Page 12 of Base Block

“Have you picked where you’re going yet?”

“No,” I answered.

“Where’s your family?”

“I grew up in Washington state.” But there was nobody left now, which was how I’d ended up in Los Angeles. “Are you leaving behind family when you go to Michigan?”

“No, there’s just me. I’ll have no reason to come back here ever again, especially if I get rid of the house somehow.” He glanced out of his side window, too. “After you said that this was a permanent move, I realized that you were right. Even if I don’t make the Woodsmen roster, I’m going to try somewhere new.”

“I’ll probably do that, too, and I could let you know where I am. Then you could come there and you’d already know someone,” I said.

“That would be nice.”

It would have been. I remembered showing up in LA, all alone and pretty bewildered. It would have been easier if there had been someone I could have texted to say hi, let’s meet up and have dinner. I thought about inviting him over to an apartment I might have, where there was a table, plates for both of us, and dish soap.

“So you’re thinking about a destination?” he asked me, phrasing the same question in another way. He’d also asked that the night before and my answer hadn’t changed.

“I’ll figure it out,” I said. “Is the bus station near the monuments downtown?”

“Yeah, but you can’t stay there.”

“No, I don’t plan to do that,” I answered. We rode for a few minutes in silence. “I hope you have a great time in Michigan,” I finally said, breaking it. “I bet you’ll play for that team and be really successful.”

“Thank you. Why do you think so?”

“You pushed me into your car to save me from the dog and you stood up to it. Then you helped me with my foot and let me stay with you, even though I could have been a thief.”

“I don’t have much to steal,” he pointed out.

“I could have taken this car. Anyway, it was nice of you to do all that and I think that what goes around sometimes comes around. Not often, but I think it will for you.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be negative? Like if someone yells at a cat and then they step on a rake and get hit in the face, you could say, ‘What goes around comes around.’ I don’t think it’s for good stuff.”

“It could be,” I argued. “If things come around for you, they’ll be positive.”

“Thank you,” he told me again. “I hope positive things come for you, too.” But then he shook his head. “You can’t leave here in my T-shirt.”

“My gold dress wouldn’t expand enough for me to wear again,” I said. “It got so small after I washed it that the skirt won’t even fit around my arm. If you have an address in Michigan, I can mail this shirt back to you.”

“No, I don’t care if you take it. I mean that you’re only wearing a little dress you made and hotel slippers. You can’t travel in that. We should stop so you can get some shoes.” He exited the highway and drove toward a big, lighted sign. “This place is open.”

After we had parked, he rummaged around in the back seat. “I have this,” he said, pulling free what I thought was a comforter from a bed. But when he shook it out, I saw that it was actually an XXXL sweatshirt. “It was mine in high school. You should take it.”

“Are you sure? It’s probably a nice memento.”

“No, I don’t have a lot of pleasant memories of that time of my life, besides of the coach who tried to kick my ass into gear. Anyway, it seems like you get cold. You needed that coat last night,” he pointed out.

“Thank you. I’ll be glad to have shoes, too.” We slowly went into the store, where I found a pair of flip-flops and a four-pack of thongs so I wouldn’t have to keep washing my underwear. I dropped my items into a plastic bag at the register, because I planned to repurpose it. When we returned to his car, I put on the shoes and I added my gold dress, extra bandages, slippers, and empty OJ bottle to the bag. Then I pulled on the sweatshirt.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” I agreed. But then he didn’t start the car. “Is something wrong with the engine?”

“I’m thinking that this is the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some really bad shit.”

I was confused. “What do you mean?” I looked around the parking lot. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to put you on a bus when all you have to your name is a bag of trash and less than forty dollars. I saw how much money you were carrying when you took it out in the store,” he answered. “You can’t even walk on your one foot. You don’t have any family to call and it seems like you also don’t have any friends who would help you.”