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© Elizabeth Fallon
Elizabeth Fallon
Los Angeles, California---
New Mexico was dry. Obvious, I know. But it is as much as I want to remember.
I decided to leave everything behind. I went to New Mexico. I never looked back. Just once.
Idle Jack City, Missouri, was my birthplace. My family has lived there for over two hundred years. I left Idle Jack when I was seventeen years old. There were no jobs for young men. People were being pushed further out of the city into the rural areas surrounding it. But I wasn't destined to be a farmer. I managed to finish high school before I left, though I had thought numerous times about bypassing it. It was tempting to leave. Here was the deal:
My friend Karo offered me a free ride in his Chevy far out West as his traveling companion. I’d known Karo for a while. We both had attended the same public junior high and high school. Our goal was New Mexico. It wasn't supposed to be a cross-country trip, and it was not. We were leaving Idle Jack to gain jobs. But we would take the long route there to see our country. Nether of us had ever been out of Missouri. Karo had heard there were plenty of jobs out West, on ranches and places like that, he said. I knew nothing about ranching, a little about farming. My grandfather had been a sharecropper. My father worked full-time in an ammunition factory before and after World War II. He was drafted and stationed in Hawaii before shipped out to the Pacific. He once told me that Macarthur had called him "one tough son-of-a-bitch" after he took out six Japanese all on his own. I believe that's a tall-tale but I've never told him so.
I had five brothers and one sister back in Idle Jack. They were all older than me. Most of them were married with kids or living on their own and working whatever jobs they could scrounge up outside of our town. I was never like that. I could never settle down. So when Karo offered me a seat in his car and a free ticket out West as long as I helped pay for gas, I took it up. Our plan was to save up as much cash as we could working odd jobs in Idle Jack our senior year and then head out of town before graduation even began. We'd figure they'd mail us our diplomas. I must admit I felt a little guilty. I am the second person in my family to graduate from high school. I know my family must've wanted to see me walk across that stage. But Karo was my good friend. And the way he spoke of the West made me want to not wait a second longer than necessary.
It seemed as if for days I said my long goodbyes to my family, whom I told I was heading out West with the promise of a job. This was a lie. Karo and I hadn't been promised anything. We left to find. I took two bags with me. Karo took only one and calmly waved to his mother as he was walking out the front door.
We left on June 2nd, 1977.
.........
"Well, I think I'm thirsty, and hungry. How 'bout you?"
"Yeah, I could use a drink," I said.
"I'm gonna stop up here, okay?"
"That'd be fine," I nodded.
Karo veered the Chevy off of the large road into the parking lot of a place called Bobby May's. From the name it appeared like a luncheonette owned by some sweet woman, but it was in reality, a dingy truck stop. I watched Karo as he steadily controlled the car. He was a good driver. I came to realize this that first few hours we'd been on the road. He was quick but careful. If there is such a thing as the art of driving, then Karo was an artist.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee?" was the first thing the waitress asked us. She was older and wearing a pink uniform. Her hair was dyed an unflattering light blonde for her otherwise dark features. Karo nudged me after she left, as if to say "she was cute, huh?" I looked at him like "yeah right." Maybe I didn't know Karo so well after all, I began to wonder from then on.
"Hey," Karo said. "I ever tell you what the women were like out there, out west?”
I shook my head.
"Well," Karo said. "They sure are something."
That was all he offered. I wanted to ask him what exactly "something" was. But instead, I only nodded my head. Karo was browsing the tall, plastic menu. He had lost weight this past year. He used to be fairly chubby. He claimed the reduction in his waistline was caused by the hours he spent helping his father chop firewood after school so they could stick a sign outside of their house and sell it along the road. Now, he looked over at me, as if to say "what?" as I looked at him.
"Just daydreaming, that's all," I replied.
"Oh," Karo replied steadily. But his face still looked uncertain. "So, what are you gonna get?" he said, after a while.
"Hamburger," I replied.
"That's it?" he inquired.
"Yeah," I said.
"I think I'll have the chicken fried steak," Karo said.
I glanced down at his stomach. I guess Karo wouldn't remain thin for long. Not until we started working, at least.
The waitress stepped over. "What can I get 'ya hons?" she asked.
