The First Road

Rowan scratched on the paper with her pencil, sketching an outline of a monkey on a tricycle, her face deeply in thought. Wrong stroke! She thought. The eraser ripped through the paper as she stroked in through, removing meaningless lines. Frustrated, Rowan huffs and glances out the train window, stained with rain spots, bird droppings, and the wearing down of wind. Leah looked to the other side of the train, to just be disappointed by the packed amount of people on the other side of the train, blocking an otherwise decent view. Squeezed up next to the window, beyond the stains were a wonderful land. America. 

~|~

Just where were they, exactly? Rowan and many other refugees were hiding on a cargo train headed to the border, hiding in the back room with the sheep. Baa! They rang out. Baa! She saw the land shift from greenery to a parched desert lined with the occasional cactus. The paper was torn into greasy shreds as the eraser squeaked through it, and she picked up the pieces forlornly. Mama had given her the sketchbook before she died, and that was her only memory of her. Mama had always wanted to go to America to live, and Rowan wanted to live out Mama’s dream, and hers. But life isn't always sunshine. As Mama used to say, “Too much sunshine makes a desert.”

The monkey lay in shreds on Rowan’s lap, his head the only remnant of a monkey left. Suddenly, a bustling racket resounded from the far end of the cargo train, and not in hers, either. 

“Pirates!” 

A shout rang in the air. Everything was still for a moment, then everyone moved frantically. Windows were broken open, people floundering through them, glass shards sprinkling to the ground. Rowan knew of only one person who might have known about her escaping. Sev. 

Sev was a member of the Malice Pirates, who had ravaged Mexico and eventually caused Mama’s death. His spiky black hair made him look like a hero, a movie star like Iron Man. But now Rowan was pretty sure he was more of a Thanos, his fancy bejeweled rings lined up on his hand. She could name at least 5 things that Sev wore that was Mama’s cancer fund money. When she saw his silhouette, she froze on the bumpy cargo floor, holding a stance that was more fearful than prepared. Sev only saw a flash of her hair and her knapsack behind her as she disappeared.

Sev barked orders. This was his sort of thing, after all. Ordering Rowan, Nat, Mama around all the time at home. Stop thinking about them! He thought to himself. Rowan is the only thing between you and that sweet, fat paycheck. He tightened up his red bandanna around  his mouth and marched into the room. Several pieces of paper, shredded, lay on the floor. Picking it up he noticed the remains of a tricycle and some hairy legs and a monkey face. He knew who it was. Rowan. 

“Hurry out, boys!” he barked. “The girl is not here.”

“So where is she?” one of the men asked. 

“I know where.” Sev yelled. In his hands was a phone, with a moving dot on it, heading towards the countryside. 

“Right here.”

Rowan was panting, hard. A wheeze resounded through her throat and came out as a gag. Did Sev see me?  She thought nervously. Rummaging through her worn-out knoapsack, she only found 2 slices of stale bread and a pencil.

 “The sketchbook!” she cried out.

No! She couldn’t have lost it! That was the only handheld remnant of Mama left, besides her blueberry smelling hair tie lost somewhere in a ditch back in the south. Gritting her teeth, she bit into a hard, bump encrusted bread loaf. As she ate, she could nearly hear Sev, who used to give perfect advice say. 

“Chew slowly,” he used to say. “It’ll fill you up more.”

Even though the bread slice was just a bread slice, it couldn't grow or shrink, it felt like it expanded overnight. Rowan squinted out in the distance, to see a tiny patch of green and a fence against the blinding sun. Picking up one broken soled shoe, she started on the way to the Wall, and freedom. 

Sev hopped in the rickshaw, his men hanging out on the poles, masks flying as the dust ricocheted off their faces.

“Sir,” the driver said in a cracked voice. 

“YOu need to pay the-”

 Crack! 

The baton swung across the man’s face, stained with blood, slumping out of the worn seat and crushed by the wheels. Sev seemed somewhat disgusted by the blood and hair left on the tires, leaving a trail of death behind it, but shook himself out of the weakness. 

“Let’s head to the border.”

Sev, more than once, thought about Mama. Her face, though wracked with hard work and struggle, was always clear like those women on beauty magazines, encrusted with makeup. 

“Sevrin, dear,” Mama used to say, stroking his hair while he stared out at the expanse of practically nothingness. 

“You will grow up to be great things. You’ll be a secretary!” That was what the most successful person in the village was. Sev admired the secretary back then, now even more, since he was the captain of the Malice Pirates.

“No!” he’d say in mock defiance. “Rowan will be my secretary!” 

Back then Rowan was more calm, and Sev thought more enjoyable. But as she started going to school and reading, she became insufferable. Then the Pirates offered him a job. First he hesitated, he was a goody-boy back then, but riches brightened his mind. It wore him down a trail of crimes, one higher, then the death of Mama. That had ravaged the whole famliy. 

Rowan reached the border. The fence was just in view, the rolling green countryside lining it with blooming flowers. Suddenly, a sharp pain went through her knapsack. As she touched the wound, her hand felt blood. Looking back, Sev had shot her. The pistol was still smoking and as Rowan stammered to get to her feet, she collapsed. The last view she had was of the border, two feet from her face and the hills.