Page 82 of Wanted

Everybody knew. Everyone knew that our marriage, that our relationship was a lie.

It’s like a dagger that stabs me multiple times, making me bleed.

I was deceived, and yet they think I’m the one lying.

And the big question remains, who the hell did I marry?

Who is the man I met in Carrollton a few months ago?

Mrs. Kral stops the car in front of a 24-hour convenience store.

“I need to buy your ticket,” she explains. “I’ve been thinking about it and I think I have a plan.”

Good, because I haven’t thought about it much, only that I need a place to feel safe. Return home, to my safe haven.

Go back to my people, to my real family.

After this, she gets out of the car. “Wait for me here,” is the only instruction I get before she closes the door and walks to the store entrance.

About ten minutes have passed when she comes back carrying a plastic bag, which she immediately throws in my direction.

“Here, put this on,” she almost growls in my direction. “You can leave the dress and everything else in the bag, I’ll take care of returning it.”

I want to tell her the dress is mine, that I bought it with my own money, but it would be useless, it is not worth fighting over.

Inside the bag she gave me I find black leggings, a gray T-shirt with the California state logo, and flip-flops. This will be more than enough.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely.

Mrs. Kral gives me some time to change my clothes, then leaves the parking lot without saying another word. The other headlights illuminate the great highway, it must be at least six lanes, even at this time, and on Saturday, there is a lot of traffic, so it takes us a long time to get to where the letters LAX adorn the airport entrance.

“Listen,” she says when she’s parked at the curb, in front of the entrance’s glass doors. “Your flight leaves in just over an hour, you will have to go through security quickly. As soon as you enter, use this number.” With that said, she hands me a piece of paper on which he has scribbled something. “You can print the boarding pass on one of the machines. I have bought two tickets, the first in your name, a flight to Puerto Rico, which connects in Miami. That is going to buy you some time, the other, a flight to Louisville in the name of Carolina Lafayette. Once you pass the security control, nobody will ask for identification. Use the ticket in your name to get through security, the other to get on the plane.”

Well, Mrs. Kral has a brilliant mind, I would have never thought of this. She puts something between my trembling hands. I realize it’s a few hundred dollar bills.

“I hope I never have to see you again,” she says and I want to answer that the feeling is mutual, but I keep those words on the tip of my tongue.

“I don’t need your money, ma’am.” I try to return it to her, but she pulls her hands away quickly, like it was burning coal. Well, I don’t want it either, so I toss the money into the front seat.

“You can’t blame me,” she adds, glancing at the windshield, adjusting her lustrous blonde hair behind her ear. “I only want what’s best for my son.”

That earns an agreement, it’s something I understand and can respect. If I were in her shoes, maybe I would do the same.

Without saying another word I get out of the car, and hear her leave at full speed, so much so that the tires make that annoying little sound. I don’t have time to waste, so I head to the machines, which don’t give me much of a problem. Passing security is another story, because the line is long and when I finally get to where the first officer is, he looks at me with suspicion.

I cry again when I hear him call me by the name that is supposed to be mine. Stella Kral. It all sounds so false.

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I don’t have any luggage, in my hand only my small purse in which I carry my driver’s license and the little money I had left after my day of shopping, so I don’t waste much time going through the full body scanner, however, to get to the door indicated by the ticket, I need to run. I’m almost the last to board. I barely reached my seat when the flight attendant announces through the airplane sound system that the door has been closed.

I let out a sigh of pure relief, I’m going to be free.

I’m on my way to find myself.

For better or worse.

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