A Fine White Dust by Cynthia Rylant
I really loved Mother, and being around her, and unpacking the food she’d bought for me that day really hurt.
When Pop came home we all had a quiet supper. I tried to look at Pop while he ate, without him thinking I was staring at him. Poor Pop. That’s what I thought. Poor old Pop. I wished he’d had more chances in his life. I wished he’d gotten the things he wanted.
And now he had a boy who was going to walk out on him.
You hear about broken hearts all the time. I always turned up my nose at it, thinking it was some kind of girl talk. But looking at my two folks at supper that night, I could swear I felt my heart just cracking right up the middle.
And after supper, when I sat on the porch with Mother while Pop watched TV inside, I wondered why God had done it all to me. Made me meet the Preacher and set me on fire. Why God was calling me away from my folks. Why he couldn’t find some way to let me have the Preacher and have them, too.
Most times I could see God’s hand in things. But this time it seemed he was just looking the other way, leaving me with all the complications.
But I’d still go with the Preacher. I’d go with him because we were meant to be together, him and me. Because life with him would be the closest thing to heaven on earth. And because he needed me. He needed me more than Mother and Pop did. They had each other, but he was alone and carrying the burden of the sin of the world.
That was the thing about Jesus that got to me: how lonely He seemed. The last person on earth who should have been lonely. But He was the most alone person I ever could imagine.
I didn’t want the Preacher Man to suffer like that.
I’d still go with him.
Night came, and I told my folks I’d be walking over to the church about ten o’clock to help clean up. I told them a bunch of people would be there, that I’d get a ride home with somebody, not to expect me till after midnight. I said it all and even looked them in the eye and couldn’t believe how easy that lying was for me.
There was a duffel bag sitting outside in the bushes, there was an empty space on the kitchen wall where a ceramic cross used to hang, and there was a new boy named Peter Cassidy, all set to go out into God’s big world.
So about nine-thirty I went to the front door. Mother and Pop were still watching television. I stuck my head in the living room, and in a voice I didn’t know could be mine, I said, “ ’Night.”
“ ’Night, Pete,” Pop called, never taking his eyes off the screen.
Mother turned her head toward me, though, and in that split second her face looked just the way it did when I saw her at the revival. I can’t describe it. It was just a strange look I’d never seen on her any other time.
“Don’t be out too late, Pete,” she said in a quiet voice. My heart sort of stopped then.
“Okay, Mother. See you later.”
And I smiled and lifted up my hand in a wave as I went out the door, with one giant sob buried deep in me and wringing me inside out.
I fished my duffel bag out of the bushes and headed for the filling station. The walk was about fifteen minutes, so I had plenty of time. I sure didn’t want to risk being late and setting the Preacher all in a panic.
The night was cool and dry, the sky clear. While I walked, I tried to block out thoughts of what I was leaving behind me, like the way I used to block everything from my mind when I was learning to dive. I was scared to death, but I’d make my mind go blank and I’d walk out on that board and I’d be diving in before I knew it.
So I blocked out everything except a picture of the Preacher Man in my head, and I walked on.
The streets are nearly always deserted in town after nine o’clock—it’s just that kind of place. As I got nearer and could see the station in the distance, it didn’t surprise me that there wasn’t a soul around. There hardly ever was.
I was a few minutes early, I knew, so I just walked on under the streetlamp and over to the wall where the Preacher and I had made our plans the night before. It seemed hundreds of years ago. I was nervous, and I thought about getting a pop just to calm myself down, but I changed my mind. He might come all in a hurry and I might not look right with a pop in my hand. I ought to look ready to bolt any second. So I just sat up on the wall with my duffel by my feet, and I waited.
There was a clock lit up inside the station that kept the right time. Five minutes to ten. Five minutes and he’d be coming up the street, walking so straight and nice, and he’d say, “Let’s go, Pete.” My body shook with nerves, and I wasn’t even thinking of Mother and Pop and home.
I was ready.
When the clock hit ten, and I didn’t see him coming up the street, my nerves got worse. But I knew anybody at church could still have him cornered, still be pouring out their sins to him. He wouldn’t walk away from anyone in need. Even if it meant me having to wait for him. He had to minister to the needy first.
I was sitting there, wondering how the last night must have been, how many more sinners he had pulled up that aisle, when Joanie Fulton and her boyfriend came walking down the street.
I felt like I’d been caught at something and I panicked, but Joanie just smiled and said, “Hi, Peter.” Her boyfriend ignored me.
I lifted my hand in a wave and tried to look casual, like I sat on that wall every night at ten o’clock.
“Good revival?” I asked, trying to sound not too interested.
“Great,” she answered. “He fired up the whole place.” She laughed. “I was crying so hard I couldn’t see my music, so I squawked out more sour notes on that organ…” She buried her face in her boyfriend’s shirt, the way girls do sometimes, and giggled.
“Yeah.” I half smiled. “Well, see you.”
