Chaos and Control(9)

I finally finish unpacking my bag. I find a couple of T-shirts, some socks, a few condoms, candy bar wrappers, two bottles of water, and my iPod. It’s an ancient piece of shit that I found somewhere in New Jersey. Luckily, it was loaded with decent music.

I turn the bag over and shake it, just to make sure it’s empty. I can hear something rattling, but nothing falls out. I lay it flat and pat down the exterior. Near the bottom, I feel a small rectangular block. Flipping the bag inside out, I find a small pocket that I didn’t even know existed. I unzip the pocket and pull out a navy and silver box. There are a couple of symbols on it and a grey button that says SOS. The logo at the bottom says Brickhouse.

Turning it over a few times, I can’t figure out what it is or where it came from. I take the device to the kitchen table and set it next to Bennie’s computer. Lucky for me, she doesn’t keep it password protected. I open a browser window and type in the name on the box. I scroll down the page and recognize the picture of the same device I have. When I click the photo, I read the name of the product again and again, forcing my brain to process the words on the screen. GPS tracker. “Our Best Portable Tracker - Now Faster, More Accurate and Longer Lasting. Top-rated GPS tracking device provides instant speed and location information sent right to your phone.”

“Dylan,” I whisper.

My stomach lurches, but it’s empty so I end up dry heaving over the kitchen sink. My knees are weak as I hold on to the counter to stay upright. I try to catch my breath, which seems to only choke me more.

“No. No. No. No,” I repeat over and over, until it matches the pace of my racing heart.

I turn the faucet on and splash cold water on my face, burying myself in the darkness behind my hands. I stand there for a few minutes, until realization snaps me back to the present.

I stomp across the kitchen and grab the GPS tracker from the table. Back at the sink, I flip the garbage disposal on and toss the thing down the drain. I know it’s dramatic, but I just need it destroyed. There’s an awful crunching and grinding sound as the old metal blades hack at the thing. When I’m satisfied, I turn the switch off and pull what’s left out of the drain.

What was once a sleek blue box is now a mangled piece of garbage. I toss it in the trash, shut down Bennie’s computer, and head for the shower.

As the steam surrounds me, I tell myself the thing probably ran out of power before I got here. I try not to think about Dylan knowing where I am. I try not to think about him coming here.

I try, but I’m not successful.

The rest of the morning is spent going through boxes of old stuff in my closet. There are tons of clothes in there, and I make fun of the stuff I wore in high school. I stand in front of the mirror and hold a floral patterned dress in front of me. I can almost see the girl who used to wear this. She had long blond hair and year-round tan lines. She was a sheep, following and doing what others told her to. She was Logan Sawyer’s girlfriend. She was a virgin, and then one night, she wasn’t. She believed that all of life’s answers lived outside of Crowley.

I throw most of the clothes in a bag for donation, keep a few basic pieces, and move on to the last box. As I rip the tape and pull back the cardboard flap, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. My favorite books and records are stacked inside, along with yearbooks and a few knickknacks. When I find the Arcade Fire album, I jump up and put it on in the main room. I crank the volume and go back to my box of valuables.

When Bennie comes home, I’m in the middle of my rendition of “No Cars Go.” She rolls her eyes and disappears into her room. A few minutes later, she reemerges, looking more like herself. She makes lunch and helps me wash all the boxed clothes I’m keeping, plus the stuff from my bag. Later we park ourselves in front of the television and watch reruns of Bewitched. There is a buzzing and banging noise coming from somewhere, and it’s driving me nuts. I mute the television and listen again but hear nothing. I want to ask Bennie, but she is asleep after two episodes. Instead of waking her, I cover her and leave her on the couch.

…

The shop is closed on Mondays, so when I crawl out of bed at ten o’clock, Bennie is still in her kitchen drinking coffee. She sits with her laptop open, typing furiously.

“Morning,” I grumble before pouring myself a cup.

“Good morning,” she says, glancing at me over the top of her screen.

I take a seat and sip my drink. “I need to go shopping, get some necessities. Can you give me a ride to Franklin?”

Bennie keeps her eyes on her screen. “I can’t today. I’ve got plans.”

I wait for her to say she’s kidding, but she doesn’t. “Okay.”

I look out the window, at the street below. An old man walks a tiny yipping dog, both of them strutting down that sidewalk like they own it. A couple of kids race each other on bikes and then turn around to try again. There are a few cars parked across the street, but other than that, it’s pretty quiet.

“I think Preston goes to Franklin on Mondays. You should ask him for a ride,” Bennie says.

My filthy mind immediately pictures Preston giving me a ride, and I grin into my coffee.

“I just might do that,” I say.

Bennie closes her computer and pushes away from the table. “Well, I’m going to get dressed. I’ll be gone most of the day.”

“Where are you off to?” I ask.