds his hand out to her.
She stares at it with hesitation for a moment. “Like the archangel.” She puts her hand in his.
“Sure.” He sucks hard on his cigarette. “Like the archangel.”
Rebekah watches him shake his hair from the hairnet, a full head of black and soft locks over jade eyes. He unties his apron to reveal a white undershirt and sleeves of tattoos. “So you’re a cook?”
“Part-time. I help my ol’ man do drywall on the weekends. Helps me pay for tuition at U of L and my rent.”
“My brother went to the University of Louisville!” she squeals. “Did you know Mason Paul? He’s a big-time lawyer now.”
“Never met a Mason Paul, but it’s an awfully big school. Name sounds familiar, though. Oh, wait, sure, I know who he is. He’s the one defending the Becker case all over the TV. That Becker, sure gonna be one hell of a linebacker, I’d say. I knew the name Mason Paul sounded familiar.”
“What is school like?”
“You’ve never been to school?” She shakes her head. Suddenly, Gabriel realizes what kind of girl she is. Must be a Mormon or something like it, the sheltered kind. And now she’s running away, rebelling, naive. Those types come a dime a dozen back at the university. “You’re not missing much.” Her purity attracts him and he doesn’t want to stop staring at her. He can see that her frail bones and soft skin have never been touched in a way that they should have by her age. It’s like looking at the sands of a shore that’s never been discovered by the ocean. But he fears she will drown out there, out in the real world, away from her shielded existence. “You shouldn’t be trying to hitch rides cross-country with truckers. It’s dangerous for girls like you.”
“It’s my only way out.” She rubs the toes of her shoes on the dirt. “Do you believe in God?”
“I believe in something …” He looks away, not wanting to appear strange when he sees her shy away from his gaze. “When was the last time you ate something?”
“Yesterday, I think.” He puts his finger up and walks back to the kitchen. He returns with a burger and fries in a foam container.
“I can’t afford it.”
“Don’t worry about money.” He watches her inspect the food as if she’s never seen anything quite like it. “You need to eat.” She uses both hands at once to shovel the food into her mouth. “Why don’t you let me take you out one day? Like a proper date, before you head off to the West Coast, I mean.”
She looks at him wide-eyed. “I’m not allowed to date boys.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“You’re old enough to make up your own mind and stop doing what your parents ask of you.”
“I do what God asks of me.” She continues to shove the food in her face. Gabriel takes his apron and goes to use it on her arm, where some ketchup spilled. But she pulls away, fearful, like an injured bird, broken in the sun and being circled by vultures.
Gabriel stares at her with wonder, and though she’s spoken only a few words, he’s fascinated by the mystery that surrounds her. He wants to know her more, he has to know her more. He could see her vulnerability from a mile away and feels the need to wrap her innocence in a blanket and keep it away from the cruelty of a world that wants to take it from her. “I’ll take you to the West Coast.” And as he says the words, he surprises himself. But she’s a reason, the excuse he’s been looking for to drop everything around him and see the world. “I know you don’t know me, but you can trust me.” For some reason, he expected more of a joyous reaction.
“Thank you,” she says, with her eyes down and half a cheeseburger in her cheek.
“Let me take you home. We can leave in the morning.” Really, his intentions are good. “You can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. OK?”
“All right.” She believes this is her prayer come true, that God sent Gabriel to save her from the man who rubbed against her and wanted to take her away. She shows a glimpse of a smile as he takes his apron and throws it in the Dumpster behind him.
“Let’s go.” He leads her through the alley and toward the truck-yard. “I’m parked right over there.” He seems to almost skip in his pace. He stretches his arms over his head and looks up to the night. “Share this moment with me.”
“What?”
Gabriel paces around her and tastes what may very well be freedom for the first time in his life. “Make a memory.”
Rebekah scurries to catch up to him, her french fries shaking in the container. “What are you talking about?” The smile aches her cheeks.
He stops her in her tracks and looks into her eyes. “Aside from family, have you ever held a man’s hand?”
“No,” she says and laughs.
“Good.” He grabs her hands and intertwines his fingers with hers. “Now neither one of us will forget this. Whether we get nowhere or see everywhere, we’re making a memory.” She’s never heard anything so outrageous yet astonishing in her life. The butterflies multiply in her belly and her heart begins to pound. And all of the horrible things that have happened, if only for that moment, seem worlds away.
What happens next is fragmented. The sounds of bones cracking. Gabriel screaming her name. Tasting dirt in her mouth on the ground. Her most cogent memory is when she lands on her back in the trunk of a car, her hands zip-tied in front of her. She sees the vastness of the trunk come down, like a tidal wave crashing over her. She brings her knees to her chin and uses the soles of her feet to keep it from closing. But it works only the first time. And after that, she remembers the panic that consumes her in the trunk. And the brightness of the red taillights from the inside when the car brakes.
Lord, be with me.