The Town That Never Lets Go

That’s the thing about this city. No one ever came here by choice. For my father, it was an escape. With cops and lawmen on his tail, he needed a place to hide, to start fresh. And my mother, she had been born here. Like most, she resented it. But she never left. That was the other thing about this city. Once you stepped foot across the boundary, once you passed the faded ‘welcome’ sign decaying on the road side, once you realized just what you’d walked into, it was too late. That was the unspoken rule: never leave. The few who tried had all failed, as I knew far too well. In fact, the last one to try had been fourteen years ago: my mother. She’d strapped me into my car seat and drove real slow across the boundary. Just a moment she made it before, as I’m told, the wheels lost traction and we spun off the road into a big oak. I barely survived, and my car seat was miraculously found resting just inside the border. The rusted, smashed-up minivan still stood amongst the trees, a constant warning, a reminder of our own fate if we attempted to escape. And now, now it was not just my home, but my prison. Everyday I woke up knowing things would never change.

When I was young, I loved the city. It was a community, a safe place, and I soon learned every street corner, every hole in the wheel, every nook and cranny in this beautiful town. But now, the familiar streets and faces had become boring. It’s amazing how quickly our love for something can fade when we’ve been stuck with that same-old for so long

It’s no surprise, then, that I took an interest in him. I was only sixteen at the time, and my hopes and dreams had already started to fade away. Another uneventful day at work: the checkout at the only gas station in town. I saw very few people, and those I did were familiar: Carter C. stopping in for a bottle of Mountain Dew before work, Old Man Jones getting a new pack of cigs, the Jameson family buying ice cream with their kids. By that point, my day had no surprises. I knew precisely when the bell above the door would ring, and I knew exactly who I’d see before they walked in the door. Most of my time was rarely spent on work, and I busied myself with the news, or a book, or a magazine, anything I could get my hands on.

The day it happened, I’d been flipping through a shiny copy of National Geographic, admiring the life in Madagascar, when I heard the door.

At first, I barely paid attention, the mental gears in my brain turning, determining who it was. 8:14. That meant Jordan—no, not for another hour. But Brit, I was sure she’d just left.

Even then, I still thought very little of it. Perhaps it wasn’t one of my regulars, maybe just some other teenager or hopeless case looking for a snack or a cigarette or a lottery ticket. With a tinge of curiosity, I continued to flip through the magazine, waiting for the person to emerge from the shelves, into my view.

And then it happened. The heavy beat of footsteps announced their approach, and then they—he—emerged. He wasn’t young, nor was he old. It was hard to tell, really, with the dark circles framing his eyes and the tightness of his jaw. When he stepped up to me, his expression shifted, and his lips curled into a half-hearted smile. With a sigh, he set a pack of snack cakes and some sparkling water on the counter.

After a moment, I snapped back to reality and began to scan his items. As I did so, I spoke up, hoping to gather something about him.

“So, how’s your night going?”

He scoffed, glancing over my shoulder. “I’ll take two packs of Marlboros, if that answers your question.” With a slight smile, I turned to retrieve the cigarettes from the shelf behind me. “Yeah, I’ve been driving all day back home from a, uh, business trip. And my car’s been giving me a load of trouble. I had to stop for gas and check it out before I got too far from civilization.” He paused, pulling out his wallet and grabbing several bills. “What is this sorry town anyway?”

“Osprin. It’s a bit of an unknown place. Your total is $15.34.” He set a few crumpled bills on the counter and I opened the register to fish for his change. And just as I grabbed the last penny, I froze. And it hit me.

He was just just stopping in. He would be leaving now.

And he didn’t know the consequences.

I felt my body tense, my hands still gripping tightly to his money. He coughed, and I took a moment to scan him, my eyes tracing the dark waves of his hair, the silver sparkle in his eyes, the hint of a smile on his face. This was a person, a life, a man, and I knew then that I couldn’t let him go.

With shaky hands, I slid his cash across the counter. “You know, it’s pretty dark out already, and the roads around here are sketchy. Are you sure you don’t just want to stay the night, maybe have your car checked out? Louis, a few blocks down the road, is great, and he’d do it for cheap if I asked.”

The stranger seemed to notice me then, for the first time. With furrowed brows, he grabbed his water and took a swig, never breaking eye contact. “I appreciate the offer, but I really should get back as soon as I can.” Without an ounce of hesitation, he turned on his heel and headed for the door. I rushed to stop him, scrambling out from behind the counter, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Wide-eyed, he faced me, and his stature was intimidating. “Excuse me?”

For a second, I couldn’t speak, only stare him in the face, my mouth a surprised “o,” as if even I couldn’t believe my boldness. Eventually, sensing his impatience, I managed to begin. “Don’t go yet; I insist. At least stay and let’s share a smoke or something.”

He looked up, seeming to consider the offer, before returning his gaze to me. With a smirk, he stepped back, asked: “how old are you?”

“What?” I exclaimed. “I’m perfectly fine to smoke, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He shook his head, crossing his arms. “That’s now why I asked and you know it.”

“What? I...” Eyes narrowed, I took a step closer, starting to give up on this idea, starting to resent myself for trying. “I’m nineteen. Not that it matters. I just wanted to smoke with a stranger, that’s all. The people in this town are a bore.” Slowly, I made my way back to the checkout, but his heavy hand grabbed my shoulder, stopping me.

“Let’s go outside then.” Barely acknowledging me, he pushed open the door, letting in a gust of cold, night air. Above me, the lights flickered, casting the barren shelves in a ghastly glow. What was I doing? I wasn’t 19; I’d never smoked a cigarette in my life. But I knew I was doing the right thing. Saving a life was worth it, right?

