Leaving Hedges
by Theresa Konwinski
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4 |
conclusion
The next morning, I got up early, went to the bathroom and quietly washed my face, combed my hair and brushed my teeth. When I left the bathroom, I took my toothbrush with me.
Back in my room, I looked around, surveying my belongings. What was important?
I pulled a small suitcase from under my bed and threw in my toothbrush, packed some clothes, my copy of The Velveteen Rabbit, and pictures of my parents and brothers I had sitting on my dresser. I thought about taking my Bible but rejected the idea. If no one else in the world lived by it, why should I?
As quietly as I could, I snuck down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky steps. I slowly opened the front door and stepped out into the world.
Everything looked clean after the rain of the day before, but moisture hung in the air. I could feel my hair start to curl up of its own accord, a curse of my existence. But Phil wouldn’t care.
I headed for the woods. No one was out on the road yet, and I walked carefree and happy. I knew where I was going. I knew why I was going.
Before long, I was picking my way through the brush that would lead me to Arnold Haskins’ cabin, would lead me to Big Phil.
I saw him outside the cabin, picking up a few of his belongings. He didn’t have a shirt on, yet his shirts were hanging on tree branches, as if he had washed them, getting ready for his trip to somewhere, elsewhere, anywhere.
His scars. I was fascinated by his scars and didn’t say anything for a minute. I shifted my position and stepped on a dry twig, causing it to crack loudly. Phil turned and saw me staring at him. His mouth dropped open as his eyes drifted down to the suitcase I held by my side.
“Helen—” he began.
I threw my shoulders back. “Don’t say it, Phil. Don’t say I can’t go with you. I am going with you, and no one can stop me. I’m not staying here anymore.”
A melancholy smile crept across his face. Phil sat down on a fallen log that I’d seen him use as a seat before. “Come over here and sit down, little lady. Let’s talk about this big decision you’ve made.”
I shuffled towards him, knowing he was about to try talking me out of leaving Hedges. I plopped down to the log seat, landing a little too hard. I rubbed my backside as Phil began trying to reason with me.
“Helen, you don’t want to leave your family, now, do you? How old are you? All of twelve?”
“Almost thirteen.”
“So, too young to run off from your family. Listen to me. I know you’re upset about me leaving. In a way, I’m disappointed, too. This is the longest I’ve stayed any place for quite a while, you know? That tells you how much I’ve enjoyed being here. But I’ve worn out my welcome. It’s time to move on.”
“What about the accident? Is Constable Wagner going to make you go to jail?”
“No, he seems to understand exactly what happened and, thanks to you and your mom, he’s already completed his investigation. At least that’s what he told me. I imagine he still has to deal with your mayor.”
“He’s not my mayor.”
Phil laughed loudly at that. “Well, he’s somebody’s mayor, at least for now.”
We were both quiet, listening to the morning birds, whose calls seemed magnified in the still air. The woods felt thick and heavy, like a wet, wool blanket.
I looked at Phil’s chest. His scars were horrifying and magnificent. He saw me looking at them.
“Not very pretty, huh?”
“How did you get them?”
He looked away for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. Then he turned to face me, and I noticed how dark and deep brown his eyes were.
“Helen, there are some people in the world who you wouldn’t want to meet. I know this because I’ve met them. Right now, you think Hedges is a bad town to live in. Trust me, there are places where it’s worse. I hope you never find yourself in any place like that.”
Unsatisfied, I pressed him. “But how did you get the scars? Were you in an accident? Or did somebody hurt you?”
“Somebody tried to hurt me, but they weren’t able to get at the important parts.” He looked right into my eyes. “No matter what, Helen, never let anybody get at the parts of you that are most important. Your heart. Your spirit.”
I considered this, then asked, “Can I touch them?”
“My scars?”
“Yes.”
Big Phil seemed uncomfortable, a shadow passing over his face. “I don’t think—”
Before he could finish his sentence, I reached out and put my hand directly on his chest. His eyes opened wide, and he moved his mouth as if to tell me to stop, but no words came out and he didn’t make a move to pull my hand away.
I used the tips of my fingers, walking them along the edge of the scars like I was reading Braille. I wanted the scars to go through my fingers, to twist their way to my heart. I wanted scar tissue to grow inside me and make everything stop hurting. I was about to tell Phil this when I heard a loud gasp. Phil suddenly stood up and the moment was lost.
