"The fun's just beginning." Tess said. "Take it easy. She's fresh fish," she told Russell, and his smile widened.
He brought his razor back to the paper and created another line with what he could scrape up.
"Try again," he said. "Hold your breath until you get the straw on it, and then inhale."
I glanced at it and then looked at Tess, who was staring at me with a strange, twisted smile on her face. What else did she have in mind? What did he mean when he said we had places to go yet?
"I don't think I should," I said, "I'd better get back before my uncle gets upset."
"We'd feel better if you did," Russell said firmly.
"A lot better," Tess said, drawing closer to me.
"I just don't want to waste any more."
"You won't," Russell said. He sat back. "C'mon. First time is often the most exciting."
Tess was right over me.
I returned to the table, put the straw to the powder, my fingers visibly trembling, and then closed my eyes and inhaled. The moment the first grains hit my nostrils. I panicked and fell back.
They both laughed. I got up quickly.
"I can't do it!" I screamed, and ran out the door, nearly running into a set of rope weight. I twisted myself, turned, and continued across the backstage, their laughter still following me.
"Keep your mouth shut!" I heard Russell shout.
I burst out of the rear door of the theater and hurried to the motor home. My heart was thumping. I desperately tried to calm myself before going in. I surely didn't want Uncle Palaver to see me like this and find out what I had done. He'd insist I go back, for sure.
Instead of going in. I circled the motor home. My body felt hot. As I walked. I felt more excited, stronger and suddenly very alert to any sound or light. When I looked up, the stars seemed closer, brighter. My heart continued to race. and I walked faster. I imagined myself walking so hard and fast that I was digging a ditch around the motor home. It made me stop and laugh.
I leaned against the side of the motor home, not realizing until I heard the sobbing that I was right beneath the bedroom window. I could hear every sound from within clearly. Uncle Palaver's sobs became louder. /Ye got to go to him, I thought. Something terrible is happening.
I charged toward the front door, opening it quickly and stepping into the motor home, Then I hurried down to the bedroom door and listened. He was still sobbing, but it was softer. I knocked,
"Uncle Palaver, are you all right?"
"What are you doing?" I heard, and spun around.
Uncle Palaver was sitting at the wheel, drinking from his bottle. I looked at him and then at the door and then back to him.
"You'd better go to sleep," he said. "We have another big day tomorrow."
He turned away and stared out the window.
I could still hear what surely was his sobbing coming from the bedroom.
Why did he want that to go on? Didn't he hear it, too? He just sat there, drinking and staring out the window at the darkness. I felt my nerve endings crackling and stepped into the bathroom.
Afterward. I climbed into my bunk, but trying to catch sleep made me feel like one of those greyhound dogs on a dog racetrack trying to catch the mechanical rabbit. Around and around I went, exhausting myself, but not falling asleep.
Finally, a good hour or so later. I felt fatigue settle into me like water soaking in a sponge. Uncle Palaver was still sipping his bourbon and looking out the window below me.
Before I fell asleep. I sobbed silently myself.
Being, on the road wasn't as adventurous and wonderful as I had expected.
It was just a different journey through a maze of disappointments and sadness.