"I'll have a hamburger," I said.
"Just a hamburger?" she asked, as if that was an unusual thing to request.
I nodded my head.
"I'm gettin' the chicken fried steak," Karo said when she was through with me. "How you recommend that? It's good?" he asked. It was hard to tell if he was attempting to flirt, which he had been terrible at all along throughout the years I'd known him.
She nodded. "It's decent," was all she replied as she scribbled his order upon her pad.
Karo, I could not tell if he was embarrassed that she did not respond to him as he had hoped, only nodded his head.
"She didn't like me, did she?" Karo said to me after she had walked away.
"I don't know," I told him. "I couldn't tell."
"Well, hell, what does it take, huh?" Karo asked, frustrated. "I ain't ugly, am I?"
I looked over at his clean-cut, boyish face. He had nicked himself while shaving this morning. A tiny cut was still fresh with now dried blood. He hadn't bothered to put a bandage over it. He had cloudy, hazel eyes. Fair skin and brown hair. I was a guy's guy, I did not admire men. I admired women. But he was not ugly.
"No, you're not," I told him.
"Well, thank you Jack," he said.
I nodded.
"Do we start looking for work as soon as we get to New Mexico or do we bum around for a while?" he asked after our food had arrived, as if I held the solution.
"We should probably begin as soon as we arrive," I said.
Karo thought for a moment. "Alright," he said. "But I think it might be fun to really experience the place first, you know?"
By "experiencing" Karo meant women, booze, and such havoc. "Yeah," I said, eager to give into temptation and vary the otherwise mundane pattern of life I had seemed to follow since forever. "Why not?"
"I say we should finish our food, drive for five more hours or so, then pull over somewhere and catch some shut eye," Karo said.
"Yeah, that's good," I replied. Every night on the road we'd be sleeping in the car. There was no money for lodging. Some things were easy to give up.
June 3, 1977.
Blackburn, Kansas---
The second day Karo wanted to stop at a bar to get a few beers. So we stopped. I ordered a couple of shots of Jack Daniels. Karo swiftly finished four beers and a shot of Wild Turkey. I did not know how much driving we'd get done tonight. We met a few decent looking women at the bar and danced a few rounds of loud jukebox songs. Then it became clear that while passersby were more than welcome to buy liquor and contribute to the local economy of Blackburn, they weren't liked anywhere near their women. Karo discovered this quite fast. After two dances with the sweet, blonde Sheryl Lee, a wild-eyed muscular fellow gave him a solid punch in the jaw. There were about seven of them and two of us. Clearly, we were out-matched. So we took off, drunk and somewhat shaken up. Karo more so then me.
I drove the Chevy along the highway for about twenty miles, then we stopped at a 24-hour liquor store in a town whose name I’ve since forgotten. We purchased a small bottle of whiskey and asked the manager if he happened to have any cloths or towels, he looked at us funny, then proceeded into a backroom and came out with an ratty, flannel shirt that was torn in many places. He handed it to Karo. I did not explain to him what it would be used for, thinking he might not give it up so easily, but rather gave out my thanks and we headed out of the store. In the parking lot of the liquor store I clumsily opened the bottle and poured a good amount unto the cloth. Then I told Karo to hold it up to his bloodied jaw. He nearly howled when he did so. But the alcohol did his wounds good and in two days his face almost looked the same as before the punch. We didn't even have to stop at the hospital.
.........
"Hell, that sucked," Karo said as I drove. "Now, I think I shoulda punched back."
I glanced over at him and chortled. "Had you done that," I said. "We might not be driving in this car right now, we'd probably be two John Does at the morgue."
Karo saw humor in my sarcasm and laughed. "Anyway," he said. "I'm glad to get a few scars. It'll toughen up my appearance." He gazed out into the rearview mirror at his cut face, and made a snarl with his lips.
I turned on the radio and we listened to Gospel music as we drove. Karo did not like this music. I didn't much either, but the difference was, that while I could tolerate it, he hated it. I could tell by the way he had begun to fidget with the window handle.
"Mind if I change it to something else?" he finally asked.
"No, but good luck," I told him. "They don't play anything else around here except for that music."
