Somewhere Out There

Somewhere Out There

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By Melissa Toni 

 

 

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“I found God in Nature and Freedom in the Universe.” ~ Melissa Toni 

 

 

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Chapter One

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I can’t go back. There is no going back, now that I have Scrat again. She meows from the inside of the four-person tent, eyes rounded and bright—both a kitten curious and focused, and an adult starkly aware. She sits poised and watching as I pull from the storage container whatever I can, tossing aside things unnecessary, taking only what I need.

 

I open the back of my new van, fully paid for—half my savings from five years of dog walking, swapped and exchanged for something safe and with wheels we can call our home. The two back doors open out on either side, like wings, revealing a cavity—a small alcove with a window and sliding door on one side, and about eight feet of empty room from the lip of the back to the metal-grated gate dividing the front seats. I survey the pile of old apartment belongings behind me—possessions spilled out and still stacked high to the top of the ten-foot storage container from about halfway in, all the way back. Most of it I can’t take. I already know that. I just have to trust that what I need is close to the outside.

 

My phone rings. I pull the screen out from my purse on the grass, looking up at a rounded camera-lens facing me from the high corner of the storage unit. I answer the phone.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hi, is this Melissa Toni I’m speaking with?”

 

I move to the strewn furniture on the pavement of the lot, sorting through a bit faster than I was before.

 

“Yes it is.”

 

“Hi Melissa. This is Jesse from MCM Storage Units. Are you at your storage unit now?”

 

I look to the camera and wave.

 

“Yes, that’s me. I’m just getting what I need and then I’ll be out of here.”

 

“Okay. You’re not in trouble or anything, but was that you in the tent who stayed over last night?”

 

I sit down for a moment, cross-legged in the warmth of the sun, adjusting my plans. “Yes, but I’ll be gone by today.”

 

“We need you off the property by 4 p.m. We don’t allow people to camp here.”

 

“I understand, but I do rent this unit. I have a right to get my belongings.”

 

“You rent the unit, but that doesn’t mean you can camp out on our property.”

 

“I’m not camping out. I really am trying to get out of here as fast as I can.”

 

“We need you gone by 4 p.m.”

 

“I understand. Let me continue what I was doing so I can be out of here before then.”

 

I hang up the phone, adrenaline mixed with fear rising again. I channel it all into purpose, steady mind as I pull the loose top board off an Ikea side table and begin screwing pegs onto the flat base. Abbreviated, my vision for shelves become a series of bags instead, hung like separate drawers on each peg, the whole thing screwed to the van’s inner wall. It’s a miracle I don’t hit a wire. I try not to think about any of that as I take my old full-length mirror and position it horizontal on the opposite side—the wall without a window—to bring in more light and make the whole space feel a bit less like a container. I drive a screw through each of the four corners and two extras in the middle of the top and bottom length, happy with the homey touch and the surprising strength of the van’s plastic lining.

 

“Okay, now no more screws in the walls.”

 

The sun moves steadily along with me overhead. Over in the shade, beneath the false safety of human-developed land and trees, Scrat laps at her bowl of water—a precious sound that stirs intimately soft the rapid pace of my heart. I look at my phone to check the time: 1 p.m. I’ll be done with all this by sheer will within the next hour.

 

Box upon box, none of it matters. I climb on top of the couch sectional, laid sideways like a barrier shoved in the middle. I can see my old bed platform and mattress, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to heave it out. I reach instead for the foam mattress pad, pulling it out easily, never minding the clanking sound of lamps and knickknacks that were stuffed in between. Too fast, there are no feelings. No memories or associations. Just me and my pile of stuff and my already-out-of-here stream of consciousness leading the way.

