I crossed Broadway and walked uphill toward Stagger Bay Center, which had passed for a downtown shopping center back in the days of doo-wop and Petula Clark. Here were our two supermarkets, our hospital, our twin water towers, our bank, and our two elementary schools: one Catholic for the upper crusties, the other public.
Down the block our local burger drive-in was opening up, the smell of heating grease reminding me I hadn’t eaten in a while. Clumps of students of varying ages hurried down the sidewalks en route to school. That big old Cougar, the one that had a close encounter with Sam’s Lincoln, squatted in the drive-in parking lot aimed at me like a sleeping rocket; the big blond driver looked my way, waiting for whomever.
It was still the same all-American time warp here that Angela and I tried to submerge our family into. But now there was nothing for me in Stagger Bay, nothing to keep me.
I was an invisible man here at best; at worst, someone this town obviously wished would just go away. Well, I knew how to oblige when I was in the mood, even if it felt suspiciously like surrender.
Oakland looked better and better, even if I had no idea what I’d do down in my hometown once I got there. I’d come too far just to crime spree ‘til I got chopped, or drown myself in the bottle in a cardboard mansion. But I wouldn’t be in Stagger Bay anymore, which was the main thing – I wouldn’t see the reminders of my failure everyday.
It was time for me to swing back to the Greyhound station and disappear all the way.