He nodded thoughtfully and then proceeded to turn the dial. He settled on religious-based country, which both of us did not mind greatly.
"Your family go to church much?" Karo asked.
I shook my head. "Nah, my folk's aren't really religious."
Karo nodded. "Me either," he spoke. "My father was more than my mother, but when he passed, we never went to church anymore."
I couldn't tell if there was sadness or longing in his voice, or if he was just trying to create conversation. I did not know if I was supposed to say "I'm sorry," and in the end, I didn't, I only nodded back.
"Wanna switch?" Karo asked. "Let me take a turn at the wheel?"
"Sure," I said. "I'm getting tired..." I began when the car suddenly let out a slight boom and then stopped dead on the highway. A few cars screeched and veered angrily around us. People shouted and cursed. It was daylight. We had broken down. Karo cursed his '56 Chevy as he stepped out of it.
June 5, 1977.
Lodsdale, Arizona---
We managed to push the car off of the highway onto the sidelines, where we waited for hours until a tow truck finally passed by and stopped. During the hours we waited we had thought about walking back to a diner we'd seen a few hours back and calling for help, but we figured that'd just take too long and we had a better chance at waiting until help clashed with us. Besides, we did not know the number of an auto body shop, we hardly knew what state we were in.
We were in Arizona. We were towed off the highway and taken to a small town called Lodsdale, where our car was to be fixed at Sammy's Repairs. We hoped we had enough cash between us for Sammy to fix the car.
Karo talked to her first. She was not my type. She was skinny with wavy, reddish-dirty blonde hair that appeared almost copper in the sunlight. She had pale skin. She was slightly above average in height. Her teeth were not straight. But she did have large, beautiful blue eyes. She worked at the repair shop. She answered phones, helped with customers, and kept track of expenses, payments owed, and payments received. She used a large, dusty, faded, black leather bound notebook to do this. She looked about two years older than us.
Our first words with her were when she told us that it would take around a week to fix our car. We looked at her nearly horrified. A week seemed like quite a long time. Karo hurriedly replied that was unacceptable. She, in turn, looked him boldly in the eye, and replied that it was the best they could do and if we wanted, they'd tow us someplace else for free, but when we got there, they'd tell us just the same. Karo grunted once, looked over at me. I shrugged. He asked the girl if there were any motels in the area. She said there was only one, the Dickinson Lodging House. He asked if it was expensive. She confidently shook her head.
We left the garage and walked around Lodsdale with our luggage for a while. We stopped and had a beer each at a dingy bar, which looked like something out of a western. A genuine saloon with short, swinging entrance doors. There were pictures of cowboys hanging from walls inside.
We came upon the lodging house and got a room with two small beds. That evening Karo suggested we might as well make the best of things and put on our finest clothes and head out back to the “cowboy saloon,” (the bar did not have a name. We dubbed it this because of the pictures on the walls) and see if we could meet ourselves some women and maybe get lucky.
I followed along.
.........
I had four beers by the time I got around to talking to her. I considered her a friendly face, because, we knew no one else in the bar, and at least, we had met her once.
"You're not very chatty, are you?" she said after a few brief exchanges.
I shook my head.
"I could tell," she said. "When I first seen you at the garage. But your friend," she looked over at Karo who was sweet-talking two brunettes. "He ain't like that," she finished observing. She stared at me with her wonderful eyes.
"Can I get you a drink?" I offered.
She stared at me with her eyes some more, then shook her head. She tilted her bottle of beer and lifted the opening to her lips. I watched her as she did this. "Nah," she said. "I'm fine."
"Anything to do around here?" I asked her after the fifth beer.
"Not really," she replied. "There ain't much. Why, you gettin' worried about what the hell you and your buddy gonna do with all the time you got on your hands here?" she somewhat joked.
"Yeah," I said, smiling slightly. "That's it."
"Me, I hate time," she spoke.
"And why's that?" I asked eying her, somewhat flirting.
"Not to sound like a cry baby or nothin', but my mother died of one of those strange diseases, when I was younger. The doctor, he told her that she only had two months to live when he first told her she had it, she then told us that. The moment she died, I made a pact with myself, that was, to never give a damn about time. I decided I'd take my time and try to enjoy live a little. Before you know it, it's over."
