EVERYTHING BUT THE BLOODHOUNDS

Stephanie Jankiewicz woke up on Tuesday to the sun burning through her eyelids, light barrelling through her window, and illuminating a green glass beer bottle on her nightstand. Squinting, she grabbed the empty bottle, turned toward her snoring fiancé Herman, and cracked the bottle on his head. She stood up just as he started to wail from the pain to put on some sweatpants, and reached under the bed to grab a shoulder bag she had packed and stowed there the previous night. She marched briskly out of the room, not stopping to look at the moaning, bleeding Herman, out of fear that she might suddenly feel a twinge of remorse and pity, and thus lose her nerve.

Stephanie shoved the screen door open and stormed toward the driveway as the dogs barked and the woman who was to be her future mother-in-law screamed.

Guess she got a look at old Herman, Stephanie thought, as she reached into Herman's mother's old car through an open window and grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the dashboard.

Listen, cracking someone over the head with a beer bottle isn't something Stephanie would normally do. At least, not unless they deserved it, she thought, as she accelerated onto the onramp of the Long Island Expressway, looking toward the open highway and away from the sidewalk-free streets of southern Suffolk County, where people let their lawns overgrow with weeds and keep their cars on cinderblocks in the driveway.

I mean, you wouldn't try to knock your own fiancè unconscious, she thought as she blew cigarette smoke out the half-open car window, unless they said stupid shit like "I'd never marry a woman who made more money than I did" or "what do you want to go to college for, anyway?". That's justifiable. Yep, definitely, she said aloud as she changed lanes, waving her hand to thank the driver behind her.

She kept driving, at times almost in a fugue state, her mind blank until she saw something familiar--a highway exit sign, a rest stop, an overpass with old graffiti that was never painted over. "Keep your eye on the target," her jujutsu instructor used to say, "see everything around it, be aware, but focus on the target." Stephanie's lips moved as she repeated her sensei's words, but inside her head a voice asked, "so what's the target?" She didn't know where she was headed, she was just going...away.

She stared at the expressway divider lines until a buzzing sound jolted her out of her trance. She grabbed her pager; it was her girlfriend. Yes, her girlfriend, the one who knew all about Herman but who Herman knew nothing about. Well, he knew something.

"Fuck," Stephanie exhaled. She pulled into the next truck stop in search of a pay phone.

She called collect; she knew Janet would accept the charges.

"Pennsylvania area code?" Janet asked. "Coming to surprise me?"

Stephanie squinted her eyes. She knew this was coming.

"Hmmmm, nah...pretty sure I passed the Philadelphia interchange a couple hours ago. I'm in...", she looked around for landmarks,"I have no idea. Bumfuck, I guess."

"What are you doing there?" Janet paused, then asked: "Did you finally leave Herman's ass? Did you?"

"Well, I can confirm that left him with a concussion and a busted head, so, yeah."

"And you're not coming to see me?"

"Janet, look, I'm just gonna cut to the chase because you're paying for this call. No. I'm done with Herman, done with Long Island, and done with whatever it is we've been doing. I'm heading West and not coming back for a while."

There was silence. That's gonna cost ya, Stephanie thought.

Janet finally spoke, in that condescending way she always did.

"Stephanie. You're gonna regret this."

"Add it to the growing list," Stephanie laughed.

"I mean it. You forget everything we've been through. And everything I've done for you."

"No, I remember. All the train rides I had to take to Manhattan to take you to therapy. How many stories I had to make up about where I was going. How guilty you made me feel when I wouldn't let you stay over when my mom died. When you spoke to me in that EXACT tone of voice. Nope, I didn't forget, unfortunately."

"Fine. But I'm not the one who's going to be responsible for what I do..."

Stephanie cut her off. "Here's a twist: why not be responsible? Just for a change, right? Why not take fucking responsibility for once in your friggin' life? Huh?" She screamed the last words into the dark grey handset before she slammed it back in its cradle, and stormed back to the car.

She opened the door, and left it open as she lit another cigarette and wondered if Herman's mom reported her yet. She cautiously looked around and took another long drag. That weird, foggy dissociation took hold again; she had no idea how many minutes went by before she felt the ash burn her fingers. Stubbing the butt out, she decided it was time to eat something if she was going to stay awake.

The convenience mart next to the phone booth had one entrance that Stephanie could make out; she peered around the back for an employee entrance or open loading dock, just in case the cops showed up and she had to make a quick getaway. A man with a trucker hat and wraparound sunglasses noticed her coming back from behind the buliding: "Restroom's inside, honey," he said. He held the door open for her, and was joined by another trucker-hat model who joined him after exiting an old truck. Stephanie walked in, tensely. They were smiling those smiles that no woman ever wants to see on a stranger.