I watched them go off, thinking how lucky the Preacher was not to have a girl always hanging on him.
I figured he’d be along real soon, since Joanie had already gone.
The minutes kept on ticking by, and I wondered again about getting a pop, but I figured as soon as I snapped it open he’d come hurrying up the street. We were going to hitchhike all night long, and the later we got started, the harder it would be to get a ride.
“Come on, Preacher,” I whispered to the air.
You think there aren’t enough minutes in the day to do all you have to do sometimes. But watch a clock and those minutes go so slow, you wonder how anybody gets through a whole day with so much time sitting there to be filled up. I watched that clock’s hands move so slow and I watched the street stay empty and I thought God had just hung me up in another time zone. I wondered if everything around me was real. The deserted station with one fluorescent light burning inside. The street all black and empty except where the poles left a puddle of light every block. The stone wall I sat on with my hands twisted up tight, squeezed between my knees. My duffel stuffed with my life, sitting on the sidewalk beneath me. And the clock just ticking and ticking and ticking away the empty, silent minutes.
I sat there on the wall, my eyes looking as far up the street as eyes could look, until eleven o’clock. Eleven o’clock and still no Preacher.
Must be an emergency, I told myself. Must be somebody in a bad way. He must be worried about me sitting here waiting for him.
Eleven-thirty.
I know there’s some good reason, I told myself. Some good reason, but he just can’t send me word. I’ll wait on him. He’ll be here.
Midnight.
I walked up and down in front of the wall, stopping to stare at the empty street. Once a car came by, but it just went on.
Some good reason, I told myself.
Twelve-thirty.
I got a pop. I drank it all down in one gulp, and I squeezed the can hard in my hand. I squeezed it hard as I could, then I threw it in the street. The noise made me shake but the throwing felt good.
One o’clock.
He’s not coming.
I stood in the middle of the street, feeling so heavy, all of me so heavy, and I told myself the truth:
He’
And slowly I walked over to the wall, picked up my duffel, and slowly I started back down the road for home. I was a half-block down the street when somebody rose up out of some bushes, and my body gave one big jerk of fear and hope. Preacher, I thought.
“I’ll walk you home, Pete,” Rufus said.
Rufus. Old friend. I couldn’t move. Just stared at him, thinking I was having some kind of hallucination.
“Come on, Pete,” he whispered, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Come on and go home,” he said.
And I never spoke a word. I just walked on, letting Rufus take me home, and never speaking or feeling or hearing or seeing anything real around me.
The fifteen minutes going to my house was like two. We went up the walk and Rufus swung open the front door for me. I stood there, not knowing what to do.
“Rufus?” I said.
“Go on in, Pete. He’s not taking you. Go on. Go to bed.”
Rufus guided me through the door.
I turned around and looked at him, my eyes so tired and heavy.
“Sure?” I asked.
Rufus nodded his head.
“Go on, Pete.”
And I went on up the stairs while Rufus closed the door behind me. I went into my own room and lay down on my own bed and felt the breeze from my own window running over my face, as I closed my eyes and wished to die.
Hell
Dear Mother and Pop,
Please don’t be mad at me and don’t be worried. My bed’s still made and I’m gone because I didn’t come home last night. And if you will read this letter real slow, you will find out what happened.
First, I’m sorry I had to lie to you both last night. There wasn’t any other way.
I have left town with Reverend Carson. He’s the revival preacher at church.
PLEASE DON’T WORRY. This is God’s will for me and there is no safer place on earth than with Reverend Carson. He will take good care of me and I’ll eat right and I’ll sleep right and I promise you I’ll be careful in my travels. You both have taught me how to be responsible and I won’t forget what you taught.
I know you can’t understand why I’ve gone and done this to you. I never ever wanted in my life to cause you to suffer and I just pray you won’t be too upset by me leaving. I would just hate for you to be unhappy.
But God has called me to help this preacher. I don’t know why He chose me, but I’m the one who got the job. I know you will think it’s all a bunch of foolishness, but PLEASE just try to let me do this for God. I’m different. You’ve known all along I was different. And I know you probably wished a thousand times I’d turned out some other way, but I’m just like this and there’s no changing me.
I just feel called. Like God has planted some message in me and I’ve got to follow what it says. And I can’t do anything else till I follow it.
So I’ve gone traveling with the Preacher. He says he’ll teach me things like I’d learn at school, so you don’t have to worry about that. And if he stops traveling and settles down someplace, then I’ll start back to regular school.
I’ll try to come and see you both when I can.
I’m asking you, please don’t come after me or send the police to get me. We’ll be hiding awhile, but I don’t want to hide all my life. If you don’t chase after me, I won’t have to.
Just please don’t worry. The Preacher will take care of everything. He’s a GOOD MAN.
Mother, I wanted to leave you some kind of little present but I didn’t have enough time to think up something real nice. So on my travels I’ll look for just what I think you’d like and I’ll send it to you.
