The RunAway
“You put that money back and I won’t tell. Hear me,
Jessica? I said, if, . . . .”
“I heard you,” Jessica said, frowning at Brenda, feeling
the heat rising in her neck and checks. She knew that she had
colored and hated it. Unlike Brenda, who had chestnut colored
hair, brown eyes and a healthy looking complexion, Jessica had
red hair and a complexion which revealed her every emotion to
the world.
"I could be gone from here tonight and you'd have all our
riches to yourself. Then you’d get to say what you always say,
that ‘she's always been difficult’."
Jessica turned her gaze from her sister to the open window.
Everything exciting to Jessica was out there and calling to her.
"You got that look again, Jess, maybe you just need a
boyfriend."
"Brenda, you like it here, this, this, . . . . no life.
Work’n in a feed store six days a week and you just accept it.
No friends or excitement. No nothin’. And no, I don’t need a
boyfriend. It might be okay for you, big sister, ‘cause you
don't seem to want nothin’ for yourself. This family business
was Dad’s idea, not ours. You’re almost seventeen; don’t you
have hopes or ideas?”
Jessica watched as Brenda inserted fresh carbon paper into the
counter sales receipt book and aligned it with the box of
pencils she had just sharpened.
“We live next door to a feed and seed store,” continued
Jessica, “with a dirt road at our front door and a river at our
back. The only travel’n we’ve done is from the front door of our
house to the front door of this store. We ain’t been nowhere but
this store, Brenda.”
The back of the store’s interior was dark and windowless,
except for a square ten inch light in the center of the rear
door. After sunrise each morning, the door was opened to let in
sunlight and any ventilation which was usually meager. When
Brenda and Jessica were younger and the door was closed, they
would play the game of trying to catch dust mites floating in
the shaft of light streaming in through its window.
The persistent drone of a vehicle moving slowly somewhere
off in the distance could be heard through the open front door
and windows. Probably a truck, thought Jessica.
In Malone, an unincorporated town in Arkansas, only four
of seventy-eight families had cars and one family still used
mules. Malone was primarily a farming community. Trucks were far
more practical and numerous.
Jessica looked down at the open cash register, then at her
fist still holding the cash. With resignation, she replaced the
crumpled dollar bills and closed the drawer.
Jessica came from behind the counter, walked over to the
the screen door and peered out. She stood silhouetted against
the brightly sunlit fields across the road listening to the
birds, cicadas and the steady sound of the truck engine which
was somewhat closer now.
“You think that could be Dad and Mom?” questioned
Brenda, who was now standing at Jessica’s shoulder.
“Nah, they said they’d be gone two nights so I guess it’ll
be late tomorrow mornin’, like Dad said. I can’t think of any
reason for them to rush back.”
“Well, I can think of a reason,” said Brenda. “Mr. Prescott
brought a handbill to Dad which said, a new grist-mill company
was comin’ to Polk. They operate a steam engine that can crack
corn and roll barley to order. They make cornmeal, graham flour
and sell the same stuff we sell. The handbill is on Dad’s desk.
I read it after they left. Dad told Mom that he had to sell the
business and go to work for them.”
“Why does he have to sell?” asked Jessica.
“‘Cause Polk is only nine miles away and Dad told Mom that
he couldn’t match their prices. He would lose his customers to
them and he would be stuck with all this unsold stuff. This is 1920,
Jessica, modern times and big business.”
Jessica contemplated a moth on the outside corner of the
screen door. You are free to leave and go anywhere you want, how
lucky you are, she thought. A breeze nudged a paper wrapper in
the road and played on the vegetation across the road. The sound
of the truck had stopped. Brenda turned to speak to her sister
but saw her staring thought-fully into the open field.
“Take care, Jess,” said Brenda, as she stepped around
Jessica. Pushing open the screen door, she walked into the
sunlight and let the door slam shut behind her. At the house she
pulled open the screen door and reached in just far enough to
get something. She took a step back allowing that door to slam
shut, too.
Brenda headed back toward the store carrying a sweater
and suitcase which Jessica had never seen before. Then Jessica
noticed that Brenda was wearing a dress for the first time ever.
Jessica stepped outside to meet her sister, but Brenda
continued past her toward a truck parked just beyond the store.
Jessica was sure that this was the one she’d heard earlier.
Brenda opened the passenger door and put in her belongings.
Leaving the truck door open, she walked back to Jessica.
Standing before her little sister, she gazed into her eyes,
then hugged her. Turning away, Brenda walked back to the truck,
whose engine started as she closed the door. Without delay or a
wave, the occupants drove away.
Jessica watched the truck recede into the dust and
disappear around the bend in the road. She stepped back to a
bench beneath a window of the shop and sat down. She sat
transfixed, not knowing how long.
The movement of a butterfly landing on the old hitching
post near her brought her back to the moment. Jessica watched as
it slowly opened and closed its wings. It flew off and up from
the post only to return again, flapping its wings. Once again it
flew from the post, but this time to within inches of Jessica’s
face and then away.
Her eyes followed the butterfly until, . . . . .
Jessica ran back into the store and over to the register. She rang a “NO
SALE”. The drawer opened. The cash was gone.
