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Tellurium

James Bates

    I was ten years old when Mom left home in the early spring of 1962. Dad started drinking and when he drank, he became angry and took it out on us kids. My older brother began hanging out with the wrong crowd, a bunch of bad-attitude greasers with slicked-back hair and ducktails. My older sister began spending more time with her best friends Sally and Mary, smoking cigarettes and doing god knows what. I was left pretty much to fend for myself. I was in fifth grade in school, but that only filled up part of my day. Thankfully, I had my friend Johnny who lived close by, and we’d hang out together to get away from it all.
    We lived in Minneapolis, right in the heart of the city, where there was a rumbling din of cars and trucks and trains day and night. It was noisy and there were exhaust fumes and if the wind was right the place stank from a garbage incinerator just north of downtown.
    Johnny and I had dreams of something better, something like being cowboys out west or riding a riverboat down the Mississippi, pretending we were like our heroes Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, anything to add some adventure to our lives. Fueling our imaginations were places around town we could escape to, like some of the local parks. Minnehaha Falls was one, where the thirty-foot-high cascading waterfall made us think of being French fur traders paddling across the boundary waters in northern Minnesota in a birch bark canoe carrying goods to the Hudson Bay Company in Canada.
    But our best favorite place was a secret location known only to Johnny and me. It was a sandy beach in a small clearing tucked away at the bottom of a steep embankment on the shore of the Mississippi, the mighty river that originated in Lake Itasca a couple of hundred miles north and flowed right through the heart of downtown Minneapolis on its way to the Gulf of Mexico almost two thousand miles away. And that’s what we did one Saturday in June, a few months after Mom had left.
    We’d ridden our red and white Schwinn bicycles to the West River Parkway, and, holding on to them tightly, slipped and slid down the steep embankment to the water’s edge.
    “Whew,” I said wiping the sweat off my forehead when we got to the bottom, “that’s a hell of a slope.”
    Johnny laughed and dusted off his jeans. You got that right, Ned. It was fun though.
    “Yeah, it was,” I grinned, pulling some cockleburs off my tee-shirt.
    What do you have in your pack? he asked.
    I was in the habit of carrying around an old Boy Scout backpack I’d found in a trash can about the time Mom left. I had valuable stuff in it like my flashlight, canteen, my favorite book, Tom Sawyer, my slingshot, packs of juicy fruit gum, and a tootsie roll pop or two. You know, just stuff I couldn’t live without. I also had something very special. Something I found rummaging around the day before in the basement of my house.
    I opened my backpack. “Check it out. It’s a road atlas.” I took it out to show him.
    Johnny’s eyes went wide. He’d obviously never seen one before. Cool, he said, reaching for it. Let’s see.
    I looked over at my friend. It always gave me a good feeling being with him because Johnny was everything I was not. He was tall and muscular. He had wavy blond hair and blue eyes and was very athletic, being either a captain or picked first whenever there was a game of baseball or football or basketball. He was well-liked and had tons of friends. I was skinny and short for my age. I wore glasses and couldn’t throw a football to save my life. Sports were definitely not my thing. Instead, I liked school. I liked to read. I didn’t have many friends other than Johnny. Why he hung out with me, I had no clue.
    We sat down on the shore, propped our backs up against a weathered driftwood log, and opened the atlas. The sand was warm in the morning sun and gulls overhead circled and squawked. A quarter of a mile away on the other side of the river buildings from the University of Minnesota campus rose above the trees. Half a mile to the left, the Interstate 94 bridge connected Minneapolis to St. Paul. We were in the heart of the city, yet we weren’t. The trees nearby were at least one hundred feet tall and birds were abundant. I wasn’t sure what kind they were but one of them was red, a cardinal, I think. Our secret place was as far away as you could get from the city without leaving it, and that was good enough for us.
    We began looking through the atlas one page at a time starting with Canada and its provinces. The staples keeping the pages together in the center were gone, so we had to hold on to them to keep them from falling out. Each page and each map brought with it more and more fuel for the fire in our imaginations.
    Johnny pointed at Quebec. Wow, look at that, he exclaimed. We should go there.
    “Why Quebec?” I asked him.
    He grinned. It’s got a great name. I think it’s French. Maybe we could head up there and take a ship across the ocean and go to Europe.
