Going Home (standard:other, 6150 words)
Author: Alan Willoughby	Added: Oct 13 2015	Views/Reads: 2205/1492	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Lana tells her story of how she came to New York.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

unwanted and unloved.  The authorities gave me one last chance; I was 
to remain in the custody of my grandmother or be incarcerated in a 
government children's home.  My grandmother took me in, cared for me, 
taught me and showed me what kindness and humanity really was. 

“One of my grandmother's greatest teachings was the importance of
language.  People judge us first by how we speak, write or communicate. 
 People who are well spoken, who enunciate words clearly, who have a 
wide vocabulary and who pronounce their words correctly are far more 
easily accepted in mainstream society than those who do not.  This is 
the communication age, they say, yet very many people have not learned 
how to communicate.  You have only to read the writings of those who 
send texts, write blogs, contribute to Facebook, write emails and tweet 
to realise that there is a vast apparent gulf between those who can 
communicate their thoughts concisely and clearly and those who simply 
burble.  The world has less and less time for burblers.  That is why I 
have focussed so much of this course on communication skills.  Use them 
wisely, say or write what you think and mean, yet do it with 
compassion, especially for those who have not yet learnt the skills of 
communication that you now have.  If in doubt ask, ‘What would love say 
or do now?' before you respond. 

“Another great teaching of my grandmother was manners.  As I have
mentioned before, one of her favourite sayings was ‘Manners maketh the 
man'.  Ironically she also said ‘Clothes maketh the man' as well, so I 
guess they were both important.  Manners are the oil that lubricates 
society.  Without oil a car engine grinds to a halt; without manners, 
society does likewise.  You have only a few seconds and only one 
opportunity to make a good first impression.  You can do this with your 
clothing, with your manners and with your language.  So those are the 
big three that will ease your way through life.  Ignore them at your 
peril.” 

I paused, collecting my thoughts to continue with my story. 

“I remember well receiving a text from my mother.  The words were terse
and to the point:  ‘Your grandmother has died. Her final request was 
that you be at her funeral which is on Thursday, 2pm at St David's 
Church, 235th St, Jamaica.  You know the one she went to each Sunday.  
She will be buried in the nearby Montefiore Cemetery. Be there.  Mum' 

“When I received that text I was being held in virtual slavery in San
Francisco by a guy I had thought I loved.  I realized too late that he 
didn't love me; he just wanted to use me as his sex slave and to 
provide him with money for drugs.  He would beat me frequently and 
abuse me regularly, threatening me that if I ran away he would find me 
and kill me.  I stayed; I didn't think I had an option.” 

*** 

My thoughts went back to the second floor, two room apartment, dingy
wallpaper falling off the wall, a squeaky bed in the main bedroom where 
Dingo (his parents were Australian) would fuck me roughly, 
intentionally hurting me; where he would bring me ‘clients' for me to 
fuck, collecting their money before they entered so he could buy the 
drugs he was addicted to.  I pictured the small corner of the other 
room that was the kitchen, a place where we made endless coffees and 
ate takeaways from the local grease shop.  I remembered the few 
occasions when we went outside, breathing the fresh air off the docks 
as we watched the ships come and go in the harbour.  How I longed to 
run away on one of those ships, even prostituting myself for the 
sailors would be better than the life I was leading. When I received 
the text I knew I had to go.  My grandmother was the only person in the 
world who had ever cared for me, loved me, taught me.  Nothing could 
stop me from being at her funeral.  I didn't feel sad for her death, 
which surprised me, just certain that come hell or high water, I had to 
get to New York for her funeral. 

“Dingo, my grandmother died.  I got a text from my Mom.  She wants me at
the funeral on Thursday.  I have to leave now; I only have four days to 
get there.” 

“Fuck off!  I've got you some clients for today.  You're not going to
let them down, are you?  No, of course not, you're such a slut that you 
love being fucked by these guys I bring to you.  And I know you don't 
want to leave me, do you?  You've never really wanted to leave poor old 
Dingo.” 

“Yes, I do have to go, I do have to leave you, and I do not intend to
come back.” 

