Rod, Rex and Rhoda by Bob Brill

Table of Contents

Fun on the Run

In the vast hall of the transporter station, where hundreds of travelers are roaming the aisles, entering and exiting row after row of public transporters, we make our way through the crowd and head out onto the streets of New York.

Rex is a bit freaked and so am I.

“Well, here’s the thing,” I say. “We can’t use our credit cards anymore and we can’t travel by transporter. They can trace us too easily if we do. I think our chances will be better if we lose ourselves among the millions of New Yorkers. But we’ll need money and we’ll need it fast. How much cash have you got?”

Rhoda checks her purse. I check my wallet. Between us we’ve got $154.13.

“New York is too expensive,” Rhoda says. “We should go someplace cheap.”

“And how will we get there, wherever that is?”

“Hitchhike,” she says.

“Too slow. Too uncertain. Let’s get a bite to eat and think this through.”

We try to enter a deli on 7th Avenue, but they won’t let Rex in. There’s a German Shepherd tied up outside, but that makes me nervous. I can feel my imaginary hackles rising. I don’t want to leave Rex in the company of that dog. He could get into a fight, or worse, someone might steal him.

Rhoda says, “I’ll get us some sandwiches to go. You stay here with Rex.”

We walk up to Central Park and eat our lunches on a bench and watch roller skaters zipping by. Although we’re in a challenging situation, it’s a beautiful day and I love it that we’re alive and free.

“I’m beginning to think you’re right, Rhoda. We should hit the road. I’m not prepared to sleep on the streets of New York. But here’s a thought. Rumex probably has already seen the transporter record and traced us to New York. So it wouldn’t hurt to make a few credit card purchases while we’re here. What do you think if we bought a car, made a big cash withdrawal and hit the road?”

“That’s it, Rod. We can be out of here by tonight.”

Six hours later we’re in Pennsylvania driving west with two thousand dollars in cash. We’ve got a somewhat dilapidated Chevy van that we’ve furnished with a mattress, pillows and blankets. And a supply of food and some cooking utensils. Rex is curled up in back.

We agree that the freeway system is not for us. It’s faster, sure, but what’s the hurry? We’re on the run, but not to any specific destination. We just want to get so lost that we can’t be found while we figure out how to redefine our lives. So we travel the back roads, passing through little towns, some of them only a block or two long with great stretches of farmland between.

Night falls and we’re still going. We see a sign for a state park a few miles down a side road. We pull in and discover that for a few bucks we can park at a campsite with a fire pit, a short walk to bathrooms and showers. Only two other vehicles here, a family with kids in a giant RV and some teenage boys with their dates in a farm truck with big tires.

We park away from the others and eat our sandwiches sitting on logs around our unlit campfire. I slip pieces of roast beef to Rex. There’s a low-hanging moon, a few stars and a strong smell of pines. It reminds me of the rare camping trips of my childhood when my parents took me to places like this. I feel relaxed and happy here with Rhoda and Rex, with just a touch of nostalgia to complete the picture.

Rhoda turns to me and says, “Rod, I’m just thinking about the sleeping arrangements. We’ve set up a comfortable bed in the van and that will save us a lot of money. But we’re not exactly... you know... on intimate terms. We’ll be sleeping together, but not actually sleeping together, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean, Rhoda.” I have enough of Rhoda’s cells to agree with her point of view. I’ve also noticed that since our escape from Rumex this morning, her attitude toward me has softened. She is undoubtedly getting a more accurate, more intimate picture of me. We are sharing a great adventure and we’re bonding.

When we’re ready to turn in, we take showers, change into pajamas and meet back at the van. We slip under the covers, careful not to touch. Rex squirms in between us, making himself into a furry bundling board. For the first time the three of us are of one mind, and although it’s a bit awkward, it feels right.

Rhoda reaches over and caresses my cheek. “Thank you, Rod.”

“Thank you, Rhoda. Good night.”

Over the next few days we achieve our objective of getting lost in the rural American landscape. Every night we lie side by side with blended minds and separate bodies, observing our rule of chastity. We are somewhere far from the freeway in the sparse plains of North Dakota. Each day our destination is the next reachable campground on our map. They are scarce, so we trace a zigzag path from one to another.

As darkness falls on what may be the fifth day of aimless wandering, we sit on logs around our little butane stove eating our suppers and watching the stars come out. Rex has gobbled his meal and is stretched out sleeping by my side.

“Life is really excellent, Rhoda.”

“Yes, it is, but we can’t keep doing this indefinitely. We’ll be running out of money soon and we need to figure out how we’re going to live.”

“Exactly what I was about to say. You picked that thought out of my head, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did, but I think maybe you picked it first out of my head.”

“It’s nice to be in agreement. Perhaps I don’t need to say this aloud, but I have no desire to go back to my job. No doubt the other Rod is already hard at work in my lab. He is welcome to it.”

“So then you know that I’m of a similar mind. Clone Rhoda can take over my beat in the investigative reporting world. What would you rather be doing, Rod?”

“I don’t know, but something less stressful. Maybe we could travel around recommending gourmet restaurants.”

“I don’t think so. I had a friend once who had that job in Paris. He thought he was in heaven until he began to suffer from serious gastric distress. He quit and retreated to a spa where they served nothing but so-called health food. Then his money ran out and he took a job as a waiter.”

“What would you like to do, Rhoda?”

“I don’t know, but I’d like to do it with you.”

“Me too, with you.”

Without conscious thought I find myself focused on Rhoda’s hands as she stirs the soup in her tin bowl, spoons soup into her mouth, wipes her lips with a paper napkin, and brings another spoonful to her lips. Actions so ordinary that they don’t seem to merit such close observation. But I am fascinated to witness the intelligence and beauty of her hands, not so different from anyone else’s, yet they engender in me a special tenderness for Rhoda I’ve never felt before.

Rhoda looks at me. “I love you too,” she says.

I return her look. “Of course, that’s what this is. Yes, I love you, Rhoda. I know I’ve told you that before, and maybe I even thought I meant it, but this is very different from what I felt then.”

“Yes, I know,” she says.

I reach out and take her hand, the one with the spoon, and bring that hand to my lips. She lets the spoon fall and I kiss her clever fingers and nuzzle her open palm.

So much for chastity. Rex still tries for the middle of the bed, but he’s banished to the sidelines.

Proceed to Chapter 17...

Copyright © 2010 by Bob Brill