Breakfast with Neruda (28 page)

“What if I show up in Seattle, and my father turns out to be the biggest asshole in the world?”

“That's not possible,” she says. “You're already the biggest asshole.”

I raise my middle finger at her. She blows me a kiss.

“Isn't it enough just to know he's out there?” I say. “The option for me to go out there someday exists, but I've earned the right to settle down and be average. Until a few weeks ago my life was a mess, but it's pretty boring now, and I'm kind of okay with that.”

She leans back and studies me. “What are you really afraid of, Neruda?”

“You're a pain in the ass,” I say. I look away and take a deep breath. Haven't I spent my life looking for him? Yet now that I have a chance to meet my father, I'm paralyzed, like those prisoners trapped in Plato's cave who, after learning they can leave, must be thrust into the light and possibilities outside the cave. I look back at Shelly and say, “I'm afraid he won't want to know me.”

“That's the chance you have to take.”

I sigh. “Yeah. Uncertainty sucks.”

She looks at something on her screen. “You'll miss me when you head west, but deep down in that weird-ass soul you won't be happy unless you take the risk. Besides, I'm not even going to be here in Rooster. I could end up in college in Seattle or wherever myself.”

Shelly is applying to colleges and universities all over. On the Common App she applied to thirty different places. The closest one to here is the University of Chicago. “You need to go to college and it needs to be in the state of Washington.”

“But what would I major in?” I say. “I have no skills.”

“You have plenty of skills.”

“None of them useful.”

“You write,” she says.

“Grocery stores and coffee shops are full of English majors. Like Theo. Isn't he working in a coffee shop?”

“He chooses to do menial labor as part of his research.”

“I already work a crappy job,” I say. “Why torture myself with even more school just to keep working crappy jobs?”

“You could teach classes in survival,” Shelly says.

“Is that a major?”

“Maybe.” She types on the keyboard and slides her laptop across the table toward me. “Outdoor studies.”

I laugh.

She takes her computer back and starts tapping on the keyboard again. “You know, you have a unique advantage,” she says. “We both do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our stories make us freaks,” Shelly says. “It's almost unfair the advantage you and I have on the ‘Describe the Challenges You Have Faced' question.”

I nod. “But do you really think any sane university would take a chance on either of us?” I ask. “I mean, you're a car thief and big flight risk, and I might clutter up the dorm.”

She crosses her eyes at me and sips her vanilla latte. “Colleges will be recruiting
us
for our fascinating diversity,” she says. “Both of us could end up at freaking Harvard or Yale.”

“And how would I pay for it?”

“I already told you,” she says. “Colleges will be throwing money at you. You're from Appalachia, your mother is nuts, and you have a book-worthy life story.”

So I am sitting in Starbucks, drinking a mocha latte, looking at a legal pad containing a list of five colleges where I plan to apply. All of them are in or near Seattle.

Many people have helped bring this book to fruition.

Thanks to David Greenberg, who showed me I had started my draft in the wrong place. Thank you Amy Gibson, Cynthia Rucker, Debbie Hardin Day, Cindy Sterling, Logan Paskell, and Brandi Young, for reading and commenting on early drafts. I'd like to thank Mark Malatesta, Elaine Miller, Les Edgerton, and Krista van Dolzer for their writing tips and encouragement, and Leslie Skoda for giving me Pelee Peugeot. Thank you Deb Stetson and Jackie Mitchard for your editorial insight and encouragement, and Meredith O'Hayre for your eagle-eyed copyediting, Chris Duffy for answering my endless questions, and Peggy Gough at University of Texas Press for help with the permissions process.

Much appreciation goes to Giacomo's Bread & More and Starbucks in Zanesville, Ohio, for supplying me with coffee and sustenance as I sat, tethered to a corner table wearing my headphones, writing and revising this novel. I'd also like to give a shout-out to the Aloha Cafe in Lynnwood, Washington, for feeding me as I worked on my final edits.

I owe a special thank you to Elizabeth Juden Christy, who loves my characters as much as I do and doggedly corrected my numerous typos and inconsistencies.

And, of course, this novel would not have been possible without Pablo Neruda.