“I've told you I'll kill you if you leave.  I'll hunt you down and kill
you, you mark my words.” 

“I just have to take that chance because I have to be at that funeral. 
She is the only person who has ever cared for me in my whole life.” 

“No fuckin' way are you goin', girl.  Come here now.” 

I ignored his demand, instead going to my wardrobe and starting to sort
out what I would need to take with me.  I selected a white top and 
black skirt, the only decent clothes I had, with a pair of black shoes 
suitable for a funeral and a black jacket and stuffed them into a 
backpack.  He grabbed me from behind, arm around my throat, throttling 
me.  I grabbed for the only weapon I had, a carefully hidden, very 
sharp knife I kept behind the wardrobe door.  I stabbed between my 
legs, upwards into his crotch.  He released me.  I'll never forget the 
look on his face as I turned around and saw him clasping his groin with 
bloodied hands. 

“You fuckin' bitch!” he yelled, “Stab me would you.  I'll teach you a
lesson.” 

He came for me then and I defended myself, fear and hate giving my arms
and legs strength.  I stabbed again, upwards into his stomach area.  He 
collapsed backwards onto the bed, blood pouring from the wound, the 
fight gone from him. 

I looked at him, wondering if I'd killed him or not.  “Tough if I have,”
I thought.  I grabbed my backpack with the few clothes in it, grabbed 
what money I could find from Dingo's stash, took the keys to his car, 
my cellphone, a couple of pairs of panties and ran out of the 
apartment, down the stairs and out onto the street.  It was the first 
time in over a year I had been on the street without Dingo.  I found 
his car, opened the door and tried to start it.  The motor turned over 
but wouldn't catch.  I glanced in the rearview mirror.  Dingo was 
staggering out of the doorway, coming towards the car.  “Oh, please 
start, please, you have to start,” I talked frantically to the car as 
he approached.  The car started as he reached it.  I pulled the auto 
into D, released the brake and took off down the road, with Dingo's 
bloody handprints on the window.  I headed for I-80, which I knew would 
take me all the way to New York, if the car would last that long. 

*** 

“After I left I travelled east along I-80, heading home with nearly 3000
miles to go.  The people I met on that journey changed my life forever. 
 I have spoken to you before of how you will meet the perfect people at 
the perfect time, if only you allow yourself to be led by your heart.  
That is what happened to me. 

“I stopped along the way to put some gas in the tank – Dingo always kept
it nearly empty to make it harder for petrol thieves to siphon it out – 
half filling the tank with enough gas to get me to Sacramento.  Heading 
along I-80 I relaxed a little, the purr of the engine and hum of the 
tyres lulling me into a false sense of security.  However, it wasn't 
destined to be that easy.  I had travelled less than 40 miles when the 
car coughed once and the motor stopped with a shriek.  I pulled to the 
side of the road, opened the hood and looked helplessly inside at the 
smoking mess. “I knew little about cars and I didn't want to mess about 
with trying to fix an engine. I checked the dipstick – dry.  It must be 
out of oil.  There seemed to be no point in staying with the car now, I 
would be far better off hitching a ride.  So I shouldered my bag and 
started walking along the road.” 

*** 

My mind went back to that time; I had never felt as alone as I did
walking away from the car on the main highway with cars zipping past, 
hopefully sticking out my thumb in case someone took pity on me. 

*** 

“After about 20 minutes a car slowed down and stopped beside me.  A
well-dressed and well spoken guy was driving and the woman sitting in 
the passenger seat wound down her window and asked where I was heading. 
 Once they found I was going to New York, she told me they could take 
me to Sacramento where they lived.  I gratefully climbed into the back 
seat and we continued the journey.  When we arrived at their home they 
invited me in, gave me a lovely dinner and offered me a bed for the 
night, which I accepted.  I went to bed early, exhausted by the events 
of the day.” 

