Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men - By Regan Wolfrom Page 0,55
was willing to take her with me.
She put on a sweater and an expensive-looking silk scarf and climbed into the camper with me, sitting in the passenger seat as we headed south on I-89. We talked for quite a while, and from what I could tell she was the right mix of sensible and scared.
“I’m embarrassed,” Lima said after an hour or so, “but I need to go pee. Can we stop somewhere?”
“I guess,” I said. “Does it matter where?”
“Anywhere.”
There’s nothing innately suspicious about bathroom breaks, but I was feeling paranoid. Since Lima didn’t have a place in mind, I stayed away from the upcoming service station and decided to pull off the Interstate completely. I took her to a restaurant right next to the covered bridge in Contoocook.
“I’ll wait here,” I said.
Lima went into the restaurant and I waited, flipping through the first few pages of a Stephen King novel that Michael had once lent me. I read a King story once where a man stranded on a desert island had started to eat parts of himself. I wondered how many hours of waiting in the bus it would take before I started to chew on my left arm.
The door opened sooner than I’d expected and I turned to give Lima a smile. But looking back at me instead was Eleanor. She was pointing a handgun at me. I wasn’t sure it was real.
“Get up,” she said.
I stood up from the driver’s seat, and she shoved me towards the back of the bus.
The door opened again and Lima stepped inside.
“Don’t come in here,” I said. Then I noticed the two women behind her. Both in dreadlocks, one holding a knife.
I had a feeling I wouldn’t get a chance to escape this time. I don’t know how many pizza places they have in Contoocook.
They taped us up on the floor, back to back, stuffing a couple of my dirtiest dishcloths into our mouths.
Eleanor was beaming like it was her wedding day, a smile filled with stress, anticipation, and a little bit of relief. “Now you’ll know what it feels like,” she said to me as she stuck the handgun into her ugly canvas belt.
I said a silent prayer, hoping she’d forgotten to put the safety on.
The three vegans took us back onto the Interstate, but I couldn’t see enough from my place on the floor to know where we were headed. I could hear Lima sobbing quietly, and for a moment I wondered if a kidnapping was just the shock she needed to get her life back on track.
I wondered if Michael was in on it; was he following behind us with the fourth vegan? Was he coming along so he could laugh at me when Eleanor finally got her chance at whatever revenge came from the mind of a woman who’d forgotten how to bathe?
Part of me hoped he was in on it, so I’d get one last chance to see him again. And maybe bite off his left testicle.
They cut off the tape a couple of hours later and led us out of the camper. It was late afternoon now, and from the smell we seemed to be in the middle of a fish canning district.
“Where are we?” I asked as we were brought out into an empty parking lot.
I knew just enough about New Bedford to know my day was going to end badly.
A Prius pulled in behind the camper. I watched to see who would get out; it was the fourth vegan.
“Michael’s not here?” I asked.
“Who the hell is Michael?” Eleanor asked.
I didn’t know how to feel.
They led us inside a manufacturing plant that stank of fish. There was no one inside. All I saw was the machinery, big, silent and dirty.
“This is where you’re going to kill us?” Lima asked.
Eleanor nodded.
“You can’t kill us,” I said. “You’re vegans. That’s completely counter to everything you believe in.”
“I’m anti-speciest,” Eleanor said.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I fight against human privilege. Sometimes that requires a little affirmative action at the fish plant.” She shook her head at me. “You were going to eat me, Marie-Claire. Now we’re going to eat you.”
“The best meat’s in the rump,” I said. “Make sure you kiss it first.”
“This has nothing to do with me,” Lima said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t eat anyone.”
“You’re innocent, I guess,” Eleanor said. “And I’ll bet you told Marie-Claire that you’re a vegan, too?” She sounded pretty skeptical.