Escape To Anywhere Else - Robert Rippberger

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hands through my hair. I forgot for a moment what I wanted to ask, then remembered but started to second-guess myself, being more certain this time that what I’d heard was in fact a dream. No matter how many times it happened, my body still couldn’t take the shock. I was really starting to lose it, and things were getting worse.

      “What is it?”

      He dampened the rag once more and soaked my shoulders. My eyes grew heavy, my thoughts disconnected. His fingers sifted through my hair as I fell asleep.

      “Goodnight, Ivey. Goodnight.”

      Footsteps climbed the stairs as I groggily wiped my eyes. Louie was gone, but he left me well bandaged. I was feeling a bit better until the door bounced open and in walked Dad. His eyes were glazed, either from a lack of sleep from the night before or because he’d chased his breakfast down with the hard stuff. Whatever the reason, he looked like hell, worse than usual. He eyed me from bruise to cut and put a hand on my thigh as if to examine the gashes. I swallowed hard, unconvinced. The two of us met glances and he took his hand away, turning his eyes to the floor where Louie piled the soggy paper.

      “Your mother...she told me what you did.”

      He took a seat on the bed next to me.

      “I thought we taught you better.”

      I bit my lip, drawing blood. It was either that or applying staples to keep my mouth shut.

      “He didn’t...you know...he didn’t...squirt in you, did he?”

      “Dad! I took a ride in the guy’s car. I didn’t have sex with him!”

      I wanted to vomit at his choice of words.

      “Ivey, don’t lie.”

      He stood back up as if to remind me who was in charge. I took a calming breath and spoke slow enough for a three-year-old to understand.

      “I am not lying. I. Did. Not. Have. Sex. With that man. I did not do anything. Anything. Ask Louie.”

      Dad glanced to the door to see a set of eyes peering in. They grew wide and darted from view.

      “Then what’n the hell were you doing?”

      “It wasn’t just any car, Dad. I went with him for a short ride. If you were in my position, you would have done the same thing.”

      He shook his head, seeming to disagree.

      “Not unless it was a Sting Ray.”

      “It was. It was!” I shouted in his face.

      It couldn’t have been planned any better if it were scripted. He was taken aback.

      He stammered and scrambled for words, finally coming up with, “I’m not getting involved.”

      And then he bumbled and stumbled out the door.

      “Get dressed,” he said from the hall, “We’re gonna go to church bingo tonight. Make yourself presentable.”

      He walked out as tears stocked with anger filled my eyes. It infuriated me that he knew I was wrongly punished but wasn’t going to stand by my side in defense. He might as well have come upstairs, torn off the bandages, and reopened the wounds.

      “I’m stronger than them,” I breathed, “I’m stronger. I’m not going to let them hurt me anymore.”

      I choked back my tears, not giving them the courtesy of a single drop.

      “Never again. From this point forward. Never again.”

      chapter five

      Our faded green John Deere tractor sat idling in the driveway as I crawled onto the back next to Louie.

      Dad honked, “We’re gonna be late.”

      Mom jogged across the lawn carrying a plate of cookies in one hand, and in the other, a bag of bingo supplies consisting of four small daubers, two large daubers, a glue stick, scotch tape, and a thin bar of hand chalk. There was everything in the bag she and Dad needed to win, except luck.

      Mom climbed onto the tractor and handed the cookies to Dad.

      “Don’t steal any,” she snapped, “I made extra for the ride back so you don’t need to put your fat mitts on ’em.”

      Mom took a seat on the hood, acknowledging my presence with a cold glare as if I were less than the mud she tracked through on the way from the house. With a stick, she scraped it from her soles.

      The green giant launched into gear and crawled up the driveway at an alarming speed of eight miles an hour. Eighty-two miles slower than I had traveled with Chuck. It was seven o’clock and still bright, but it would be dark by the time we arrived in town. Louie slid close and placed his hand on my back. I cowered, expecting it to feel like ice, but as usual he was gentle and proceeded to run his fingers up, down and across my shoulders with feather-like fingertips until I felt like cooing.

      Whenever it happened, it was odd to have Louie be so nurturing. It was as if he had a switch to turn on and off. One day he was a bratty little brother, and the next he was a benevolent caregiver. It was times like these when I knew I had it in me to run away, but only if he came with. He was what made home, home.

      An hour and a half later we arrived and parked behind the church in our unofficial, extra-wide spot. I slid from the tractor’s hood, careful not to aggravate any of my scabs.

      “When we go in, it’s straight to the confessional with you, missy.”

      I looked to Dad hoping he might help protest, but he said nothing. The four of us walked up the front steps and as she always did, Mom stopped just shy of the doors. Her body became languid and swayed with the evening breeze. She closed her eyes, her shoulders arched backwards, and her forehead cocked upward as if the sun had come out and was shining only on her. Dad pulled at the large wooden handles, and we filed past her. She joined shortly after, entering like she had been touched in the parking lot by the hand of God. I too got this sensation every once in a while, but my reaction was hardly the same.

      As we walked through the doors, a flock of finicky old women clamored across the room to greet us. Mrs. Tyler, the loudest of the bunch, made quite a scene.

      “Ivey! How are you my dear?” she said with a laugh, wiggling a honeycomb of red hair atop a pale and heavily done-up face.

      “Good,” I replied, glancing around to see if she was here with her stallion of a son.

      “Are you excited for school to start up? I know Isaac’s excited to be a senior.”

      “I’m very excited, Mrs. Tyler,” I said, fluffing my hair and discreetly wiping the dirt from my fingernails. “And by the way...How is Isaac?”

      I tried to keep the question subtle but was grinning like an idiot. Even Louie gave me the eye, mid-sentence with another hag.

      “He’s great. I told him to come tonight, but ever since the church became a new denomination he’s been reluctant.”

      A loving laugh erupted from her lips.

      “Since he was young he’s been standoffish to new things. He’ll come around though. He always does. First spinach and corn bread, now this. He’ll realize it’s good for him.”

      “He’s probably frightened because people have been calling the denomination a cult, and...well, you know how bad that word is nowadays.”

      Mrs. Tyler’s demeanor changed radically. She tightened up, snapped back, withdrew as if I were a rabid dog.

      “A cult?”

      “Well that’s what people have been saying.”

      “A cult,” she repeated, “You think this is a cult? Look up at that cross. Does that look like a cult to you?”

      “No, I wasn’t calling it a cult...” I tried to explain, but

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