Mia:: Missing in America

PROLOGUE

War is savage, but it has been around for centuries and it looks like there will be no change.

Why do men go to war? It might be greed for land, patriotism, wealth, fame, tradition, hunting rights, cultural differences, or even a beautiful woman. Whatever the motivation, each person has to find a reason or purpose to overcome the fear of death. It could be the fear of losing his land, security, the fear of his mother and sister being molested by strangers, or it might be the safety of his comrades. Each person has to be molded into the well-oiled military machine.

The battle man has to face after the war can be greater than the war itself. A soldier sometimes has to face rejection, loss of a lover, a physical disability, mental disability, a loss of loved ones, and a bombed out city or home, hunger, no work, or other things he is not prepared for. One of the unexpected is being left behind in enemy territory, in a foreign land where there is a different language– left to survive.

Such a person was an older man, sitting on the gritty sidewalk in the middle of the United States, the country he had served by fighting in Viet Nam. A clean-shaven face, semi-long hair, and a twinkle in his blue eyes concealed the real person inside.

His scant belongings were tightly wrapped in a limp, well-worn Persian rug lying behind him, ready to travel anywhere.

CHAPTER ONE

The man sat with a clean napkin stretched out in front of him. On it were two well-polished red apples. His clothes were a combination of sizes, soiled and shabby with buttons missing here and there, worn thin in several place with an occasional tear. His salt and pepper hair was kept in line with a sweep of the hand from front to back and a sprinkle of water.

The lad had mature facial features, a tall erect body, but was a bit shabbily dressed. He could pass for a teen but could have been older or younger. He approached the two apples that seemed to be on display on the snow-white napkin. He cautiously rotated his head from left to right several times, panning from over one shoulder to over the other before locking eyes on the two luscious pieces of fruit ahead of him. His mind made basic calculations of the older man with apples. Was he fast? Was he strong? What was his reach?

With lightning speed the left hand swooped down and snatched the closest shiny red apple and he accelerated until he was going full tilt down the gritty sidewalk before sinking his teeth into the pulpy fruit. He glanced over his shoulder to see whether he was being chased. When he saw the man continue to sit, he stopped while savoring the rich flavor and sweet juice of the tantalizing fruit, the juice running down his hairless chin. The thirst-quenching juices were sucked back into his mouth and immediately swallowed to prevent anything being lost or wasted.

For the first time his eyes met the victim’s eyes as the boy finished the whole apple and contemplated a second attack on the seated man’s possessions. As the boy stood gazing at the man, his eyes flit back and forth between the man and the tempting apple, when the man lifted the second apple up for the lad and offered it to him. Tense, trusting no one and nothing, the boy inched toward the gift like a wild cat, stretching his arm to its limit before quickly accepting the offering of life. Then, backing off and enjoying the wonderful gift, the feeling of new strength surged in his slightly dehydrated body, a response that might have been more psychological than physical.

When did you last eat, kid?

Hesitantly the boy replied. Three days ago I stole some vegetables from someone’s garden. A dog chased me off and tore my pant leg.

What’s your name, kid? the man asked.

The boy did not want his identity known and answered the question with another question, What’s yours?

The answer astonished him. I don’t know. I wish I knew, was the answer given him. The man looked at the ground dejectedly. His voice was almost inaudible and more than humble – more hopeless and resigned to being lost in space – nobody, an It.

It’s going to get dark soon. Would you join me? I sleep under a bridge mostly. It’s at the edge of town. Come, encouraged the man as he slowly got to his feet, collected his gear and started out alone.

They walked in silence and turned down a little used road and walked a good half-mile before making their way down the steep grade and under a relic of a structure. The steel beams with knobby large rivets and trapezoid sides resembled a railroad bridge.

You find some wood to use for a fire and I’ll get water for coffee and cleaning, commanded the older man as he lowered his load and unpacked for the night. He unrolled his Persian rug – a nice six feet by eight feet – to sit on and serve as a table. A black, sooty coffee can serve as the water bucket.

Filling it at the gently flowing stream until it was full, he returned to the campsite. He laid out on the rug two large plates and cups with two strange looking spoons that had been sharpened on one side, to be used as a knife for cutting food.

When the boy returned with an extra large load of wood, he found a fire ring made from rocks from the river bottom. They managed to start a fire with the wood he found.

The coffee boiled and a large, dented can of pork and beans sat at the edge of the fire where red hot coals were heaped up against the cans’ sides for faster warming. Dividing the beans equally, their side dish was semi-dried whole wheat bread. The night silently dropped down around them and they watched the sky full of dancing stars.

The boy had managed to find a large piece of wood so one end was fed into the flames while the back three fourths was held in reserve. The two sipped on hot coffee, making small talk when two sparkling eyes advanced out of the black murkiness of the night.

Cocoa! Come here and meet our guest for the night, the man called out. A cocoa brown, part Labrador retriever, bounced into camp with his strong tail banging on things and his tongue washing faces. The man gave the rest of his food to the happy hound, which calmed the dog long enough for Cocoa to plunk down between the two campers.

