Free Travelin' Man by Tom Mendicino

again.”
    KC nods his head.
    â€œAnd don’t shake your head. Try to sit still,” he says as turns his attention to a young mother holding a barefoot young boy who’s stepped on a piece of glass.
    KC is still sitting in the waiting room two hours later. It’s been fifteen minutes since the last patient was called to be seen. He suspects the sound of multiple sirens outside means the arrival of far more urgent cases than a bloody nose. He reaches for his duffel bag—he keeps it close by his side now, in case of an emergency—and pulls out the envelope to count his remaining money. He’s got less than seven hundred dollars left after paying for fast food and filling the tank and ransoming the rental from the expensive Seattle hotel parking lot. There’s no reason to waste more of it paying a doctor now that he’s stopped bleeding. He throws his duffel strap over his shoulder and walks out the door. A dazzling full moon, white as a bleached skull in the sands of the desert, hovers over the horizon, illuminating the poorly lit parking lot. Ahead, he sees a cop standing behind his car, calling in the license number of a possible missing vehicle. He turns and runs back inside, throwing the keys, evidence tying him to the car, into a trash can in the men’s room.
    He locks himself into a stall, resting his feet on his duffel. He doesn’t wear a watch. He always relies on his cell phone for the time. What could be only minutes feels like hours. His butt and thighs feel heavy and numb. Other men come and go. They do their business, wash their hands (well, most of them) and leave. He realizes he can’t hide forever. Eventually he has to emerge. He may as well risk it now he decides, summoning the courage to walk to the parking lot where a tow truck operator in greasy coveralls is hooking a chain to the axle of Darrell’s rental. The cop makes a last phone call, confirming the recovery of the vehicle, and leaves.
    KC’s stranded in a strange city, watching his way out of town being hauled away, dangling from a boom. Motels are expensive and even the desk clerk in the worst rat holes would be reluctant to rent a room to a kid who walks in off the street with no car and whose face bears the aftermath of a recent fight. Besides, he has to conserve every dollar and try to never let his nut dip below two hundred bucks. He might not sleep in a bed again for a while. Who knows the next time he’ll be able to shower? He’ll have to piss and crap wherever he gets an opportunity, most likely outdoors on many occasions. He’d better be prepared so he returns to the men’s room to empty the toilet paper dispensers, stuffing the rolls into his duffel. He can’t steal liquid soap, but he grabs a stack of paper towels that could come in handy. He washes his face and hands, paying close attention to the bite on his cheek and carefully avoiding touching his nose. He splashes water on his hair and makes a crude attempt to style it with the palm of his hand. He needs to make one last pit stop at the vending machine in the waiting room before beginning the long walk to the interstate. He buys pretzels, Snickers bars and Oreos, two cans of Coke and a Mountain Dew, his dinner tonight and his breakfast in the morning. He might wait all night before some bored and lonely trucker takes pity on him and offers a ride.
    â€œHey handsome, what are you still doing here?”
    He feels a hand on his shoulder. The triage nurse is standing behind him, a backpack slung across his shoulder.
    â€œI’m just leaving,” KC says sounding like a guilty kid caught stealing cookies.
    â€œWhat did the doctor say?”
    â€œI’m okay. He said I can go.”
    â€œIt’s Ricky, isn’t it? Your name’s Ricky?”
    â€œYeah, Ricky.”
    â€œWhat did they say about that bite? Someone did a half-ass job cleaning it. Did you get a tetanus