Free Transcontinental by Brad Cook Page B

the short time he’d been riding, Leroy concluded that grainers were better than boxcars. The slanted walls at each end of the car were ideal for more than just cover and a place to sit—the lack of enclosure permitted a much fuller view of the surroundings breezing past. And Leroy could see everything he was leaving behind for miles. He liked that.
    He liked that, as Ant had taunted earlier, he couldn’t get locked in.
    He also liked that there was a giant iron V separating his side of the platform from Ant’s. It gave him some notion of privacy. But best of all, if he really wanted privacy, he could go inside the grainer.
    Through a hole in the end of the car, big enough for any reasonable-sized human, was a near empty sanctuary from everything outside, present company included. A foot-high layer of old grain padded the floor. It would be easy to sleep on such material.
    As he spent more time in there, he noticed an emergent sense of dread blooming within. His breathing accelerated. The shadows in the container seemed to grow longer, larger, even with light bleeding in from outside. That sense of claustrophobia he experienced in the closed boxcar shimmered through him, and he scrambled out of the hole and back to his seat. No reason to hang out in there. Besides, he didn’t want to be rude to Ant. His savior .
    “Coming back to the party, eh?”
    “Never been very social. Even at parties, I just sit in the corner.”
    “Was it your father? Did he hit you?” Ant’s eyes drilled into Leroy.
    Leroy was blindsided by the question.
    “The reason you ran away, I mean. It is nothing to be embarrassed about. Him, on the other hand…” Ant trailed off, a sneer on his lips.
    “Not for a long time…” Leroy wrung his hands together. “I mean, I haven’t seen him. Not for a long time. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
    He didn’t even want to think about it, but in the back of his mind he knew it was inevitable. Folsom wasn’t that far away. Those nights when he’d imagined taking off and finding his father, it had always seemed a distant impossibility, not something that would actually happen. Yet here he was.
    “A change of topic, then. It would be helpful to know your destination.”
    Funny, Leroy thought. It was less a change of topic than Ant realized.
    He leaned back on the wall behind him, obscuring Ant from view. Leroy forced the words out. “I’m headed to Folsom.”
    “Oh boy. Nothing good ever came from that sentence.” Ant peered around the metal divider. “I assume you are referring to the prison.”
    With a nod, Leroy sighed. Might as well get it all out.  
    Ant recessed into his mind, gazing off. A moment later he was back. “That would be why you have not seen him in a long time. Your father.”
    “Thing is, I don’t even know why he’s in there. Last time I saw him I must’ve been, like, five. Momma wouldn’t talk about him, ‘cept to talk bad about him.”
    “I must ask again: did you run away? Because if you plan to visit your father in Folsom prison, they are going to run a background check.”
    Leroy must’ve looked the way he felt, because Ant burst out laughing. “My apologies. So you did run away. How long has it been?”
    “Two days.”
    Ant raised his eyebrows, stretching his face. “I see.”
    “I got till friday, though. She thinks I’m at a friend’s house.”
    Leroy realized he felt better after talking to Ant. Each detail he let slip reduced the pressure of the vice grip on his mind. The process was a bit painful, though, akin to popping a pimple, he mused.They both laid back and, for the first time since they’d gotten on, there was silence. An enduring silence, not one broken by Ant’s repeated remembrances of an event or person he thought Leroy simply must hear about. But to Leroy’s surprise, that wasn’t what he wanted anymore. He wanted to get it out, talk things over, pop some pimples.
    “Smiley.”
    Ant peered around the metal divider again.