Here we go.

Stephanie eyed the endless beverage selection at the back of the convenience mart. She couldn't stop thinking about how corny Janet sounded with her "I'm not the one who's going to be responsible" line. What shitty movie did she pick that up from? So long to that melodramatic bullshit. This is what happens when you date someone from your college acting class. Figures.

She reached into the beer cooler and, just as she was grabbing what felt like the coldest Canadian ale in the rack, spotted a green beer bottle identical to the one she used to knock out Herman. I should get that one again, in case I have to use the bottle, she smirked to herself; then abruptly placed the ale back and closed the cooler door. Nope. No more drinking. Drinking got me here in the first place: numbing my feelings, blurring my circumstances, she thought. Time to white-knuckle it. Eyes on the target. Stephanie reached for an energy drink in a tallboy can when she heard the two trucker cap dudes whispering.

They were waiting for her at the counter, still smiling those predatory smiles, when she tossed a bag of flaming-hot chips and the tallboy on the counter. "Somebody's got a long drive tonight!" the first dude sneered. "Where ya headed to, darlin?" Another crap cliché, Stephanie thought. She looked at the counter clerk for help, but he was a shut-down kid of about 16 who clearly wanted nothing to do with anything happening around him other than ringing her up.

"That's the best you've got?" she responded, not making eye contact.

The two dudes looked at each other and giggled like school kids playing a joke on the teacher. "We're just looking out for you, sugar. Not too many gals pretty as you come through here by yourself--where's your man?" asked dude 1.

"Or your woman," snorted dude 2, and they both tapped each others' beer bellies with the backs of their puffy, pink hands.

Stephanie bit her lip and thought of another thing Sensei used to say. "How does a black belt pick a fight? They don't. They walk away..." She turned to face both of them.

"I'm traveling by myself. And thanks, but I don't need 'lookin' out'".

"OooOOoooohh!" they mocked. "Well ain't she tough. What are ya, marine? Black belt or sum'n?" The belly-tapping and giggling again.

Don't say it, the voice in Stephanie's head warned. Don't. Say. It.

"Yup. Actually, I am."

"Awww Jared, she gone kick your ass!" one dude said to the other. Jared wasn't laughing, but seemed intrigued.

"Oh are ya? Think you can take me? What wouldja do, gimme a...karate chop or sum'n? What d'ya think, Darren?"

Darren was a bit more cautious. "Nah, she bout to flip you over her shoulder! You'd land like a stone, son!"

Now Jared was challenged. This is gonna be a long trip, Stephanie thought. She looked around the counter for anything that could be used as a weapon, either by her or by these two good-ole boys. Nothing but pool floaties and a scratch-off ticket machine. Great.

"Well, now..." Jared said, taking a step closer to her, "what wouldja do if I did...this?" He put his hand on her shoulder. Stephanie looked at the cashier again. He had his back turned, filling the smokeless tobacco shelves behind them.

"I would say, you might want to rethink what you're doing."

She heard Sensei's voice again: you walk away, unless someone gives you a reason to fight back.

Jared and Darren smiled at each other: the laughter was gone, replaced by menacing sneers.

"I re-think I might wanna do...this..." he said, taking another step closer and sliding his arm around both her shoulders.

"Me next..." Darren grinned. Where are the other customers, Stephanie thought. She looked above Darren's head for a security camera. There was one, but it was pointed directly at the register. She was clear.

Stephanie reached for Jared's hand on her shoulder, and sighed audibly. "If you really, really wanna do that, I'd have no choice but to ask you...to come...closer..."

Surprised and excited, Jared leaned in. Darren, watching intently, squealed with quiet delight.

As Jared brought his face closer to Stephanie's, she grabbed the lapel of his flannel shirt: her other hand pinned his wrist to her shoulder. She quickly turned her back into his belly, bent her knees, and slid under his arm, keeping it pinned to her. He howled as his shoulder and elbow twisted in the opposite direction of their natural range of motion; and using her boot, she drove her instep into the back of his knee and slammed him face-first into the ground.

Now, the cashier was paying attention, but didn't say a word.

Jared continued to send his muffled moans into the tile floor. "Hey Darren! Didn't you say you wanted to be next?" Stephanie yelled, turning her head just in time to see Darren book it back to the truck.

"You can let him go, he ain't gonna hurt ya. Jared's got a record a mile long," said the cashier.

