Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [32]
For the next hour, there were woods on both sides of the road. Jack walked as close to the tree line as he could, ducking into the trees whenever a car approached. Because of the rain, cars had their headlights on, so he could see them approaching — hopefully before they caught sight of him.
At one point he passed a sand pit with rusty metal sculptures lining the road. There were Jesus fish, flat angels with thin lips and triangle noses; cutouts of men and women holding hands, of Jesus touching the finger of a man; and signs that said LOVE, PEACE, and JUSTICE in giant letters. But there were also several hand-painted signs with runny letters that reminded Jack of blood, signs that read: NO TRESPASSING: VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED. He ran on that stretch of road until all the sculptures and all the words felt far behind him.
Finally, this road merged with a busier road, one with fewer trees and more businesses. There were auto-parts stores, paint stores, and shoe stores. Maybe, Jack thought, it was better to be in a crowded place. He wouldn’t call attention to himself.
By this time, his bare legs felt so cold from the constant rain, he could hardly feel them. Except, that is, for the places where his shorts were rubbing against them, making them red and irritated. He’d choose another place to go in and dry off. Someplace that would have lots of people, so that maybe he wouldn’t be noticed. Someplace that didn’t sell newspapers.
Up ahead was a building that looked more like a camp lodge than a store. The sign below the green metal roof read L.L. BEAN OUTLET. Framing the door were kayaks that reminded Jack of Life Savers candies, especially the orange-and-yellow-striped ones. “No one goes to Maine without shopping at L.L. Bean,” his mother had said when they were making their list.
Why would everyone want to go to an outdoor-sports store? he had wondered. Now here he was — only this one didn’t look like the store in the picture his mom had shown him. There was no giant boot out front, either. This must be a baby L.L. Bean.
At the front of the store was a rack of bikes, and some sports accessories like compasses and water bottles, but the rest of the store was a field of clothes — clothes, and tourists carrying canvas shopping bags instead of pushing carts. It wasn’t until Jack had woven his way through the mob (keeping his head down and apologizing over and over for his bulky backpack) that he saw a smattering of camp furniture in the corner. He imagined himself stretching out on the futon and taking a nap. Yeah, right. How long would it take for someone to recognize him as the kid on the news?
Jack had learned his lesson. He needed to rest and dry off, but he’d have to remain hidden this time. It didn’t take long to come up with a perfect plan.
He went to a rack of boys’ clothes and grabbed a striped shirt and an L.L. Bean sweatshirt. He hunted for shorts or pants, but they didn’t seem to have any of those today — at least not any where he was standing — so he grabbed a bathing suit instead. Then he went into one of the men’s dressing rooms, where the walls, benches, and doors were pinewood. It was the last dressing room before the handicapped one. He locked the door and slipped out of his wet clothes and into the ones he’d gathered. The shirt was huge, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to take these clothes; he was just going to borrow them for a while. After setting the elephant on the bench, he hung his own clothes up on the metal hooks to dry. Finally, he stretched out on the wooden bench and pulled out his comic books, but the pages were stuck together and ripped at the slightest touch. Practically pulp.
He pulled the big shirt over his still-cold legs. He ate a cereal bar. These bars that the man at the food pantry had picked out were filling, but boy, was he getting sick of this one nutty, raisiny flavor.
Every now and again, someone would knock and he’d say, “I’m in here,” and