    “That’s a great idea,” I said. Then thought about it. “Wait, a minute. I think you have to have a passport or something.”
    Oh, yeah, he frowned. Yeah, you’re right. He shrugged his shoulders. Oh, well.
    “Good idea, though,” I told him and punched him in the arm affectionately. “Maybe when we get older.”
    Johnny nodded, thoughtfully, while rubbing his arm. Yeah, maybe.
    After Canada was a map of the whole United States. We poured over it for a minute before I turned to him and asked, “If you could go anywhere in the country, where would you go?”
    He didn’t have to think. I’d go there, he said, pointing. Out west. To the Rockies.
    I looked closely. His finger was on the state of Colorado. “Why there?” I asked.
    When my mom left home, that’s where she went.
    Johnny didn’t talk much about his family, or his mom being gone, for that matter, which was weird, because it was one of the main things we had in common. “Where’d she go?”
    Let’s see. He took the atlas and paged through the state maps until he got to Colorado. Then he used the key to find the town and showed it to me. There it is. Telluride. It’s named after some mineral that’s found in the area. I think it was called tellurium or something.
    I looked closely at the map of Colorado. Telluride was on the San Miguel River and on the western slope of the San Juan mountains. Just the names set my imagination spinning. I pictured us joining Mexican horseback riders and wearing leather chaps and big sombreros and riding into the mountains to search for that mineral tellurium Johnny mentioned. Maybe even gold. We might even get rich.
    “I’ll bet it’s pretty out there,” I said, my eyes wide with excitement.
    It is, Johnny said, looking at me and smiling. Mom sent me a postcard for my birthday last year. I guess people ski there in the winter.
    I was quiet, looking over the rippling waters of the Mississippi. Some gulls had landed out in the middle and were bobbing along carried by the current. I was watching them, thinking about Colorado and riding horses and being anywhere but Minnesota and my stupid problems, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Johnny.
    You miss her, don’t you? Your mom? he asked.
    I couldn’t help it. All of a sudden, tears flooded my eyes. “Yeah, I do,” I admitted, blinking them back. “I miss her a lot.”
    I don’t blame you, he said. I miss my mom, too.
    I looked at him. Johnny didn’t talk much about his mother. Back then no one talked about families that had broken up. But sitting there in the sun on the shore of the river, it was kind of nice to know that he was in the same boat as me. And thinking about a boat gave me an idea.
    “You know,” I said, suddenly, jumping to my feet, “let’s get out of here.”
    Johnny stood up next to me. What do you mean?
    “Let’s get out of town. Let’s go to Telluride and see your mom.”
    He grinned. You mean it?
    “Yeah, I do. I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of my dad’s drinking and my brother and sister being weird. I miss my mom and I don’t even know where she is.”
    My sudden enthusiasm got Johnny excited. You know, maybe she’s out in Telluride with my mom.
    “That’s right!” I exclaimed. “I hadn’t even thought about that. She’s got to be someplace, right? She might as well be there.”
    Johnny grinned. That’s right.
    “Okay,” I said, not having to think about it anymore. “Let’s go.” I put the atlas in my backpack and slung it over my shoulders.
    I was reaching for my bicycle when he stopped me. Um, Ned?
    “Yeah?” I responded, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. With the decision to leave made, I was eager to get going, not talk about it anymore.
    Um. How are we going to get there?
    Oh. That’s right. He had a good point. How were we going to get there?
    I held my bicycle by my side and thought for a minute. Then I said, “Well, we could hitchhike.” I’ve read about people doing that and it sounds like fun.
    Johnny shook his head in the negative. I don’t know. We’re just kids. It could be pretty dangerous.
    He had a point. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” I sighed, starting to get frustrated. Why was this so hard? I just wanted to get out of the city with Johnny and go see his mom. Maybe my mom, too. I thought some more, then pointed to our Schwinns. “How about if we ride our bikes?”
    He grimaced. Yeah, not a bad idea, but, man, it’s a long way. A thousand miles at least I’ll bet.
    “Yeah, that’s true.” A thousand miles was a long way for a ten-year-old to ride a bike. I could see getting a flat tire and being stuck in the middle of nowhere for days and starving to death. Not a pretty thought. Then I had the perfect idea. “How about a bus? That’d be fun.” I’d seen commercials on television. “We could leave the driving to them,” I said, mimicking their slogan of ‘Leave the driving to us.’
    Johnny grinned. Now you’re talking. That’s a great idea.