"That true, you fat asshole?" she asked him.

"Ugh...yeah...they got too much on me. You ain't worth goin' to jail for, lemme go!!"

Cautiously, Stephanie released her grip on his arm and stepped away. Jared slowly stood up, found his cap on the floor, and placed it back on his sunburned head. Without looking at Stephanie, he walked painfully through the door. "Damn, Bugs, whatever happened to 'bro code'?" he yelled after the clerk, then saw Darren pulling the truck out of the lot and staggered after him, screaming.

Stephanie adjusted her clothes. Bugs handed her a plastic grocery bag stamped with THANK YOU in red letters, her drink and chips inside. "How much I owe ya?" she asked.

"On the house. Those guys are douchebags, watching your beat-down was worth about a hundred cans of Monster," he said. "Have a nice day, ma'am".

By the time she got back on the road, she decided to turn her pager off for now. She continued west, sleeping in her car most nights, staying with people she knew when she could: an old food server acquaintance in Wisconsin, a co-worker of a high school friend in Iowa. She made a few calls to her dojo friends back on Long Island, and they were able to put feelers out for her for places to stay, odd jobs she could take to keep gas in the tank, connections for a place to land once she hit the west coast.

Every once in while, she'd call her dad, but it always made her feel depressed. He was usually a bit drunk (he started drinking more after her mom died), and would say cryptic shit like, "What's your master plan, kid?" She didn't have one, of course, and even though that made sense to her, it always caused a fight between them.

She was as far as Portland, Oregon when she finally turned her pager back on, and noticed she missed a few calls: one from her best friend, who was busy being a mom but not too busy to check in, and one from her younger brother, who was trying to figure out his own life with no real adult role models around--her included. She did feel guilty about that, but just like the very rare remorse she felt about cracking Herman's head open, she couldn't let the guilt get in the way. Focus on the target.

In any case, there were no missed calls from Herman, his mom, or her ex-girlfriend, and no sign of law enforcement trying to track her down. Just to be safe, she got a number for a lawyer from a woman she met at a motel in Wyoming. Never hurts to have a little muscle just in case.

Stephanie had gotten a part-time job at a coffee bar near Powell's Books, and connected with some cool people via the bulletin board; one of them was an old college classmate she had met before Herman pushed her to drop out. He was forming a theater group in SE Portland. She was staying in a modest room at the YWCA while she looked for a place of her own, and loved to walk along the Willamette River on her way home from work.

One night, during one of these walks, she recalled a conversation with the woman in Wyoming. They were sitting in the lobby of the motel, watching an old movie on the TV. It was All About Eve, and Stephanie told the woman that it was one of her mom's favorite movies. "My mom too!" the woman said, and described how she and her mom had Margot Channing's "being a woman" monologue committed to memory. "Funny business, a woman's career," Bette Davis, as Margot, would say. "The things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them again when you get back to being a woman".

The two women told each other their life stories in that hotel lobby, the way you do with a stranger you just met and will likely never see again. "So wait: you worked all the way up to a black belt in karate--"

"Jujutsu," Stephanie corrected.

"--okay, 'ju-jitsu'--and you still stayed engaged to that sexist asshole and still was together with that controlling bitch and put up with all of their bullshit?"

Stephanie sighed. "Yeah, I know. The irony."

The woman blew cigarette smoke through her nostrils. "Shit. No offense, but 'physician, heal thyself'!"

"None taken. But now you see how I ended up here."

The woman was distracted. "Here it comes, this is one of my favorite parts..."

They both focused on the TV set.

Margot: Remind me to tell you about the time I looked into the heart of an artichoke.

Eve: I'd love to hear it.

Margot: Some snowy night, in front of the fire.

They said the last line in unison, laughing.

The woman stood up, stubbing out her cigarette. "I'm pooped--time for bed. I know how this ends. You gonna be ok?"

Stephanie smiled. "Yeah. I'll be ok. I gotta call my dad before I head back out tomorrow, anyway." She grabbed the remote and turned the set off.

"Oh yeah," the woman replied. "the 'Master-plan' guy. Listen. Don't let him get to you. Now that you've dropped the dead weight, you can finally figure out who you are. Take it from me, it's a fun ride. G'night!"

Stephanie sat in the empty lobby for a moment. Yeah, maybe...

As she looked across the river at the silhouette of the shipping boats, a few weeks removed from that conversation in Wyoming, she thought about those words again. Maybe finding out who she really was is the destination. Maybe she, the real Stephanie, was the master plan after all.