*** 

I remembered feeling very fortunate to have been picked up by this
lovely couple as I sank into the soft leather seats of their car.  It 
turned out that he was a minister of the church and had been to San 
Francisco to take a service and they were now heading back home on the 
outskirts of Sacramento on I-80, so it would be real handy for me to 
continue my journey tomorrow.  They offered me dinner and a bed for the 
night if I wanted to stay.I accepted their invitation, feeling safe and 
secure for the first time I could remember.  After a delicious 
home-cooked dinner I went to bed early so I could leave early in the 
morning.  I went to sleep very quickly, but was awakened in the middle 
of the night by the feeling of someone pressing down on the bed.  
Before I could react in any way a hand pressed down hard onto my mouth 
and a whispered voice had told me to not make a sound or I would be 
hurt.  I could tell by the voice that it was the minister.  He 
continued talking to me gently, telling me how his wife was cold 
sexually and that he got so horny with no relief that a young woman 
like me would surely take pity on him after he had stopped and given 
her a ride, putting the whole guilt trip on me so that he would get to 
fuck me and get his rocks off.  This was the last thing I needed after 
the long period of sexual slavery I had endured. 

I bit his hand, hard.  He let out a yell and slapped me across the face.
 I reached up and scratched my nails down the side of his face, 
thinking that that would take some explaining to his wife.  He cried 
out again.  I pushed him off the bed, feeling fortunate that I had 
slept fully clothed, grabbed my bag and made a dash for the door, 
slamming it in his face behind me.  I found my way out of the house and 
ran onto the road.  I had no idea of the time, my urgent need was to 
get away from the place as fast as possible. 

*** 

“I was awakened during the night by the guy coming into my room with the
apparent intention of having sex with me.  I managed to escape from him 
and from the house and started hitching on the highway again. 

“There was little traffic now so I decided that there was no point
simply walking, the distance I would cover was negligible, but rather I 
should stand under a street light so drivers could see me more easily.  
Wearing a white PVC skirt was helpful as well, although I must admit 
that I would have looked pretty slutty dressed in that short skirt with 
a thin top tied at the waist. 

“After a short time I heard a big rig coming down the highway and heard
his air brakes go on.  He slowed and stopped beside me.  The driver 
wound down his window and asked me what I was doing hitching at night; 
did I want to get killed or something.  I replied no and told him I was 
heading to New York.  He laughed, said he couldn't take me that far but 
to jump in and he'd tell me what he could offer.  Well, it seemed 
better to do that than to wait by the side of the road so I climbed 
into the cab and we started off down the road.” 

*** 

I remember being extremely nervous about this guy.  I'd heard of
truckers, a wife in every town and a few girls besides, and I was still 
in shock after almost being raped by a minister.  If I couldn't trust a 
minister, why should I trust a trucker?  However, beggars can't be 
choosers, as they say, so I resolved to be on my guard and was pleased 
that every turn of the wheels reduced my distance to New York. 

*** 

“It turned out that he was heading to a place called Glenwood Springs,
about half way between San Francisco and Chicago where I could stay in 
the truck with a different driver who would bring a truck from Chicago 
and then take this truck back there.  He told me his name was Brad, 
that he lived in San Francisco with his wife and two children, and this 
way he saw a lot more of them than if he went right through to Chicago 
and back again.  It worked well for him and for Tony, the driver of the 
other truck, and worked well for the company because they had fewer 
days when they had to pay drivers expenses for food and accommodation.  
So he pointed out it was a win-win-win situation and told me that you 
should always try for these as that meant you made the best decisions.  
He was full of these little philosophical bits of advice. 

“I'd had quite a day and was tired, so I almost nodded off.  He told me
there was a bed behind the curtains at the back of the cab and I was 
very welcome to stretch out there and have a decent sleep.  So I did 
that and nodded off in the bed in the warm cab with the gentle hum of 
the diesel engine and the movement of the truck rocking me to sleep.” 