 

I take out my knife from the small inner pocket of my purse, carving the mattress pad like tofu, making the bed how I want. Next, I crack off the extra length of my old desk, keeping only the square shelfing part and flat top. I saw off the rough edges with the inch or so of serrated knife and then shove that in the corner just behind the driver’s seat. The mattress pad fits in easily, taking up the majority of the back with room enough on the bottom for my shoes and space on the side near the sliding door to fold up the tent and keep Scrat’s litter box. Out of pure luck, I find my old bedding in one of the boxes in front of the sectional. I pull the extra length of fitted sheet tight around the newly-shaped side of the foam bed, and make the rest as usual—my white coral comforter on top complete with the four pillows, two brown to match the sheets, two decorative white, and a small sky-blue throw pillow to place in the center. I fold whatever blankets I can find at the bottom, already knowing the importance of warmth at night. There really isn’t much else I need. Just a moment of pause to take it all in.

 

My phone rings again. I move to my purse. Same number, same reason, I’m sure.

 

“Hi, yes, I’m actually leaving right now.”

 

“We need you off the property by 4 p.m. and you can’t camp here again.”

 

“I know. I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

 

Keeping my eyes averted from the camera, I chuck the rest of the stuff back in the storage unit and use my key to lock the door. Phone on silent now, back in my purse, I slow time as I unzip the rounded door of the tent and take Scrat up into my arms. Her front paws grasp over my left shoulder, small but certain. We hold each other close. I hoist her up high with my right forearm beneath her back feet—her body as light and lovely as it always is. She meows small, the tiny one-note mews she tends to do when she’s close to my ear. I wouldn’t have come back if it wasn’t for her. Sunny hilltop in Montana, away from the lies, the violence, the blood family, and everything human-made and deceiving, I saw and felt only one thing: Scrat and our shared freedom, united together again, as her wild-made spirit met up with mine, bounding up the slope of yellow grass, where we could live safe and unafraid.

 

From no choice to sole purpose, the place around us is already disintegrating. We don’t belong here and never did. I lay her safely on the passenger seat, along with a small handful of treats, before collecting the rest of her belongings, readying ourselves to go. It’s an easy drop-off, the envelope with the storage unit key and note inside. I slip it in the welcome center’s front box, tapping the corner of the envelope in the slot so no one else can take it out. The calls afterward can be settled and ignored. I already read the lease agreement. In making my last payment and giving adequate notice, I know I did nothing wrong.

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Chapter Two

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Bsssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

The static from the van’s radio is blaring. I turn the volume knob down as I scan through, searching for human comfort, I guess, but it only takes a few more partial stations before I prefer silence again. Out the windows, the slender highway carves my route beside a dusty hill to my left and what appears to be a river to my right, glimmering through the modest grove of roadside trees. In the back, I can see Scrat through my rearview mirror, curled up on the bed, already well-adjusted to the routine of these morning-to-night driving days. I lift my left foot up onto the pocket of my driver side door, propping my knee up for a more comfortable position. The change in lifestyle has been a breeze for me too. Funny how easy it is to drive on when everything left behind was so terrible.

I watch the trees from up ahead give way to an open view of what is far more than a river. The flat of the road is a plateau now, the lip of a cliff, as the gushing waters reveal themselves wide, powerful and untamed as they wash through the valley’s canyon. With the sun high overhead and the surrounding hills baked a light-warm brown, my skin tingles warm too, as connected to the earth and its mile-by-mile glory that grows more beautiful each day out here. I drive on, opened by the cloudless sky and the way the blue seems to deepen as it nears the outline of distant land.

Bsssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I hit the volume knob off fast this time, jolted by the unexpected sound. From the back, Scrat wakes and begins to cry, meow after meow inconsolable as the distance between our seats and the metal divider gate keeps her from me. I reach for the handle to let the door swing open, but with the mattress only about half a foot in, it’s a stunted effort as the gate crashes back, hitting the frame. I cringe at the added noise.

“Scrat, hold on, just let me pull over. Give me one second.”

My own slight shock inside, an adrenaline flutter, is easy to overcome and ignore. I re-close the gate to silence the loose-metal rattling sound and re-steady my hands on the wheel to search for a safe spot along the river to ground stillness for a moment. I take the first dirt road to the right I can find, letting it guide me past a few tents nestled between the cliff-side trees, but stopping before the paved parking lot. A dirt patch between feels just right. I park the van sideways with the long window and sliding door on the quiet river-and-tree side.