Pop, I tried to finish up some work around the house. I would have painted the mailbox, too, but I ran out of paint. I’m sorry if I never did as much work for you as I could have. I really love you both. I wish I could take you with me. I’ll be safe. Don’t worry.
Love,
Pete
P.S. If you want, Rufus can have my bike. His is about busted.
When I finally woke up, the first thing I saw was the letter taped to my mirror where I’d left it. FOR MOTHER AND POP FROM PETE the envelope said. I’d borrowed some of Mother’s pink-flowered stationery.
When I woke up, I saw the letter and, like in a dream, I got out of bed, walked over, and pulled the letter off the mirror, then climbed back under the sheet with it. I opened it up and, lying flat on my back, I read it. I read it straight through without ever yet thinking about what had happened the night before. I read it, I guess, to get some hold on everything that was spinning around in my head.
It was after eleven. Pop long gone. Mother probably out, too. The house quiet. The sun coming in the window.
I had slept like a dead person. And what happened to me at the filling station still wasn’t coming through clear.
Dear Mother and Pop.
I really did write that letter yesterday, I thought. I really did write that letter and I really did pack my bag and I really did leave home last night. For good. I left home for good.
Then what was I doing lying in my own bed the next morning? My letter in my hands and my duffel bag next to my bed and me supposed to be somewhere else?
Oh, Lord.
Where were you, Preacher? I waited and waited and you never came for me. Where were you?
I was all set. I was even early. I wouldn’t even drink a pop, Preacher! I wouldn’t even drink a pop because of you.
I watched that clock. You never came down that street, Preacher. You never came, then Rufus came. Rufus! And here I am with my insides all a wreck, and I am wondering, Where are you, Preacher?
Oh, that morning I hurt. I crushed up that letter to my folks and threw it across the room. I didn’t want to get up but I didn’t want to stay in bed, either. I didn’t want to cry but I didn’t want not to cry. I didn’t want to remember but I didn’t want to forget.
I just wished for some miracle.
I just wished for the Preacher to come walking in my door.
Deep down, I thought he would come walking in my door.
The Messenger
“Pete?”
I tried to open my eyes but it was like they were zip-locked.
“Pete?”
I was hearing my name called, and as I came out of my dreaming I knew he had come back for me. I came out of my dreaming to find him.
I opened my eyes.
“Pete, you awake now?”
I looked at the face hanging over my bed, and I wanted to cry.
Rufus.
My mouth was all gummed together. “Water,” I whispered.
Rufus gave me one of his annoyed looks, then went out. He came back with a bathroom cup full of water.
I sat up and drank it straight down. Then I sat rubbing my head, trying to come alive again.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“About noon.”
“Grief,” I said. I looked around me and spotted my duffel. Then I remembered it all, every bit, every single crystal-clear minute of it, and I wanted to roll back up in a ball and be alone.
“Thought I’d see how you’re doing,” Rufus said.
I remembered what he’d done for me, so I smiled a little.
“Fair,” I answered. “Got enough sleep, that’s for sure.”
We were both quiet.
“Rufus, last night …”
“No problem. I was just passing that way and I saw you and …”
He was silent. We both knew lies wouldn’t work with us.
“How long did you sit in those bushes?” I asked him.
“Long as you hung around that station.”
I shook my head and sighed.
“Your folks weren’t ticked off at you, staying out that late?”
Rufus grinned. “I told them I was going to spend the night with you. Which is kind of true, when you look at it.” He thought a minute. “I just wanted to be there when you left town.”
I nodded my head but I didn
“I don’t know what happened to him,” I whispered.
Rufus didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know why he hasn’t come for me yet,” I said. “Maybe he got in an accident. Or had a heart attack. I don’t know what happened to him.”
I looked at Rufus. And then I could see it. I could see it in his face.
Rufus knew.
Oh, I didn’t want to ask him. I was afraid to find out, thinking I couldn’t bear any more pain. He was going to tell me the Preacher was dead. He was going to take away my Preacher.
“What?” I whispered.
Rufus opened his mouth to speak, then he shut it again.
“What?” I nearly yelled. I was sitting straight up in bed and I must have looked half-crazy.
“Pete,” Rufus said. “Pete, I found out something this morning. It’s buzzing all over town.”
He paused. I thought I might break into a million splinters while I waited for him.
Rufus took a deep breath.
“Pete, he left town last night.”
I stared at Rufus, waiting for things to clear up.
“He left town with Darlene Cook. You know. Homer Cook’s big sister. The one who was a majorette last year and works at the drugstore.”
I know my breathing just stopped cold.
My eyes got to watering, but I tightened them up. I wasn’t going to let Rufus see me like that. I knew Rufus couldn’t stand such stuff.
“When?” I whispered.
Rufus looked at me.
“After the revival. Darlene took off from her house about nine-thirty and—”
“No!” I yelled. I jumped out of bed, all my clothes still on me, even my shoes, and I kicked my duffel bag across the room. I heard the crack of something breaking inside.