Chapter Text
Imagine you've been on the road for months.
Most mornings you don't know where you'll be at night. You don't follow a set route. You only stick to going from one small town, barely deserving the name, to another.
You're not alone. The seat beside you holds your daughter. She has picture books she likes to color in while you drive, but mostly she prefers to stare outside, following the sky, watching the scenery change with the soft body of her doll pressed to her face. It resembles her almost like a twin, fine porcelain face, solemn dark eyes, wavy blonde hair she insist on brushing every night. Sometimes you wonder if she's really only four years old, for she looks so much younger during the day while her soul emanates the wisdom of old age at night.
You take turns being in charge of the radio. One day it's her small hand browsing through the stations until she finds a song she likes. The next it's yours, though, more often than not, you give up your turn. Sometimes you think she is silently humming to herself, eyes half closed, swaying in slow rhythm to music that becomes more familiar.
When she's been in her own world for too long, you stop by the side of the road to find a pretty patch of wildflowers popping into bloom. She'll smile at you when you lie down in the warm grass beside her and weave a flowery crown into her hair.
Eve hasn't spoken a single word since the day she witnessed her daddy fire his gun at you.
Two nights later, the two of you left.
*
You didn't take much. No clothes, no personal items. Only her doll and all the money you had been saving and hiding at your parents' for almost a year. You drove through the night, stopping every other hour to build your supplies. Water and food first. Sleeping bags and an air-mattress second. Then a cooler, fuel canisters, a camp-stove, completed by mugs, plates, utensils. A camp-light. More maps. Toiletries. A change of clothes for each of you. Simple bag packs. Bear spray. Not exclusively for bears, but to go along with the small knife tied around your neck, purposely hidden beneath your shirt.
To an onlooker you would appear like ordinary campers.
Whatever else you needed, you would find in the days to come.
*
One evening you stop at an offbeat campground to the lulling sound of late spring rain and peaceful scents of damp woodland. You love how Eve burrows into your body, her small, warm arms slung tightly around your waist. She sleeps so much better than you do. For that you are grateful.
You, on the other, remain awake for hours, unable to calm your thoughts long enough to slip into the hazy sphere between dream and sleep. Under dim illumination you decide to check the map again. On roughly unfolded paper, your fingertips follow your eyes to find your place in the printed labyrinth of names and symbols. It's hard to navigate without using a phone. Yet in your need to keep the device turned off, you have at least found solace in the ever changing dance of bumps and creases rolling against your skin. With soothing mindlessness you trace state lines and back roads and imagine what they would look like. You're almost ready to close your eyes when you come across the nearest border to a state you've never been to.
Oklahoma.
Something in your chest makes you sound out thesyllables in a tired whisper.
„Oak-lah-home-ah.“
The closest in name to your LA, your home where you can't be, suddenly right there if you followed your current direction the next morning.
*
'Welcome to Tishomingo, Population of 3,034' the sign reads. It's new to you, this rural side of your country yet you've found you liked these small, off the map places with names as quickly forgotten as people leave them behind.
You hide your blonde hair under a worn baseball cap and get the both of you ready. When you had first left, you couldn't bring yourself to dye it. Instead you had it cut into a short, messy bob in of those side-street walk-in salons. Eve wears a bandana and sunglasses most of the time you're among people. She loves dressing up, loves making herself look different. You indulge her every way you can.
On your first stop you fill up on gas and ice, making easy small talk while paying. You're traveling, your remind yourself, act normal, no one will pay attention. Without needing to be asked, the cashier offers directions to the main shops. You thank him with a smile, wishing him a nice day.
You get groceries and more necessities next. Eve never lets go of your hand, her wistful eyes observing nearly the same way you do. Despite its size, this small place appears like so many others. Charming, well taken care of. People being friendly at first glance. The dull knot in your stomach eases.
When you spot a rare payphone, you take the sudden chance and try calling your parents' house. You've been careful never to make it the same day. Your mom cries when she hears your voice. She misses you desperately. So do you. She asks if you're okay. If you needed money. You tell her you're safe. Then you talk about Dad and Eve.
„Gwennie,” she whispers into the phone before you need to go. „I wish you would come home.“
„I know. I love you Mom.“
It's all you're able to say, because you both know you won't be home anytime soon.
The rest of the morning you spend on a playground in the nearby park. The sun shines on Eve's face while she swings higher and higher into the sky. You have fruit and small rounds of cheese and crackers for lunch, then she naps in your lap while you weave your fingers through her fine hair. In your mind you track your expenses for the day. You’re weary of having to go back to the car. If you're honest, you have been for a while.
When Eve is up and back from a second turn on the swings you ask her to look at you and run your palm over her forehead.
“How would you like to stay here for a few weeks, love?” You ask. “Take a little break from driving?”
With eyes quiet and large she closes her arms around your neck and sighs a muted nod against your skin. You weren’t wrong. She was getting tired too.
*
Fate, it seems, wanted you to stay as well, for within two days you find a job at the tiny local bakery. It's barely a real job, cleaning and signing for early morning deliveries, but Martha, the elderly owner who is stretched thin between aiding her husband's recovery and keeping the business open to pay hospital bills, is in desperate need of help. “You're godsend,” she exclaims over and over while she prompts you to taste heavenly scented offerings of chocolate-filled cupcakes and warm cinnamon rolls. Better still, she can offer a one-room apartment above the premise. Simply furnished but clean to the last corner. Perfect for you and Eve, you think as she convinces you to take a look. They couldn't pay much, only enough to cover rent, to be honest, along with the promise of all the free treats Eve's heart could desire. It doesn't matter to you, for in your own heart you have already decided, caring more about the genuine hospitality and having your own four walls and a roof over your head.
With Eve excitedly clasping your hand you say yes on the spot and find yourself with detailed instructions, access to supplies, and a set of keys, ready to move in.
That same night, you and Eve soak in the first hot bath in weeks and gingerly scrub every inch of your bodies with vanilla scented soap. Then you wrap yourselves into your sleeping bags, each fluffy and fresh from their equally first wash in months. You can feel your daughter relax against you, dolly hugged to her skin, and you begin to tell her a make-belief tale of two fairies who have become invisible. One tall, one small, they wander the world looking for a new home, and only when they find it, beautiful and safe for little fairies, magic will make it so they can be seen again.