Chapter 16

Mila was handed a bag containing her personal effects and told to change. The money that had been in the pocket of her pants was no longer there so she asked the nurse about it. The resulting laughter bounced cruelly off the walls and Mila took a step away, wondering if the woman was all together, mentally.

Once dressed, Mila signed her forms and walked out of the psychiatric ward accompanied by Poklopsy. He chatted mildly about the weather and other idiotic things while they rode the elevator to the first floor and walked out the automatic double doors at the entrance. Mila did not respond to any of his remarks, but he didn’t seem perturbed about it.

“Well, Milo, best of luck to you,” he said, shaking her hand emphatically. He smiled as though he truly felt he had done her some good, and that left her dumbfounded as he went back into the clinic.

Tucking her bag under her arm, Mila walked out to the road and went down to the bus stop the nurse had recommended. She had her backpack again, and looked inside it, expecting to find the things she’d put in it. Unfortunately, the hospital staff had a dishonest member, and the only money left was a crumpled ten dollar bill at the bottom of the bag. Maybe it had been left there out of guilt; she didn’t know, she didn’t care. She clutched it gratefully and decided she was better off walking than taking the bus.

Her hair was long, and she could already feel the stubble growing in on her face. Her worn tennis shoes felt slightly unfamiliar after so many weeks in slippers, but she was grateful to have them on again. She had no idea where she was going, but she felt certain she could get there in the shoes that carried her away from her mother’s house.

She walked until the sun sank on the wretched heat of day, then found a small diner not unlike the one she’d frequented with ShayAnne when they were friends. Mila ate a grilled cheese and french fries and wondered painfully if she and the redhead would ever be friends again. Her imagination couldn’t construct a way that they could be, and that was somewhat depressing on top of everything else. She gave up half her money to the meal before going into the washroom to clean up. She was grossly unsatisfied with her appearance, and wished desperately that she could figure out how she was meant to look, to act. She felt so impossibly confused about things...

Mila walked out of the restaurant and back onto the street. She’d never been in this town before, but it was a lot like all the others. She had no idea where she’d be sleeping tonight, and she was weary from her burdens in life. She wandered the streets until late, forcing one aching foot in front of the other until the city melted into woodland. She strolled off the main path and found shelter beneath the trees. Using her backpack as a pillow, Mila settled herself under the branches and stared upward through the leaves. The starlight was minimal here in the darkened woodside, but Mila didn’t mind. She was glad to be free of the hospital, glad to be free of her mother, and glad to be breathing clean air. The air inside the clinic had a sterile, lemony smell to it, one that she didn’t appreciate. She felt a tiny tendril of hope uncurl in her chest as she looked up at the night sky. All she really needed was a plan. Some sleep and a plan, and she could start her life over. She closed her eyes, knowing she had a few hours until decisions had to be made.

Sometime after midnight, Mila awoke shivering. She unzipped her backpack and pulled out two shirts, one of which was a long-sleeved flannel piece, and put them both on over her t-shirt. Significantly warmer, she drifted back to sleep, and remained there until the morning sun and sounds of commuting traffic woke her.

She sat up groggily, trying to unkink her neck from its stiff position. She was a little dirty from lying on the ground all night, but she felt all right, and she had slept soundly enough even without the drugs the hospital had been pumping into her. She picked up her backpack and shouldered it, making her way back to the road. She walked along the highway, carefully keeping to its sidelines as she made her way toward the next town on the roadway’s route.

A blue pickup truck whizzed past her, careening onto the shoulder, and scaring her into leaping out of the way. It coasted to a stop up ahead and the driver got out, waving his cap wildly at her. Mila halted in her tracks and stared in alarm as the man began walking toward her.

“Hey!” he shouted when he got closer.

Mila shook her head at him, wishing she could get her tongue to work—- then she could tell him to stay away.

“Hey,” he repeated when he got within earshot. “You looking for work?”

“How did you know that?”

The man shrugged. “You sort of got that look about you, lean and hungry, a little dirty. I can pick you out any time.”

Mila blinked at him curiously while the man eyed her. He spit on the ground and said, “I got a farm. You know anything about picking beans?”

She nodded, wide-eyed to find out she had a marketable skill.

This time he smiled as he said, “Hop in the back of the truck with the other boys and I’ll take you up to it. Go on, ain’t got all day.”

He began walking away, and Mila hurried to fall into step beside him. The man kept talking as they walked. “You got a name?”

“My friends call me M,” she said, disliking the deeper tone of her voice.

He squinted and said, “Okay, that’s fair. We pay cash at the end of the day, and we give lunch, but we don’t stop picking, understand?”

She nodded even though she didn’t. They arrived at the pickup truck and Mila climbed into the bed with the other would-be workers. They didn’t greet her as the truck rumbled onward. There were four of them seated in the back of the vehicle as they lumbered down the highway. The farmer made two more stops and picked up three more people before bringing them up to the rolling hills of plantings. He dropped them in the middle of the field with bushel baskets and left them to pick the long snap beans still in their pods. She watched the other workers, mimicking their movements until she was able to fall into a rhythm of her own.

At the end of the day she was tired, aching, hungry, dirty, and smelly, but she had a few more dollars to her name, and now she felt like she had a purpose. She took her turn using the outhouse and washing up the hose lying nearby. The farmer instructed her to come back tomorrow if she wanted more work, and she gratefully gave him a nod. She could do this, she thought. She could work in the sun, and save her money, here where no one looked at her, no one talked to her, no one noticed her. In time, perhaps she could save enough to get her prescriptions again. That was all she really wanted for now. To be herself again.

One of the workers offered her a cigarette as they all walked down the path toward the road. She inhaled as she had seen them do, and immediately took to a fit of coughing. The man who’d given it to her took it back, laughing as he patted her on the back. Mila smiled weakly and wandered down the hillside with them. At the bottom she tried the cigarette again. This time it went in easier, and her eyes didn’t water as much.

“Hasta manana,” her new friend said, giving her a wave. They went opposite directions down the street, and Mila put her hands in her pockets.

Maybe her new life wouldn’t be so bad. Without her mother, maybe it would even be great. She smiled as she walked.