*** 

This was heaven after what I had been through that day.  I was dog
tired, had my emotions and nerves stretched to the limit.  For the 
second time tonight I was offered a warm comfortable bed and for the 
second time this night I went to sleep quickly, feeling that I could 
trust Brad.  I slept well and long, and it was several hours later that 
I subconsciously noted that the truck had stopped and the engine was no 
longer running. Next thing I knew the curtain was gently pulled back 
and Brad was carefully and quietly lying himself down on the bed next 
to me.  ‘Oh shit,' I thought, ‘Not twice in one night.'  I felt around 
for a weapon to use for defence and found a large bolt down the side of 
the mattress.  I clasped hold of it, ready to swing it hard at his 
head.  He carefully lay down, facing away from me, pulled a blanket 
over him and proceeded to go to sleep. I let the bolt drop from my 
fingers and slowly relaxed.  Sleep overcame me once again. 

I woke much later when Brad stirred as he got up.  He offered me
breakfast at the truckstop diner we were parked alongside.  I really 
needed a bathroom and climbed down, for that, having a wonderful 
breakfast of coffee and pancakes in the diner with Brad afterwards.  He 
explained that he needed to have a rest stop on the way to Glenwood 
Springs and again on the way home, and that Tony would also need a rest 
on the way to Chicago.  He apologized if he made me nervous when he lay 
next to me and said he should have told me that would happen before I 
went to sleep. 

*** 

“We stopped for a sleep on the way and he behaved like a real gentleman,
not even trying any funny business, although I'll admit I was a bit 
nervous at one stage.  We had breakfast about lunchtime then headed on 
our way, getting to Glenwood Springs about dusk.  He and Tony swapped 
trucks and I thanked him for the ride.  We hugged each other, the first 
loving, non-sexual hug I had had for many years. “Tony turned out to be 
quite a character, keen on telling jokes and funny anecdotes about his 
experiences on the road.  He was also a true gentleman, explaining that 
he would be having a sleep in the cab bed but I was welcome to stay 
there while he did.  He also was married and they lived in Chicago with 
their three children.  So as the night got later and the warmth of the 
cab started making me drowsy, I climbed into the bed and slept like a 
log, trusting Tony completely.” 

*** 

Tony was a real nice guy and we got on very well.  After many chuckles
at stories he told, I found myself feeling the effects of a couple of 
days on the road.  It's strange how emotional trauma takes time to come 
out.  As I lay in the cab bed, I relived some of the memories of the 
past few years and found myself sobbing uncontrollably at the emotions 
that these memories brought up.  After a while I drifted off to sleep, 
waking in the late morning bursting for a pee and hungry for breakfast. 
Tony also bought me breakfast of bacon and eggs and coffee. 

*** 

“The next day went quickly and by dusk we were pulling into Chicago.  I
was really sorry we had arrived because I now had to go out into the 
wide world and fend for myself again.  It's amazing how you can become 
so dependent so quickly.  I thanked Tony sincerely and for the second 
time in two days had a loving, non-sexual hug.  He dropped me on the 
exit road on I-80 from Chicago, with his final wisdom being ‘You take 
care out there, y'hear.' 

“I stood by the road feeling more lonely and sorry for myself that I had
for a long time.  The changes in my situation were really playing with 
my head.  Shortly a sedan came along and pulled over.  There were a 
young guy and girl in the front and another guy and girl in the back.  
They asked where I was heading and when I said New York, they laughed 
and said get in anyway, and told me they were going to Detroit and 
could drop me off at the turnoff or they could take me all the way 
there and I was welcome to go to the party they were attending.  I 
chose the party, not because I was in a party mood, but because I 
thought company would be safer than hitching at night.  I was wrong, as 
it turned out, but survived the night and thumbed a ride back to the 
intersection the next morning.” 

*** 

These people made me nervous, which I found interesting because they
were about my age but they also had a ‘couldn't care less' attitude 
about them. However, I sat in the back seat with the guy in the middle 
and the girl on the other side.  We drove through the dark, the guy 
spending a lot of time kissing his girlfriend and, I suspect a great 
deal more than that judging by the movement that was occurring.  I then 
felt his hand on my thigh, gently moving up and down caressing my skin. 
 ‘Here we go again,' I thought.  I carefully removed his hand, and he 
bent over and whispered in my ear ‘You don't know what's good for you.  
Don't you want a bit of fun?'  I told him I didn't so he left me alone 
for a while. 