The night chill greeted me as I stepped outside. He was already seated on the hood of his car—a rusting hunk of metal—an unlit cigarette clutched between his lips. From his pocket, he pulled out a lighter, and I sat beside him as he lit a cigarette, handed it to me, and then lit his own.

My fingers gripped the thing so tightly I thought I might crush it. I inhaled, suppressing the urge to cough and choke, letting out a puff of smoke instead. It was unpleasant, but I kept at it, and before long, I’d begun to enjoy it, almost.

We didn’t talk for a long while. He seemed to be lost in thought, his eyes set on some shadow in the distance. And I, I was thinking too. This was crazy, wasn’t it? Sure, maybe I was buying him an extra hour or so. But I couldn’t stop the inevitable. At some point, he would leave. Or try to. And then, he would be dead, unless I figured something out. Anything. I wouldn’t let anyone go like my mother.

I was the first to break the silence. “What’s your name?’ By then, he was on his second cigarette, and we’d shared the chocolate cakes he’d bought. Luckily, no one had stopped by the station, and it seemed like I was good for the night.

He let out a long, heavy breath, a trail of smoke snaking into the air. “My name…” he began, “doesn’t really matter, does it? I could tell you, but that doesn’t mean I’d be telling the truth. And names just make things… real.” He stood, tossing his cigarette on the ground. “I’d say it’s about time I get going.”

My heart began to race, and I slid closer to him, my eyes meeting his, pleading. “You really shouldn’t go.”

Just then, the moon emerged from the clouds, training a spotlight on his back. His eyes met mine for a moment before he peered up at the stars, pondering something.

The distant croak of frogs filled the silence until he spoke. “Are you really nineteen?” I opened my mouth to reply, but he stopped me. “Not that it matters anyway, eh? I’ll be out of this town by tomorrow.” In a few bounding steps, he approached me, his hands finding their way to my waist. I finally understood now, what he wanted. Why he’d stayed. Seeing him now, he was certainly attractive, in the way a strange animal leaves you with awe and curiosity after seeing it for the first time. But there was really no beauty in this, was there? It was unfamiliar, frightening, inescapable. Never to be forgotten. As the wide, sable sky seemed to close in, so did my thoughts, the situation unraveling in my mind. What was I doing?

Sensing my hesitation, his hands dropped to his sides, and he nodded, moving away, going to climb into his car, turning the key, getting ready to go—

Getting ready to die.

Because I was too afraid to stop him.

“No, no, wait!” I jumped in front of the car just as he accelerated, and he slammed the brakes, cursing. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It would be my fault if I let him go. So I pulled open the door and climbed into the back, my limbs feeling heavy, my chest tightening.

Was I a hero? Did I have courage?

He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze climbing me, my body, perched willingly, without desire, on his faded leather seat. “I’m glad you made up your mind, girl.” And he was climbing back and he was on me and he was in me and

And he was alive.

So I let the buzz of the night take me away.

“I should really be going now,” he breathed, his bare chest painted with a thin layer of sweat rising and falling beside me. “I should really be going.”

He sat up, eyeing me one more time, a distant look on his face. The car’s interior was a shadow, a dead thing, like a prison in this already prison-like town.

Somehow, my hands found my shirt, and I pulled it over myself, as if there was anything to hide in the dark. “You really shouldn’t.” My voice was hoarse and heavy, barely audible.

But he heard me, and he spoke, voice rising. “What is it with you, girl? Why won’t you just let me go? Are you really that desperate, that lonely?” A chuckle crawled out his lips, filling the quiet stillness in the space between us.

“You don’t know about this town, do you? No one comes here by choice. And no one ever leaves.” He began to laugh again, only to stop, glimpsing the somberness of my face in the dark. “All those who try to leave never make it. This is all you have left. The only escape is death. Death.”

No response. His eyes flicked back and forth, deep in thought. Minutes passed in silence. And then:

“Are you fucking serious?” He was overwhelmed with laughter, an awful, grating sound, one that caught me by surprise. 

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, no, I do. I can tell, at least, that you believe it.” He shook his head. “This is absurd, isn’t it? You can’t tell me you let superstitions run your life?”

“I mean—”

“You’ve never thought of leaving. Good for you, if that’s what you want. But I have a life to get back to, and this shitty place has got nothing for me.”

Still barely clothed, he crawled up front, starting the car and placing another cigarette in his mouth. The flick of the lighter, a burst of flame. His body turned to face me again, his eyes straining in the dark.

“What is it you want, little girl? Although I think I already know the answer.” He exhaled, a cloud of smoke enveloping my face, leaving me sputtering, choking. There I sat, feeling numb, feeling empty, feeling violated, knowing my efforts—everything—had been in vain. I had failed. And I didn’t feel like myself anymore. This man, this stranger, had made me a stranger to myself. I couldn’t fathom returning to my home, facing my father, facing my classmates, my teachers, all of them the same, all of them never knowing the truth—this feeling in my body, my nakedness, my loneliness. Me. “So? Is this town really what you want?”

I shook my head, and he smiled knowingly, although it looked sinister, the way the shadows danced across his face, his teeth bared like a canine. The car groaned as he accelerated, my heart along with it, and he turned out of the station. The headlights barely illuminated the road as he sped on, moving faster and faster. Although I could see little in the dark, I knew we were just yards from the bounds of town, mere feet from escape. Time seemed to slow, and in that last second before we crossed, the night flashed before my eyes, and there was one last thought I had before we passed over:

I wanted to die.