My face fell slightly. I almost felt guilty about trying to flirt with her previously. I nodded. Her story hit me in the gut; you don't expect to hear stuff like that. "I'm sorry," I began. "About your mother..."
"Ah hell," she broke in. "Don't worry about it," she said. "You got nothin' to be sorry about." She somewhat smiled. "Don't know why I opened up to you anyway, but you are a nice person to talk to,” she said, as if an afterthought. “Heck, I hardly know you. What's your name?" she asked, somewhat quickly, as if knowing it would somehow help.
"Jack," I replied. "My name's Jack."
"And ain't you from Idle Jack City?" she said. "That’s what your friend over there said," she pointed to Karo, who was by now entirely plastered and ordering rounds of beer for everyone in the bar.
"Yeah, Karo," I broke in. "Yeah, we are," I said.
"But you ain't idle," she answered for me.
I smiled slightly.
"By the way, my name's Doreen," she offered.
June 6, 1977.
Lodsdale, Arizona---
I had to admit, I was getting anxious about it all appearing to settle down. But it was only for one week, I reassured myself every time the thought of it gave me a migraine headache. Karo liked Lodsdale. I was beginning to think he might never want to leave, even after his car was fixed. He fit in nearly perfectly with the place. I didn't care for it. It reminded me a lot of Idle Jack, small, tight, everyone knew each other's face and each other's business. I had thought we both were trying to escape that. I hoped I wasn't wrong.
Though I did like Doreen. When I wasn't with Karo, I spent nearly all my time with her. We went out to breakfast, to the bar for a couple of beers in the evening, or to the movie house where they screened seemingly ancient movies, if five years behind can be ancient. We had a lot of fun. But four days into my stay, I had never kissed her. We were becoming fast good friends, I almost feared. I came to admire Doreen's unusual beauty---how her wavy hair frizzed slightly when it rained, her pale skin looked almost a light olive in the sun, her button nose and somewhat crooked teeth, her often surprising personality, were all suddenly appealing to me. I couldn't believe I ever thought about liking a woman who wasn't like Doreen.
Karo thought I was nearly insane for going with a girl and paying for almost everything we did, yet I wasn't getting anything out of it, sexually, I mean. I in turn, reminded him of the numerous relationships he had had which consisted entirely of the latter and how they all turned out in the end---a failure, some of the girls names he forgot. One of them he recently met in Lodsdale and spent the evening with, now he couldn't even recall her ordinary name.
I was sad to leave Doreen when the week passed and our car was fixed and set to go. I kissed her once on the cheek, got her address, and promised to write and give her mine once we'd settled down. I'll never forget when she waved me goodbye. She waved with all her might, her eyes shone, and I could tell she liked me a whole lot.
Karo heavily tapped his fingers on the dashboard as he drove. He told me that we'd be in New Mexico by tomorrow. I nodded my head in return and said that was good. I couldn't wait to arrive, I replied.
.........
"Hell, it's ain't even much hotter here then it was in Arizona," Karo said. He had started using expressions like "ain't" and "hell" regularly since we left Lodsdale, were he had first picked them up.
We were parked directly in front of the large, dusty "Welcome To New Mexico" sign on the side of the main highway, which was not busy this time of day. "Yeah," I said as I looked up at it. "Not much. So what do we do now, go find some ranch and beg for work?" I somewhat joked.
"Nah," Karo said seriously, not picking up on my humor. "We go into a town, ask around, scan the papers."
"Alright," I said. "If that's what you want."
"What do you mean if that's what I want? You got a better idea?" he somewhat snapped.
I shook my head. "I meant nothing by it Karo," I spoke.
"Sorry," he said after a while. "I lost my cool, you know?"
"I understand," I nearly whispered as I nodded my head.
"Well, hell, ain't no use in us just standing here, lets get the fuck into this state," Karo replied.
We hopped into the car, Karo started the engine, we crossed the state line into New Mexico. It was early in the evening when we first crossed, then the sun began to set. Yet the sky still seemed bright. It would get darker as the night wore on and we figured out what we'd do now that we were finally here.
June 7, 1977.
