The Way Out of Nowhere

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ever dream of something better for myself. I never hoped for a great adventure. I had long since convinced myself I was content with my favorite chair in the corner of the library, nestled secretly behind two book stacks no one ever seemed to care about. No one seemed to care about the library at all. I enjoyed the quiet, though. I didn’t like the people in this town, their small talk, and personal agendas. Maybe I was wired this way, or maybe that was the consequence of growing up in a small town with a population of 302, and no other town around for miles. In 1892, three years after the “discovery” of these western plains, the town was established and aptly named, Nowhere, Montana.

So there I was, the literal middle of Nowhere, curled up next to an old fireplace that probably hasn’t been used since 1905. I curled my body as tightly as I could to fit on the old chair I loved so much. It was likely as old as the fireplace, evidence of its age showing through the cracks of brown leather that gave way to dried curled edges that poked into me and pulled at my knit sweaters. Each small pull was a reminder from my old leather friend that I was never alone. There that chair would remain, in the small corner of a library, awaiting my arrival, every Tuesday morning.

Today wasn’t any different than the others. I arrived at the library at exactly 8:00 am like I did every Tuesday on my day off. My hands gripped my hazelnut coffee tightly, desperate for any warmth they could find. This was the coldest winter on record in Montana, and my body ached in complaint. The heat was turned off in my apartment a few weeks ago because my grocery store income only covered the rent. Food stamps kept me fed, but government assistance only went so far, and no one cared about keeping an inconsequential girl in Montana warm. The library’s heat system was shoddy at best but it helped ease the ache in my bones. Pushing the pain away, I grabbed my favorite book and began to re-read it for the 100th time. My body relaxed further and further into the chair, and my eyelids grew heavy begging for sleep. Before I could stop it, I drifted into a nightmare I knew all too well.

I was eighteen again, following my mom around the apartment, pleading with her as she frantically packed an old suitcase.

“Please, don’t do this,” I begged.

“I just can’t do this anymore. I want more out of life.” Her voice was shaking but determined.

“People like us don’t get more,” I responded, frantically pulling clothes out of her bag.

She groaned and grabbed the clothes from my hands. “Jane, you are eighteen now. You can take care of yourself for a little while. When I get settled, I’ll come back for you.”

“Where are you going? I don’t understand. Please.” My voice was breaking and my throat was on fire from holding back tears.

“I don’t know where I’m going. Someplace with palm trees maybe. I’ll figure it out when I get there.” She huffed as she zipped up the case and pulled it off the bed. It landed with a thud and I flinched.

“That makes no sense! You can’t leave me! What am I supposed to do?” I cried and tried to block the doorway.

“Listen, Greg said he’ll hire you at the store. It’ll only be for a little while, and I’ll come back for you.” She wiped the tears off my cheeks and kissed the top of my head, raking her hands through my long brown hair one last time.

“I love you. I’ll see you soon.” She pushed through me and shut the door behind her.

I collapsed onto the floor, cursing her for leaving, cursing the town for trapping me, and cursing myself for being too afraid to go with her.

I woke abruptly, the feeling of cold coffee spilling onto my legs. The memory faded from my mind, but the ache of regret remained. That was five years ago, and I haven't heard from my mom since. I didn’t blame her. If I got out, I wouldn’t come back either.

Groaning, I hastily pulled the cup right side up and looked around for anything to clean up the mess. As my eyes scanned the room, they halted at a spot on the bookshelf. My brain registered the change before my consciousness could recognize it. Something was different. The thought startled me more than the cold coffee seeping into my pants, and my heart raced uncomfortably in my chest. I walked closer to the bookshelf, scanning the books and layers of dust that had collected from years of neglect. Upon inspecting the stacks, I discovered a spot on the shelf where the dust had been scraped away slightly. The difference was minuscule, completely unnoticeable to the average person, but this was my special spot and had been for nearly 15 years. I would’ve noticed even the smallest change. I had noticed a change.

Anxiety coursed through me as I eyed the small black notebook that resided behind the disturbed dust. Against my better judgment, I reached in and slowly pulled it out. It was thicker and heavier than I imagined it would be at first glance, but I gripped onto it tighter, enchanted by the glossy exterior. The hardcover notebook had a thin, black satin band wrapped around it, keeping the contents tightly enclosed. I turned it over to inspect it and found a small engraving on the back: L.S.P. My fingers glided over it several times, becoming familiar with letters. Were they initials? Maybe the author of this mysterious book? With no sticker on the spine, it didn’t belong to the library.