“That’s better.”

I shut off the engine and pull up both legs to scoot around in my seat. Reopening the divider gate, I push it as far as I can from this angle, slipping my way through and into the open cavity space to rejoin Scrat. She stands up and steps toward me in a way where I can tell the squish of the foam mattress still makes her happy. I reach out to pet her back as she arches up high, tail shimmering to meet me.

“Stupid radio.”

I smile, laughing as my own silliness dissolves all types of fears. Body slender, Scrat encircles my hand a few times, popping up off her front paws to reach my palm and touch back down again. I lean into her fully, wrapping both arms around. So small and so everything, these moments too dissolve the rest away.

In the far corner, I can see the black bag of laundry—a modest amount for several days, but still, something I’d rather keep up with than let build. I lighten my hug to let Scrat over my arms, back onto the bed, and then I scoot to the back to grab the bag and open the door. Pulling out the tent too, I summon Scrat to stay for just a moment as I search for a safe place to set up her playpen.

With the laundry bag over my shoulder, my lanyard keys around my neck, and the length of the tent held crossways in front of my body, I follow a steep and skinny trail down through the trees, to the river’s shoreline. Several large boulders guide my way out to the water, where washing clothes in the current is possible, but setting up a tent on reliable ground not so much. I take a moment to survey the rocky shore, but there really is no safe and stable area to stake down the corners. I leave the bag of laundry at the bottom of the trail, realizing I forgot the bottle of shampoo anyway as I heave the tent back up. Inside, Scrat is seated on the bed, facing me, as I reopen the door.

“Sorry, Scrat. We’ll have to find another place to set up the tent and stretch our legs.”

I slide the long tote bag back between the bed and side door, checking her food and water bowl too. From the foot of the bed, I retrieve the bottle of shampoo from my leftover collection of toiletries.

“This won’t take long. I’m just gonna wash my clothes and then I’ll be right back.”

With the front windows cracked and the doors locked, I head back down the trail to find my plastic bag full of laundry still where I left it. I pick it up by the cinched top, lengthening my stride as I traverse the gaps between the rounded boulders.

 

Seated on the far edge of the lowest one, I angle myself against the current to catch the water where it slows in finding direction, rather than the uninhibited pull from the river’s center. Dipping my tank top in, I can feel the momentum of the undertow. I let that depth be the clean cycle, and the foamy top the scrubbing surface where I use my nubby fingernails to scrape off the deodorant along the armpit’s seam as best as I can. I hold the shoulder-loops of the shirt underneath the water, feeling as the current beneath pulls the rest. Brushing aside the top suds, I take out my shirt. Laid out on the rock’s smooth surface beside me, I’m satisfied with the drying process too, as nature absorbs the water and warms the fibers both from the sun above and the solid heat beneath.

I press the shirt flat to keep it there as I pull out another piece of clothing, dipping that in the river and soaping it the same. Focused, but still appreciative of where I am, I take a moment to look up and breathe in that wild open air again.

Slightly ahead, on the opposite side of the river, I’m surprised to see a couple my age, floating along casually in a blow-up raft. Far enough away, the female and I both look on at each other. I continue with my washing, a bit more aware of how odd my life has become. She smiles and waves.

“That looks kinda fun.”

I laugh. “You know, it kinda is.”

I do my best to balance both what I’m doing with the unexpected normalcy close and drifting by.

“That looks fun too.” I motion toward their raft, before taking in the whole of the scene around. “This place is beautiful.”

“Yeah, it really is,” she says. “We’ve never gone tubing here before.”

I smile as I return to my work in hand, letting the busyness of what I’m doing free up all comparisons, allowing life to be just as it is, both personal and open as the differences share space. Their bubble reforms again, taking them further down, out of view, as I wash the last of my clothing. All laid out, the task is complete, and the whole of my life within my reach. I gather my clothes damp and head back up to the van.