Somewhere in New Mexico---
As Karo drove, I watched the stars. As we went by, they appeared to move with us. However, I had known from years of high school science where I had paid mediocre attention, that this was not true. Stars did not follow you. You followed them. I closed my eyes shortly after we crossed the state line.
Karo was the one who chose to stop, he didn't ask me.
I woke up in the parking lot of a convenience store/gas station. It was late at night. The place was quiet. Karo had slightly nudged my shoulder to wake me up. I opened my eyes, still sleepy, and looked at him. “Jack,” he said. “I'm gonna stop here so we can take a piss, okay? And maybe get a bottle of cola.” I nodded my head. We stepped out of the car at nearly the same time. I went to use the bathroom, which was located on the outside of the store, while Karo went inside. He told me he had changed his mind and didn't have to go to the bathroom. He said he would buy me a cola. He said he would meet me outside. At the time, I did not think the way he acted was strange.
Karo was nowhere in sight after I had zipped my fly, washed my hands and face, and stood outside. He was not in the car. He was not lingering in the parking lot. And for a second, I had a fear that he might have ditched me. Left me with his car, strangely, but still ditched me hundreds of miles from home in a place neither of us knew.
I waited.
.........
It was two minutes later when Karo came rushing out of the store. He carried a small, brown paper grocery bag in his hand. I was leaning against the driver’s side door.
"Hey Karo," I began, when I noticed his figure was starting to swiftly sprint in the darkness---away from the store.
"Don't say my name!" he shouted. "Get the heck in the car and start it!...."
I knew the car was open and that the keys were in the ignition. I knew better but raced in and started it anyway. Shortly after, Karo jumped in as I swiftly sped away. "What the hell happened?" I hurriedly asked.
"I robbed the store," he calmly replied.
"What?" I took my concentration off of the road and looked over at him intensely.
"I robbed that store," he repeated. "We needed money, so that's what I did," he said. "We'll never get any work over here," his voice sounded discouraged and bitter.
"But you don't have a pistol," I justified with passion, not wanting him to be right. Hoping he was playing some sort of strange joke.
He shook his head. He slipped a small black pistol out of his pocket. "I bought it in Lodsdale," he spoke softly as he laid it out on the dashboard.
"Don't..." I put my hand over it. It was warm.
"You didn't kill anyone did you?" I whispered my question.
He saw my worry and quickly put it back in his pocket.
"The clerk," Karo began. “He…”
My brow began to beat. “He what Karo?” I said. “He what?” I shouted.
“He would’ve saw my face,” he said. “But how will they know it was us, I had to do it…or else he would’ve known it was us…” he hurriedly justified.
“But you killed him!” I screamed and swerved the car on the dark road, onto the opposite lane.
Karo appeared to hold onto his seat as I sped up, swerving back into the proper lane, the internal rage I felt causing me to drive faster.
“Slow down,” he quietly said. “Cops will pull you over and…”
He never finished. I slowly calmed my speed. For ten minutes we were silent. Then I asked him why he had done it.
He replied quietly that he didn’t know.
"So," I said a few minutes later as I drove, not even thinking, really. "What’s next? We can’t just drive forever…" I whispered. Don't get me wrong, this wasn't something we'd normally do, but it was too soon for it to really hit me, that did not happen until long afterwards.
Karo shrugged. "Get the hell out of here," he said.
"You mean, leave New Mexico?" I spoke in disbelief. I known what he had done but I was still thinking---this was the place we had driven days to come to, it wasn't supposed to be a casual visit, it was supposed to be permanent.
Karo nodded. "Heck Jack," he said. "I don't see any other choice.”
"Well, that's just fuckin' ridiculous," I spoke heatedly. "We drove all the hell the way to get here and now we're just going to leave?"
"Got a better idea?" Karo said.
"Look," I interrupted him. "Let's just drive further in...we'll figure out what we'll do then…” I whispered.
We had come all this way to get there. I knew what he had done was beyond risk. But I still wasn't ready to leave so soon.
June 8, 1977.
Silver City, New Mexico---
The five hours we spent on the road, driving, before I pulled into the motel, seemed like plenty longer, weeks even. Not a single word passed between us as I drove. Karo stared ahead out the windshield or glanced at the passing sky. I concentrated on the dark road.