When the coffee was finished, the man rinsed out the can and filled it most of the way with water and returned it to the hot coals before more fuel was added. A dented can of vegetable beef soup was opened and added to the pot. That sent water over the side and that set free sizzling steam with acrid smelling smoke. Four beef bullion cubes enriched the flavor of the broth. When the soup was steaming, cups were filled and more dried bread was soaked in the soup. It was a nourishing way to use up hard pieces of bread that had become stale.

Good dog, Cocoa. Good dog, was repeated several times until the big pooch became limp and loveable with not a worry or care in the world. Cocoa nuzzled the boy until he had to laugh and put his arm around the playful canine.

Fall was approaching and the boy wondered what his future held for him. He didn’t dare return to his troubled home and his reason for leaving was weakening after meeting the man and Cocoa. If he followed his plan for revenge it would put him in prison and the whole thing was not worth the revenge. He would make sure that someday the score would be settled forever. But now he soon would be facing a world of white called winter alone and unprepared. Fear poured over him in the dark until Cocoa nudged his side. The new four-legged friend seemed to sense trouble inside the lad. As the boy put his arm around the dog, the dog responded to the love.

What do you do when it gets cold? he asked the older man.

I go south. This year I’m going to Florida.

Where do you live in Florida?

Along the beach here and there.

There were a few minutes of silence when darkness seemed to fill the sky and fire faded. The boy felt alone again and held Cocoa close for security and that special comfort Cocoa offered.

Then the boy ventured, Can I go with you?

If you want to. But I can’t be responsible for you. I’m taking Cocoa along with me. We only have each other. Do you have any gear with you?

No.

Are you running from the law?

No.

In what state do your parents live?

They’re both dead.

The older man was satisfied that the law was not after the boy and neither would his parents be, which led to the conclusion that it was best for the boy to leave behind what was threatening him.

Well, if we’re going to travel together we have call each other something. I’ll call you Kid and you can call me Bill. Do you have any belongings hid anywhere?

No.

Here, I have an extra blanket you can use and Cocoa will most likely worm his way between us. He likes the contact. I think it gives him security and the feeling of belonging.

Kid shared the Persian rug as a mattress and covered himself with an olive colored wool military blanket.

He awoke with the smell of brewing coffee in the air and the sight of a slice of stale French bread impaled on a stick and being toasted.

You slept long and well. You must have been tired, commented Bill.

Cocoa raised his head from under the olive blanket and licked the boy’s face, then attacked his master by knocking him onto his side and licking his face from ear to ear.

Cocoa! Behave yourself! shouted Bill. Here’s your breakfast. Now lie down and eat.

The man gave the dog the largest piece of toast and as he munched it looked like he was trying to make it last. Not like a dog!

The two got ready in their spirit to begin the journey south on foot, but no time or date was even thought about. When you are ready, you are ready!

A half jar of strawberry preserves and a half jar of creamy peanut butter sat at the edge of the Persian rug waiting for the toast. One of the modified spoons worked well to spread the goodies on the toast.

Bill rose and said, I’m going to see if I can find some work and get some food to take south. Would you stay here with Cocoa until I get back?

"Sure, we’ll look for more wood in this area.

The man went to a big grocery store where he had done odd jobs in the past. There were two eighteen wheelers waiting to be unloaded. The owner sent him back to help. He helped unload and supervise the storage of the goods. The owner stood watching for a moment as he went about the work. He had stocked shelves and knew where everything was to be stored in the rear warehouse. He inventoried everything unloaded from both trucks at the same time while forklifts did the heavy work. Within two hours the trucks were on their way and the inventory lists handed to the owner.

Bill turned to face the owner. Would you have some work for me? It’s about time for me to head south.

The store employees with whom he had been working chuckled and patted him on the back for a job well done while the store manager and owner set him to work on some menial things. At the end of the day, while saying his goodbyes, he was given the usual dented cans of food and one of the clerks gave him a ride to the bridge. Kid arrived to help after the clerk was gone.

Wow, this box must weight fifty pounds, he grunted.

What day is it today, Kid?

Saturday.

Already! Would you do me a favor and go to the bakery to buy some day old, or even week old goods? I have three dollars and eighty-two cents. See what you can get for that. The owner and his wife know me and know what I like.

Precisely at closing time the boy arrived at the back door of the bakery. Bill sent me to buy some bakery goods that are too old to sell. He gave me $3.82 for you.

The man took a quarter and told him to give the rest back to Bill. The boy was asked to step inside for a moment. Inside, he found a big box tied up and ready to travel.

Bill and I will soon be going south to Florida. We plan to stay with relatives this winter.

Wait, said the woman and scampered away, to return with a box tied with a big ribbon that covered the top of the box. As the boy left the bakery the sky was darkening and the clouds turned pastel colors, changing gradually as though in a light show.