“Scratty!”

Opening my own doors to see her never gets old. I crawl up to the front to lay the dripping clothes on the dashboard for now, turning around to tend to the next bit of business in figuring out how to keep the divider gate open while I drive. I squish the top of the mattress in to squeeze the gate open. The foam pressure could be enough to keep it in place even over rough country roads as we search for free spaces to sleep at night, but I need certainty. I reach for the cat bag again, pulling out her leash this time, using that as a tether to loop around the gate’s handle and through the metal grate behind my driver’s seat. It works. No more worrying about that as I drive.

Key in the ignition, I start up the engine. Scrat joins me up front easily as I reenter the highway stream, all challenges in our self-made world nothing compared to the family/friend drama we just barely got ourselves out of, left shaking and burning behind. My dad’s stiff, corpse-like hug still haunts me. He was the only person I cared to see, and the only person I had to see in order to get Scrat back.

“I love you.”

I said it firmly. It was both a declaration and a goodbye. I don’t think he said anything back. Just a feeble attempt too late. “I can fix this.”

In the wind, I hold my shirt out the window, letting it dry in the late afternoon breeze. My attention is better spent here, on the fabric in hand, making sure it dries evenly before swapping it out for the next piece of clothing.
 

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Chapter Seventy-Three (Last Chapter)

 

The morning is a relief as I wake and find myself still in the motel 6 bed in Branford, Connecticut—far enough away from last night’s nightmare, but never far enough away from the people and places I can’t trust. Warm on my side, Scrat is nestled close, her head tucked beneath her paw, but her eyes wide open. It’s all so cyclical. It’s all such bullshit and abusively the same.

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I pull my legs out from beneath the covers, the rough of the tightly woven carpet a welcomed texture on the bottom of my feet as I feel the ground, pressing in and kneading the round just before my toes. I like the slight smooth coating—the oil layer from hundreds, maybe thousands of others who have stepped barefoot here before. I can feel their Thank God—their Thank God and Who Cares At All about the cleanliness of this place. It’s a miracle to be free and a miracle to have a life I can call my own.

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I take the pill bottle and prescription from the top of the bureau, laughing a bit as I openly hate it all. One and a half in the morning, one in the afternoon, and two at night. Unscrewing the cap, I move to the bathroom to tap two pills out into the palm of my hand, dropping them both into the bowl of the toilet to flush away. I wouldn’t be so fearless if anyone else was here. A clenched and heated stream of tears rolls down my cheek from the anger and frustration behind my eyes. I wipe it away, ripping off some toilet paper to blow my nose and flushing that too before putting the cap back on the bottle and into the small pocket of my purse to take with me—not because I’m an obedient patient, but because I’m a free-bird, smarter than all of them.

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I take out my silver “Health” folder to add the prescription paper to the stack of previously manufactured lies, just in case, just in case. I suppose a small bit of me, despite how masculine and unafraid I am, still prepares for the worst—the corners and stops where they might catch me. The upside-down world where being drug-free is a crime.

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I zipper the folder back into my suitcase, along with the rest of my clothes. Behind me on the bed, Scrat is sitting up. She pushes her front paws into the mattress for a poised stretch as her ears flicker back for a yawn. Her tiny teeth click together as her eyes relax back open in watching me. A new day. A new adventure. I feel it casually too, as she reminds me through energy that we can do just about anything.

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On the bed, I lay back down beside her as she steps onto the soft of my belly, the sun shining in full as I take up my phone. I call the nearest U-Haul to plan our escape. The receptionist who answers the phone is just as casual.

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“Hey, yes, same day rental is no problem.”

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“Great, thank you! And the smallest box truck is perfect—I hardly have any stuff.”

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“Sounds good. Just give me one second to process this for you . . . Oh, and will you be returning the U-Haul here or dropping it off at one of our other locations?”

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“Another location. I’m not sure yet. Wherever I can get a motel up North.” I pet the soft of Scrat’s forehead as she listens, half-closed eyes, chin resting on one paw.