I pulled into a small motel. I used the last twenty bucks I had to pay for a room. I wasn't ready to touch the money Karo had robbed. We weren't that desperate yet.
Karo had trouble getting out of the car when we stopped. He was asleep by then. He had lifted a bottle of Cheracol from the store, and by now had drunk almost half of it.
I had gotten out of the car and paid for the room, then went back out and gently shook his shoulder and awoke him. He asked me “what?” And then nodded his head after I told him what was going on. We weren't going to spend the night at this place, I told him. We were just going to rest for a while, figure out what to do next, then be on our way.
The motel room smelt strongly of mildew and the carpeting and top bedding were both a pasty-colored green. That is the most I remember of it. There were two twin beds. Karo took the one on the right, I the one on the left.
Karo lay on his back and stared at the beige ceiling speckled with dirt and black mold. His shoes were still on. I didn't ask him what he was thinking. I left him alone. Realizing, the same as I, that he needed time to comprehend. I sat on the bed, took off my shoes, tossed them unto the floor, and then lay back on my bed, the same as him.
Every so often I glanced at my watch. I reassured myself. I thought it over. I just drove the car. I hadn't done the actual crime. I planned on resting for only an hour, lay back and think, and then act. Karo seemed pretty out of it during that hour, he never shifted his position, he just laid back and stared at the beige, thinking god knows what. I thought about Idle Jack and Doreen.
.........
"So, what the hell do we do?" Karo seemed like he was losing hope.
I wanted to yell at him that he was the one who had gotten us in this mess in the first place, so why the hell was he in such a bitter mood.
"Look," I began. "Did anyone see you?”
Karo looked over at me. "Only the clerk," he said. "He was the only one in the store, he's the only one who saw, that’s why I…well, you know.”
"You certain?" I asked.
Karo turned away and nodded his head.
"Did he…look you in the face?" I asked.
Karo turned to me again. "Yeah," he spoke. "He looked me right in the eye."
I shook my head, somewhat in disgust.
"We have nothing to worry about," Karo calmly replied. “No one knows it was us.”
“Well what if someone saw the car," I began. "Because if they know our car and give a good description to the police, they'll know it was us…We have to leave this car…”
“Cameras,” Karo said, suddenly.
“What?” I asked, not paying much attention to him as I drove and constantly reiterated over in my mind what he had done.
“They have cameras in those places,” he finished.
“Christ, cameras?!” I said. “We’re fucked then, we’re really screwed,” I panicked.
"Think I don't already know that?" Karo glanced at me and snapped.
"Fuck you Karo," I said bitterly. "You’re the one who got into this fucking mess in the first place, and now it's fucking both of us who're in it."
Karo sighed. "I'm sorry Jack," he said. "I'm so fucking sorry. I don't know why I did it, hell, it was impulsive, you know? But it felt good..."
I looked at him disgusted. "What the hell are you saying man, this is how you're going to make your career, uh? This is what you came out here for?"
Karo looked at me. "Hell no," he said. "It's not what I came for...but, ah, I dunno. I fucked it up for both of us, I guess."
I nodded at him. "You sure did.”
June 9, 1977.
Deming, New Mexico---
We hit the road again. We touched the money. Karo had stolen five hundred dollars from that store, enough to get both of us to wherever we went. We contemplated splitting up, but thought it might be too risky for the both of us. We equally reasoned we didn’t have enough money to buy a new car and make it to wherever we went. We weren’t going to rob again and what if the law was looking for our ’56 Chevy or our faces? Had flyers everywhere or something…If we traded it in locally, we might get caught. We made choices. And we stuck together. We knew nothing about wherever the hell we were. I wasn't comfortable unleashing Karo on his own in the states. I didn't know how desperate he'd get if caught, and if he'd tell the police I was somehow involved. I was certain, previously before leaving Idle Jack City, that I knew him. After the robbery he seemed like a stranger. He sought dangerous thrills, I just wanted a plain, decent life.