    So, we pushed our bikes up the embankment rode to my house, and parked them in the backyard. I went inside and got some bread and put it in my backpack, just in case we got hungry. I ran upstairs took my wallet out of its hiding place in the bottom drawer of my dresser and put it in the back pocket of my jeans.
    I turned to Johnny, who was right there with me. “Okay, I’m all set.”
    Great, he said. Let’s go.
    I hesitated. “Shouldn’t we stop at your house?”
    Naw, I’ve got everything I need right here.
    I looked at him. All he had with him were the clothes he was wearing: a tee-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. “You sure?”
    Positive. I believe in traveling light.
    Well, he knew best. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
    I put on my backpack and we walked to the bus station a few miles from where I lived. It was a huge grey stone building located on the west side of the city with buses coming and going at all hours of the day and night. We saw two of them leave as we approached. I grinned at Johnny. “It won’t be long now!”
    Colorado, here we come. He smiled back at me.
    I was excited as I approached the ticket counter. I was finally going to find my mom. Well, at least look for her. It was better than sitting around doing nothing.
    The ticket agent was a grandmotherly-looking woman with a kind expression. “What can I do for you, young man?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and peering at me over her eyeglasses.
    “I’d like a ticket to Telluride, Colorado, please.”
    “Telluride, hmm? That’s the number 52 bus.” She looked me over for a minute, not saying anything. I smiled to let her know I was harmless. “You’re sure, young man? That’s a long way from here.”
    “Yes, ma’am, I am. I am very sure.” I reached into my back pocket and took out my wallet to show her how serious I was.
    She put out a hand to stop me. “Not so fast. Just hold on to that hard-earned money of yours.” Then she consulted a schedule. It took a minute. Finally, she said, “Stay right here. I need to check on something.”
    “Okay,” I told her, not planning on going anywhere until I had my ticket. I turned to Johnny. “Man, this is fun. We’re really going to do this.”
    He smiled at me. I’m excited, he said. I haven’t seen my mom for years. I hope she still remembers me.
    Years? What was he talking about? I was just about to ask when there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned around. Oh, no. Trouble. It was a policeman. He was big and tall and dressed in blue and he wore a gun. My mouth went dry and I suddenly had a strong urge to go to the bathroom.
    He looked at me for a moment, then said, “Hello, there son. I’m Officer Lewis. I hear you want to go to Telluride. Is that correct?”
    “Yes, sir,” I said and pointed. “Me and my friend here.”
    He looked around and gave me a quizzical look. “I see. Well, you’re awfully young to be traveling by yourself. Do you have permission? Maybe a note from your parents?
    “Why?” I almost shouted. “I’m not too young. I’m ten. I’ve been ten since last November.” I was getting mad. And nervous. I could already picture Johnny and me riding the bus to Colorado and finding our mothers. Quickly, I looked around the terminal. It wasn’t very crowded but I couldn’t see my friend. Where was Johnny anyway?
    The policeman knelt down so he was at eye level with me and smiled. “Nevertheless, young man, I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”
    I started sweating and wiped my forehead. “Did I do something wrong, officer?”
    His voice was calm and reassuring. “No, son, you didn’t. We just need to check on a few things.”

***

    I never did get to Telluride. Officer Lewis called Dad at work and he came down to the bus station and picked me up. Before Dad left with me, though, Officer Lewis took him aside and said a few things to him. The policeman was pretty angry and did most of the talking. Dad just stood there and nodded his head occasionally. Then we went home. It was a quiet ride, and quiet the rest of the night.
    The next day a lady from social services stopped by and she and Dad had a long talk. After that, she started stopping by every three days to check up on me and my brother and sister. And Dad, too. It worked out pretty well. June turned to July and then to August, and by that fall Dad had quit drinking and my brother and sister didn’t stay away from home very much, either. All of which I liked. We became more of a family.
    Of course, Mom was still gone. In fact, she never came back, and we never heard from her again. Throughout that year and in the years afterward, Dad and I learned how to talk with each other and that was good. But the best person to talk with was Johnny. He was a good listener and a great friend.
    And after all these years, he still is. The fact that other people think he’s imaginary has never bothered me at all.

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