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“Okay, that’s no problem. We can make charge adjustments after you find a location to drop it off.”

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“Perfect! Thank you.”

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I hang up and call an Uber next to get us to the U-Haul location. Together, Scrat and I can drive back from there on our own to get the rest of our belongings before check-out. It’s a small hurdle to navigate moving without a car, but I’m better off with the money in my savings for now. In a way, it feels good to be unattached to anything. Lighter and lighter, I’m as much the soft fluff in these motel pillows as I am the warm summer breeze I can already feel through my fingertips. The Uber driver arrives on time, as expected, and as human as I remember people being. He drives us the twenty minutes to New Haven, Scrat on my lap in her carrier, and my eyes mostly on the road ahead as he makes conversation—nothing prying nor pretending in how largely connected we all are. It’s a joy. It’s a relief to meet back up with the purity of humanity. I let myself feel into the sparkling water as he drives over the Q Bridge, but only on the highest level, where the lapping bits of reflected light inspire tingles up my spine and pull me like an airy droplet up the current.

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“So, what are your plans for up North? I’ve never been there myself. I imagine there isn’t much to do.”

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I breathe in and sigh. “Nature. Freedom. I don’t need much to do.”

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“You’re so young though!”

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“No, I’m not.” I shake my head, smiling and exhausted, as ethereal as the clouds above. “I am, but I’m definitely not. I’m thirteen and three thousand years old all at the same time, and everything in between.”

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“Is that what your license says?” He smirks, knowingly.

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I straighten back up in my seat, resting my arms around Scrat’s carrier. My black baseball cap brim reminds me always too of my soul’s solidity and devotion to being. Scrat folds her paws beneath her chest, adjusting herself more comfortable atop the width of my muscular thighs. I let the ground soften and meld together as her seat cushion. In truth, there is nothing airy about me. I’m about as boulder dependable as a mountain.

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“So, how old are you really? If you don’t mind me asking.”

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“I’m twenty-nine. Gonna be thirty this year.”

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“Woah, that’s a big milestone.” He pulls off the exit and down the ramp. “Any special plans or just gonna relax with yourself and your cat?”

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“Relax, for sure. And figure out home. The logistics and what it’s gonna take.”

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He pulls into the U-Haul parking lot. “Sounds nice. To be honest, I wish I could go.”

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From my purse on the floor, I pull up the strap holding the top closed, only to hear the metal button pop off. I collect the magnet piece from the floor, zippering it into the small pill-rattling pocket to worry about later. For now, I can just hold the top together with my hand. I take out my wallet and hand him a twenty dollar bill.

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“Here you go.”

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He smiles soft as he takes the bill and holds out his other hand for a formal shake. “Thank you, Melissa. It was a pleasure driving with you.”

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“You too.”

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With Scrat’s carrier-strap level on my right shoulder and my broken purse clenched together in my other hand, she and I head into the U-Haul office to retrieve our keys. Higher than any other vehicle we’ve been in, we take our usual seats: Scrat unzippered and free from her carrier, and me with both hands on the wheel. She steps her front paws up onto the lip of the dashboard, ears perked, meowing out to the road ahead, as if clearing our way. I keep the windows up and my hands steady as we return to the Branford motel, only to gather the rest of our stuff and check out, never to be seen again. Apart but not a part of, separate but still together—that life and those lies were never for me. I secure the back of the box-truck down and rejoin Scrat in the front seat.

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Reaching over, I crank down both windows about an inch, letting in that summer breeze. We don’t heal family and we can’t heal others. We can only free and heal ourselves. From route-1 shoreline to 91-North, Scrat and I blaze our own trail—we re-enter what it means to be both mountain and breeze, shade and sunshine, moon and open air. There is no taming a spirit once it has felt and remembered freedom, and as Scrat settles herself peacefully on my lap, why would anyone want to? There’s nothing to fear. It was nature herself who held and taught us everything, and it is nature herself who will rebirth our roots again. Today, we are the wind, but tomorrow, we will be pollen in the sun, prepared to start again.