We soon made it a point to drive to Mexico and whatever happened there happened. We did not really have a plan. Needless to say, we did not converse much on or off the road. Karo kept to himself when he was passenger, only occasionally fiddling with the radio. And when I was passenger, I usually just gazed out the window at the blank, blue, endless New Mexico sky occasionally spotted with a perched bird. The dusty roads and the flat, dessert terrain alongside them, with its cacti and small, wild animals, were interesting sometimes. Other times, they got on my nerves and caused me troubles. They never changed. It seemed like the further we got out of New Mexico, closer to Mexico, the fewer things differed.
.........
"What'll we do once we get to Mexico?" I said out-loud as I steered.
"I dunno, rob another store?" Karo strangely joked.
"Don't they speak Spanish there?" I cut him off.
"Yeah, I guess," Karo said.
"We don't speak Spanish," I mentioned, somewhat heatedly.
"I know," Karo shrugged his shoulders.
"So..." I said. "So what the hell are we gonna do then? Pick up a fuckin’ Spanish dictionary?" I tersely remarked.
"You're getting moody," Karo said. "You're talking like you're pissed.
"Well, if you were me, you would be pissed," I tersely replied. "...Look," I said after a while. "Let's just not talk until we get...get to Mexico. We still have plenty of thinking to do once we arrive."
Karo nodded his head.
He drifted asleep as I proceeded to cross over the boarder. He rose when the car ran over something, a stone, perhaps, or a piece of wood, and it jumped slightly into the air. "Jack?" he said, his voice slightly childish, almost shaking. "We there?"
It was nighttime. I knew he could not see my face clearly. So after I had nodded my head, I quietly replied, "yeah, we're here."
"Do you..." Karo paused. He never finished what he said.
"Look Jack," he said as I drove further into the foreign country. "You don't gotta come here if you don't want to, you don't gotta come with me. I'm the one who fucked up."
I glanced over at him. "I know," I said.
"And if you want you can just drop me right here, take my car, and I'll, I'll get around somehow."
“What did it feel like?” I asked him.
“What?”
“Killing that guy,” I whispered.
“I dunno,” he replied. “He cried.”
“Who?”
“The clerk,” he uttered softly. “He cried.”
I didn't say anything for a while. After a few moments I replied. "Well Karo," I spoke plainly. "We’re finally in Mexico.”
“You can drop me, you know, leave me here,” he whispered. "Hell yeah," Karo suddenly smiled. "I got feet, don't I? I can move."
"Yeah," I whispered as I drove, "Yeah you can."
June 9, 1997.
Los Angeles, California---
After a few hours of asking him if he was really certain, I left Karo in Mexico. He left me his car. I turned around at the boarder and headed back to Lodsdale and Doreen. I decided to take the chance and accept whatever consequences awaited me when I returned to the states. Maybe they'd never know it was us. Maybe they'd find out.
It’s been twenty years and they haven’t yet.
My life has been decent and plain. Doreen and I got to know each other better, married, eventually, and moved out to California where I bused tables at a restaurant. We had four children, I was promoted to manager, and we bought our own house. Now Doreen and I own the restaurant with our eldest son. I wake up each day telling myself this will be the day I will turn him in. I haven’t yet.
I did not hear from Karo after I left him in Mexico. Folks in Idle Jack used to ask me about him when I visited or made a telephone call. Some still do. I tell them we parted shortly after Arizona and I have no idea where he went afterwards or currently is. Earlier this year, I received a postcard. It was brief, in true Karo-fashion. He did not get into much detail regarding his life. He told me he was divorced with a young daughter and living well. I don’t know how he got my address, yet, I am not surprised that he managed.
But I was glad to hear that he was still alive. It is nice to hear from the past. My memories of our high school days are still fond because at certain times, when you recall days long gone by, the good can outweigh the bad, and I guess that is true with Karo and me, but every single day I still recall what he did before we parted.
I decided to write this journal after I received his postcard, begin it twenty years after the journey began. Everyday I wonder if this will be the day we're found out. For years after I returned to the states, there were posters all over New Mexico and even before, looking for Karo, but not me. The store had caught him on camera. The crime stayed local.
There were sketches of Karo, but no name. I wasn’t mentioned. When I read the postcard my stomach had slightly fluttered. Karo was the one who had been daring enough to rob the store and murder a man, but he was the one who had quickly ran away to Mexico, while I was the one who had swiftly returned.
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