I looked over my shoulder and saw a group of men, including my dad, standing at the edge of the clearing. Dad strode toward me, with Simon Pettigrew close behind.
“Just what I suspected,” Pettigrew hissed. “Your own daughter. This man half-dressed. Who knows what would have happened if we hadn’t—”
“Shut up, Simon.” Dad turned to me. In a firm, controlled voice, he said, “Helen, pick up your suitcase and go home. Your mom is worried about you.”
I stood up. “No, Dad. I can’t go back there.”
“You see what I mean, now, Simmons? He’s corrupting the youth, including—”
Simon didn’t finish because Dad spun around, clenched his fists, and took two long strides towards him. “If you don’t shut your mouth, Simon, I’ll shut it for you.”
Simon backed up and took his place with the other men who had come into the woods. Dad turned his attention back to me.
“Helen, I’m not arguing with you about this. Do as I tell you.”
Big Phil bent down and put his face close to mine. He spoke quietly. “Helen, your dad is right. You should go home. I told you the same thing only a minute ago. You can’t leave your family yet. You have so much to be thankful for right in that house. You don’t have to stay in Hedges forever. You have plenty of time to grow up and do what you said you wanted to do: change the world. You go on home now. And tell your mom I said thanks for all the kindness she’s showed me.”
I wasn’t going with him, and I guess that all along I had known that I couldn’t. I threw my arms around his waist, hugged him as hard as I could, hoping all the love could flow into him through my arms. Then I pulled myself away, picked up my suitcase, and left the clearing, not looking back even one time.
* * *
In the years that followed, I looked back on that day with a mixture of sorrow and resolve.
I was sorrowful because I had to give up the first love I had ever known that was not of my family. I was sorrowful because my parents worried about me; I could see it in the lines on their faces. I was even more sorrowful that they endured the whispers that followed me through my teenage years.
But those whispers strengthened my resolve. I kept my head up, my shoulders back, and my eyes forward. Never once did anyone know of my pain.
I graduated from Union County Consolidated High School on June 12, 1949. Early on the morning of June 13, I packed my valise with as much as it could hold, took all the cash I had saved from under the mattress of my bed, and put it in my purse. I had one last cup of coffee with Mom and kissed her on the cheek. Dad drove me to the Greyhound bus station in Situate, just twelve miles from Hedges.
After I’d bought my ticket for Reno, Dad and I sat on a bench, waiting for my bus.
“You’re certain you have enough money?” he said.
“Yes, Dad.”
“Where will you live?”
“I’ll stay at a hotel until I get a job, and then I’ll get an apartment.”
Then, the question my family hadn’t asked, though I knew they wanted to.
“Why Reno, Helen?”
I didn’t know exactly how to tell him that I wanted to go somewhere where everything and everyone was different. I wanted to leave everything he knew best. Consistency. Tradition.
“It’s just someplace interesting. It’s a growing city. I might start college in the fall if I can find work right away and not have to dig into my savings too much. There are several colleges around Reno.”
“I didn’t know that.” Dad reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“Here, Helen. Take this. I can’t help but worry just a little about the money situation. You don’t know how much things might cost in a bigger city.” He handed me a fifty.
“Thanks, Dad.” I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him. “Not just for the money. For everything.”
I pulled away a bit and looked at his face. The hair near his temples was fully salt and pepper now, his mustache also beginning to gray.
“How much did I have to do with those gray hairs?” I tried to joke.
His face twisted. He would never let me see him shed tears. Even years later, when my mom died, he didn’t let my brothers and me see him cry. But on this day, I knew...
“Here’s your bus,” he said, looking past me.
We stood up, caught one last embrace, and I picked up my suitcase. “I’ll write you soon, Dad.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Your mom will, too. You can tell us all about your new life.”
He kissed me on the forehead. I turned, handed my suitcase to the bus driver, and stepped up into the stuffy air of the bus. I waded down the aisle past curious eyes and found a seat by a window near the back.
I gazed out to get one more look at my dad. He still stood on the sidewalk in front of the bus station, blowing his nose on a handkerchief I had embroidered his initials onto when I was fifteen. I stuck my head out the window and yelled, “Love you, Dad!” He raised his head, waved, and smiled.
I blew him a kiss, then sat down facing the front of the bus, which was starting to move. I felt like I was just one ragged breath away from my people.
Freaks like Phil.
Freaks like me.
Copyright © 2023 by Theresa Konwinski