“You put that money back and I won’t tell. Hear me,
Jessica? I said, if, . . . .”
“I heard you,” Jessica said, frowning at Brenda, feeling
the heat rising in her neck and checks. She knew that she had
colored and hated it. Unlike Brenda, who had chestnut colored
hair, brown eyes and a healthy looking complexion, Jessica had
red hair and a complexion which revealed her every emotion to
the world.
"I could be gone from here tonight and you'd have all our
riches to yourself. Then you’d get to say what you always say,
that ‘she's always been difficult’."
Jessica turned her gaze from her sister to the open window.
Everything exciting to Jessica was out there and calling to her.
"You got that look again, Jess, maybe you just need a
boyfriend."
"Brenda, you like it here, this, this, . . . . no life.
Work’n in a feed store six days a week and you just accept it.
No friends or excitement. No nothin’. And no, I don’t need a
boyfriend. It might be okay for you, big sister, ‘cause you
don't seem to want nothin’ for yourself. This family business
was Dad’s idea, not ours. You’re almost seventeen; don’t you
have hopes or ideas?”
Jessica watched as Brenda inserted fresh carbon paper into the
counter sales receipt book and aligned it with the box of
pencils she had just sharpened.
“We live next door to a feed and seed store,” continued
Jessica, “with a dirt road at our front door and a river at our
back. The only travel’n we’ve done is from the front door of our
house to the front door of this store. We ain’t been nowhere but
this store, Brenda.”
The back of the store’s interior was dark and windowless,
except for a square ten inch light in the center of the rear
door. After sunrise each morning, the door was opened to let in
sunlight and any ventilation which was usually meager. When
Brenda and Jessica were younger and the door was closed, they
would play the game of trying to catch dust mites floating in
the shaft of light streaming in through its window.
The persistent drone of a vehicle moving slowly somewhere
off in the distance could be heard through the open front door
and windows. Probably a truck, thought Jessica.
In Malone, an unincorporated town in Arkansas, only four
of seventy-eight families had cars and one family still used
mules. Malone was primarily a farming community. Trucks were far
more practical and numerous.
Jessica looked down at the open cash register, then at her
fist still holding the cash. With resignation, she replaced the
crumpled dollar bills and closed the drawer.
Jessica came from behind the counter, walked over to the
the screen door and peered out. She stood silhouetted against
the brightly sunlit fields across the road listening to the
birds, cicadas and the steady sound of the truck engine which
was somewhat closer now.
“You think that could be Dad and Mom?” questioned
Brenda, who was now standing at Jessica’s shoulder.
“Nah, they said they’d be gone two nights so I guess it’ll
be late tomorrow mornin’, like Dad said. I can’t think of any
reason for them to rush back.”
“Well, I can think of a reason,” said Brenda. “Mr. Prescott
brought a handbill to Dad which said, a new grist-mill company
was comin’ to Polk. They operate a steam engine that can crack
corn and roll barley to order. They make cornmeal, graham flour
and sell the same stuff we sell. The handbill is on Dad’s desk.
I read it after they left. Dad told Mom that he had to sell the
business and go to work for them.”
“Why does he have to sell?” asked Jessica.
“‘Cause Polk is only nine miles away and Dad told Mom that
he couldn’t match their prices. He would lose his customers to
them and he would be stuck with all this unsold stuff. This is 1920,
Jessica, modern times and big business.”
Jessica contemplated a moth on the outside corner of the
screen door. You are free to leave and go anywhere you want, how
lucky you are, she thought. A breeze nudged a paper wrapper in
the road and played on the vegetation across the road. The sound
of the truck had stopped. Brenda turned to speak to her sister
but saw her staring thought-fully into the open field.
“Take care, Jess,” said Brenda, as she stepped around
Jessica. Pushing open the screen door, she walked into the
sunlight and let the door slam shut behind her. At the house she
pulled open the screen door and reached in just far enough to
get something. She took a step back allowing that door to slam
shut, too.
Brenda headed back toward the store carrying a sweater
and suitcase which Jessica had never seen before. Then Jessica
noticed that Brenda was wearing a dress for the first time ever.
Jessica stepped outside to meet her sister, but Brenda
continued past her toward a truck parked just beyond the store.
Jessica was sure that this was the one she’d heard earlier.
Brenda opened the passenger door and put in her belongings.
Leaving the truck door open, she walked back to Jessica.
Standing before her little sister, she gazed into her eyes,
then hugged her. Turning away, Brenda walked back to the truck,
whose engine started as she closed the door. Without delay or a
wave, the occupants drove away.
Jessica watched the truck recede into the dust and
disappear around the bend in the road. She stepped back to a
bench beneath a window of the shop and sat down. She sat
transfixed, not knowing how long.
The movement of a butterfly landing on the old hitching
post near her brought her back to the moment. Jessica watched as
it slowly opened and closed its wings. It flew off and up from
the post only to return again, flapping its wings. Once again it
flew from the post, but this time to within inches of Jessica’s
face and then away.
Her eyes followed the butterfly until, . . . . .
Jessica ran back into the store and over to the register. She rang a “NO
SALE”. The drawer opened. The cash was gone.