A small voice in my head told me to put it back, to turn around, and sit back in the old leather chair. My curiosity could not be tamed, however, and my fingers slipped under the satin and unwrapped the book, unlocking the contents inside.

Taking in a deep breath I pulled open the cover. As it creaked in protest, my eyes caught a glimpse of something green. I gasped as my face prickled and the book fell out of my hands.

No way.

Steeling myself, I picked the book back up and opened it once again.

Money. A lot of it.

The pages appeared to have been torn out and replaced with hundred-dollar bills. I flipped through as hundreds of Benjamin Franklin’s stared back at me. My mind spun as I whispered to myself, “There must be at least twenty thousand dollars in here.”

Who does this belong to? Were they missing it?

Did it matter?

It was here in my special spot. Fate was giving me a second chance to leave this stupid town.

My breathing grew erratic and tears pricked my eyes. I glanced around the bookshelf, but no one was around. I stared back down at the notebook in disbelief. I never thought I could have more. I had accepted that my life would be a monotonous collection of struggles until I met my end.

This is it. I could leave. I don’t have to be trapped here anymore. I don’t need to be alone here anymore.

My internal dialogue was cut short by the sound of two voices growing closer. Slipping the notebook into my bag, I ducked down, crouching behind the book stacks and covering my mouth.

“The boss is gonna love this, Steve. I hid the money in a place no one would ever find it,” a man spoke in a low whisper.

“You’re a genius, Dave!” responded the other, slightly louder.

“Shh! You don’t want anyone to come looking, do yah?” Dave growled.

“Sorry, let’s just get it and get out of here. I hate libraries, they give me the creeps.” Steve whispered.

Peeking through the books on the shelf, I saw two men standing on the other side. They were at least six feet tall, and through the lower half of the shelves, I could only see their waistbands. Fear coursed through me, this was my chance at a new life. I didn’t know if I would ever get one again. At that moment, I decided no one would take it away from me. Gripping my bag, it took all the nerve I had to slowly back up and slip behind another bookshelf, hoping it provided enough cover to stay out of view.

The men rounded the corner and started looking for the book I knew they wouldn’t find.

When Dave eyed the empty slot where the book once resided, a panicked look crossed his face.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

“What?” Steve responded, still unaware of the problem at hand.

“It isn’t here!” Dave yelped.

“Stop playing around, man.” Steve laughed.

Dave shoved Steve aggressively. “I’m not kidding! It isn’t here!”

Steve started to look worried. “Well, it has to be. Are you sure you’re looking in the right place?”

Dave rolled his eyes and gripped the shelf tightly, his knuckles turning white. “Yes I’m looking in the right place. I put it here last night!”

Steve grew pale, “Well if it isn’t here, then we don’t have anything to bring back to the boss. He’ll think we took it. What are we gonna do?”

Dave just shook his head, unable to speak.

I started to slip away slowly, trying to not be seen, but my heel knocked into the shelf behind me with a thud.

Dave’s head snapped up and his piercing blue eyes locked with mine through the stacks. “Hey, you! Get over here!”

With no time to lose, I turned and ran, weaving around the book stacks I had memorized years ago. They followed, yelling for me, but stumbled through the unfamiliar maze of books.

I made it outside in record time and paused as the winter wind whipped my hair around my face painfully. Mere seconds later the men emerged from the library and I ran once again.

Tears formed in my eyes and panic surged through me. They followed closely, but their thick builds slowed them down. I could hear their footsteps behind me, their breathing ragged from exertion. They were getting closer. I was running out of options and my eyes darted around my surroundings. A train roared in the distance and I ran towards the sound, realizing it was my only chance of escape.

The cargo train came into view and I pushed my legs further, running faster than I ever thought I could. The train was gaining speed with every passing moment, and I reached for one of the open cargo holds on the end of the train. My hand gripped the train tightly and I pulled myself into the opening of the train car. My body heaved from exhaustion as it crashed onto the metal floor of the cargo hold, and one last look out the open door brought waves of relief. The men were running behind the train, too far behind to jump on it, and too exhausted to keep running.

I gripped my backpack tightly and pulled out the little black book. As I stared at its glossy binding, and satin ribbon, hope swelled in me for the first time in my miserable life. Because of fate’s mercy, I could go anywhere I wanted, be anyone I wanted. I could have more.

“Where to first?” I asked the little black notebook.

I thought of my mom and smiled.

“Somewhere with palm trees.” I hugged the notebook to my chest.

Nowhere, Montana, faded from view, I couldn’t help but think of that old leather chair, in the corner of a library, I would likely never see again.