Antoinette

She was underneath the overpass, sitting on a crate, smoking a cigarette. Her black bangs covered one eye. There used to be a road there, but it closed for some reason, i guessed. i was taking a walk. it was around nine o'clock that night. She nodded to me.

"Hey, Willow."

"Antoinette."

She blew smoke, and we both watched the tendrils of smoke curl and twist in the air. it was silent for a while, then Antoinette broke the silence.

"So..."

"So???" i caught a glimpse behind her. There was a backpack leaning against the concrete. Beside it was a ratty sleeping bag laid out and a black duffel bag. When i looked back, Antoinette was watching me with one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," she said, "i live here. So what???" she dared.

"Nothing." i shrugged. She smiled and blew smoke again.

"Didn't think so." it was silent again.

"So, are you just passin' through???" i ventured.

"i would be, if i had someplace else to go. Shouldn't you be in school this time of year???"

"Yeah. i'm a senior. But i haven't been to school for the past week...won't be back for a month and a half. Should you be in school???"

"Long story. i would be a senior too."

i had an idea, but i wasn't too sure about it. i hardly knew her, but it seemed to me that she probably knew more about survival and evasion than me.

"Hey, i um...i have an idea," i hesitantly said. Antoinette arched her eyebrow again and light glinted off the bloodred jewel in her eyebrow piercing.

"And that would be..."

"Well, you seem like you'd love to get out of here. And i am."

"Really now???" she asked, trying to seem uninterested as she stomped on what was left of her cigarette.

"Yeah. i'm just kinda traveling around. Not sure where to yet."

Antoinette thought about it for a while.

"You got it," she said, standing up and shaking my hand. "You can call me Ant, for short. Just so ya know." She turned and started rolling up her sleeping bag.

"i'm leaving tomorrow morning so i'll meet you here around 9:30???" Ant nodded, and didn't turn around.

"See you then, Willow."

. . .

The next morning i woke up at seven o'clock and took a shower before throwing on some clothes and heading downstairs. Melanie was already up and had fixed pancakes and eggs for me. i smiled and told her thanks. She told me to be safe.

i called Artyem and talked for about five minutes. Then i headed to the overpass. i was early, but Ant was already ready to go.

"You're early," she commented as she threw her bags in the back and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Yeah, i know." We rode in silence for a while, with Ant staring out the window looking either moody or introspective. Perhaps a little of both. She had comandeered the radio and we were listening to a mix CD of a metal band - Otep, Ant informed me. it wasn't my usual type of music, but i was surprised to find i liked it. Ant liked the song "Crooked Spoons" best, but "Confrontation" was my favorite.

We drove until about one o'clock, when we stopped for lunch and to stretch our legs. We were in a small town called Westridge by then. After lunch, we drove again until nightfall. Since Ant had dropped out, pretty much, she couldn't get her liscence till she turned 18, which would be a couple months after me. This meant that i was driving the whole time. By the time we pulled into a Motel 6, i was exhausted. We decided to just park in the parking lot and sleep in the van instead of using the money to get a room. i popped the top and Ant slept in the bed there, while i slept below. i couldn't sleep and went to find a pay phone and call Artyem. it was dark and the streetlamps cast small circles of light that made the shadows seem even more menaging. i passed a hobo sitting on a bench and gave him some extra change from my pocket.

i lost my nerve after passing a few streets, and went back to the van, deciding that wondering around a new town in the dark was not a good idea. i remebered i was supposed to call Uncle Mike and did, using *67 to make the phone number private. We talked for a while, then i went back to the van and fell fast asleep.

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