Free Travelin' Man by Tom Mendicino Page B

you’re seventeen. If anyone asks you for your ID, say you don’t have one. They won’t challenge you. Runaways don’t carry a driver’s license. I made the phone call, Carl. They’re expecting him.”
    KC’s devastated by the news. His new friend has betrayed him.
    â€œI’ve got it under control, Carl,” she says. “You don’t need to stick around. Ricky, you’re going to the juvenile shelter for the night. They’ll hook you up with Social Services tomorrow. Wait until then to tell them you’re not a minor. Now be honest with me. Are you clean? They’re going to drug test you in the morning,” she says briskly.
    â€œI think you’re jumping to conclusions. I’ll stay with him until the taxi arrives.” Carl says as she signs off on the cab voucher.
    KC’s sure that Carl would offer him a place to stay if only he would ask. But he doesn’t, fearful of hearing the word no.
    â€œHey, cheer up. They’ll help you get back home if that’s where you want to go,” Carl says when they’re alone.
    â€œI’ve got my own money. I don’t need their help. You don’t have to wait. I’m not a baby,” KC says.
    â€œNo, you’re certainly not a baby, handsome,” Carl says kindly as the cab arrives. “Promise me you’re gonna take care of yourself.”
    He offers a farewell handshake, and KC throws his arms around his broad back, hugging him tightly.
    â€œYou come see me if your ever get back to Eugene so I know you’re doing okay. You’re a good boy, Ricky. I know it. You remind me of my son.”
    Â 
    The ride to the shelter seems to take forever.
    â€œWhere are we?” KC asks the driver when they stop at a traffic light.
    â€œBlair Boulevard. You don’t want me to let you out in this neighborhood, believe me.”
    There’s a bar on the corner with a rainbow flag draped above the entrance. The neon beer signs—Bud Lite, Coors—all prominently feature the universal symbol of pride, proof of the breweries’ commitment to the beer-drinking gay community. The place is called Lucky’s. Easy enough to remember. He could tell the driver to drop him here, but tonight an uncomfortable mattress and smelly blankets feels like a better option than standing around, waiting for some horny guy to offer him a place to sleep.
    Â 
    Either breakfast at the shelter is better than KC expected or he’s so starved that he’s grateful for a plate of powdered scrambled eggs and a piece of dry toast. The intake counselor says he’s concerned about the bite on KC’s cheek. He thinks it looks like it’s getting infected, KC lies and says he had a tetanus shot at the hospital. He refuses to answer any more questions and insists that the duffel and money they’d confiscated for safekeeping last night be returned to him. The counselor warns him he can’t return tonight if he refuses to pee in a cup. It’s eight o’clock in the morning when he walks out the front door. He hopes the gloom is only lingering fog and not the promise of a wet, drizzly day. It seems like forever since he awoke in a Seattle hotel room yesterday morning. He feels like his head is clear for the first time since the Odyssey. There’s something he owes the Freemans for all they have done for him. They deserve a response to the last text he’d received from the Coach before losing his phone.

    Y OUR AGENT IS HAVING TROUBLE WITH THE
R ANGERS . N EED TO SPEAK TO YOU . W E NEED TO CONVINCE
THEM IT ’ S NOT TRUE .

    He can’t stay silent and allow Coach Freeman, a devout Christian man, to break the Ninth Commandment by bearing false witness for him. He’d opened his Bible this morning as he shoveled eggs off a paper plate and the words from John 8:32 almost leaped off the page, And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. He takes it as a