Cocoa barked and Bill turned to see the boy approach with a box on each shoulder. The man rose to help him and both were in awe of the gifts they received.

I could smell these bakery goods and my mouth watered all the way home!

You should have stopped and had something to eat.

Here’s your change. They would only take a quarter.

Bill knew this was all he would be charged, but he wanted to know if the boy could be trusted. He was pleased to find he could. If they were going to be traveling together it was best to know that before they set out.

Before opening the big box they got the fire going and water heating for the coffee.

Wow! Look at these! And smell them! How do you choose first?

Kid, we’re in for a feast for the next few days. After all, we have to carry what we don’t eat.

We’ll have to travel slow with all this good food.

They sat together at the fire watching the sky change colors and the stars begin to appear. Slowly enjoying their fresh baked treats and drinking coffee, they savored all the experiences.

Kid, we better get some protein down so we don’t make ourselves sick on these. How about making a sandwich with salmon or chicken on this fresh bread. We even have some sweet pickles we can use.

It sounds good. I’d like to have salmon on mine, the kid said eagerly.

There may be only a few ounces of salmon in a can but it tasted good and the bones were crunchy. The fresh French bread was a wee bit crusty on the outside and chewy on the inside. The can made two good sandwiches with some left for Cocoa. Long after the sandwiches were finished, Cocoa was still swirling his tongue around in the bottom of the can.

In time, the discomforts of the overeating subsided and eyelids began to droop until the two surrendered to sleep.

When Kid awoke he found that his body had been covered with a rectangular piece of plastic that shielded the wool blanket from the early morning drizzle. There was also a warm fuzzy pooch snuggled against his side for love and a good back scratching. The long tail thumped against the boy’s leg and caused the wool blanket to do a syncopated jig. Soon, a snout emerged on the boy’s shoulder and a moist tongue washed his face with enthusiasm.

There was no rationing that week, but two loaves of French bread were put aside to dry giving them survival rations on the way south.

During the following week they usually caught fish for the evening meal and one evening Cocoa brought home a good sized rabbit for the soup pot. When the rabbit was cleaned and ready for cooking Bill announced he was going to go get some more food for the trip south and might not be back for a couple of hours. From a hiding place in the bridge structure, he pulled out a small bundle that contained items for personal grooming. He washed his hands and face with a fragrant soap, brushed his teeth with salt, combed his hair after dousing it with some kind of oily product, and finished the ritual with a generous splashing of masculine Fufu. From a black plastic bag a very wrinkled, once elegant, sport coat emerged.

Very nice, commented Kid as the man returned to their shelter under the bridge.

See you later, Kid. Maybe you and Cocoa can fetch some firewood for tonight. I hope to have some food for us.

Boy and dog followed the wooded edge of the river until they came across a small farm where the farmer and his wife were working in a large garden. They approached the farmer and wife, as they were bent over and busy.

Sir, could I help you for a few vegetables? offered the boy.

Two heads popped up and the farmer turned to his wife as she nodded affirmatively. The woman had a gentle face and loving smile that almost choked the boy up. She reminded him of his mother. He was warmed by the memories and looked away at Cocoa long enough to regain his composure. He did not want the memories of a horrible scene and horrific thoughts the memory of his mother often brought with her.

Get the wagon up by the house and we’ll fill it with the vegetables on the ground, offered the farmer.

The boy and his dog scampered away, returning with this great vehicle of transport. The wagon was loaded and reloaded several times and then, without being told, Kid found a pail of water sitting under the open end of an eaves trough and washed everything they had brought up.

The bleached gray wood of the porch highlighted the colorful array of vegetables – vivid orange carrots, glowing red radishes, light green cabbages, and not so colorful parsnips and turnips. When the whole batch of vegetables was stored or set aside for canning, the farmer’s wife handed Kid a twenty-five pound flour sack filled three quarters full with vegetables.

Kid noticed a five-gallon bucket of exterior white paint parked at one side of the door.

Are you going to paint your house?

"Some day, but I get dizzy spells and can’t climb a ladder easily these days,’ replied the farmer.

I’ll do it for free tomorrow if you want.

That would be a blessing, commented the wife. We have enough paint, just don’t have the way.

When Kid returned home with the bag of vegetables attached to the back of his belt and both arms full of firewood, hot coffee was waiting. Each told about the day’s ventures.

Bill disappeared into the bushes and came out with a blackened aluminum soup pot that had many miles on it. With three or four quarts of water in the pot, Kid set the firewood so the pot could sit level and let the water heat up. Vegetables were cut into small enough pieces to cook quickly and beef bullion cubes were added for flavor. Hot coals were heaped against the side of the soup pot to aid in speeding up the cooking.

Darkness settled over them and distant city lights emerged to flicker a meaningless message in code as they sat in contentment eating bakery goods dunked into cups of coffee.

When the soup pot was finally lifted out of the coals and the soup served, they found it was surprisingly good. The vegetables were tender and made a very satisfying meal.

The campers stretched