Around 10.30 we reached the turnoff from the I-80 and the car pulled
over.  I was asked if I wanted to be dropped here or head to Detroit 
and come to the party with them.  It was a hot rod club that they 
belonged to and I was told there would be heaps of great guys and 
chicks and I should come along for a good time.  Well, I could do 
without a good time, but at this time of night company rather than 
taking my chances on the highway was possibly the best option.  I 
agreed to accompany them to the party. 

There were about 150 young people, late teens, early twenties, gathered
in a huge barn on a farm.  Facilities were basically nonexistent.  A 
band was playing rock music which people were trying to dance to as 
they rapidly became stoned and drunk on a wide variety of drugs.  It 
seemed the only liquid available was alcoholic, no food was apparent, 
beds were broken up bales of hay scattered beside the walls of the barn 
and many of these were already occupied by sexually involved couples.  
Company was one thing, this was totally different. 

Before I knew it I was grabbed by a couple of guys and dragged to the
dance floor.  I humored them for a few minutes, before managing to 
break free and go outside.  What to do?  I was miles from the turnoff 
with no chance of getting there, needed to sleep and heal in a quiet 
environment.  I headed away from the barn, seeing where I was going by 
the wan light of the moon and eventually found a small building which 
provided the shelter and peace I sought. 

Next morning I woke up and found the place quiet, everyone sleeping.  I
went towards the road and started hitching, eventually getting a ride 
to the turnoff at Perrysburg with a couple who were heading west.  I 
thanked them for the ride, had breakfast, although it was closer to 
lunchtime, and hitched eastward. 

*** 

“Hitching was really slow and it wasn't until mid-afternoon that I got a
ride with a negro couple and their two children in a battered station 
wagon.  Normally I would have passed up this ride but I was running out 
of time and wanted to get to Harrisburg that night.  How wrong I was in 
my estimate of these lovely people.  As we travelled on I began to 
relax, enjoying their conversation and playing a few games with their 
children in the back seat.  These people looked rough and had been 
subjected to prejudice all their lives.  They had dropped out of school 
and had part time menial work, not really paying enough to support 
themselves, let alone raise a family as well.” 

*** 

I paused as I remembered that day;  hitching was slow for some reason
and I was starting to get a bit concerned when an old station wagon 
with a couple on the front and two young kids loose in the back pulled 
over.  They didn't look the best prospect I'd ever seen but it was 
getting to the stage where I couldn't afford to be choosey. 

“Where y'headin'?” the woman in the front seat asked. 

“New York.  Hoping to get as far as Harrisburg tonight,” I replied. 

“Yeah, we're headin' that way.  Jump in.”  She turned to the kids in the
back.  “Jethro, Ali, make some room for the lady.  You cain't hog the 
whole seat.” 

I climbed into the back of the wagon. 

“Thank you so much,” I said, “Hitching has been very slow today.  I'm
Lana by the way.” “Hi Lana.  I'm Rita and this is my hubby Sam.  You 
already heard our kids are Jethro and Ali.  Why you goin' to New York?” 


“I have my grandmother's funeral tomorrow.” 

“Oh, I'm really sad to hear that, sweetie.  You musta been real close to
travel all that way to her funeral.  Where ya come from, honey?” 

“San Francisco.” 

“Wow, you really must love your granny.” 

“She basically raised me.  My parents were pretty hopeless and I learnt
all I know from my gran.” 

“Yeah, know what that's like, eh Jethro.  Our parents were both useless
too.  Real hard raisin' kids with no grandparents to help.  Still, we 
do our best with what the good Lord gives us.” 

*** 

“We stopped for dinner at a roadside café and filled the car with gas. 
I offered to pay for the gas but they wouldn't hear of it, and in fact 
insisted on paying for my dinner.  These people who had so little were 
absolutely emphatic that they share what they had with me.  I was 
deeply humbled; they taught me a great deal about the value of life and 
of consideration for others. 

“Around 11pm we arrived at their home on the outskirts of Harrisburg. 
They told me that I was very welcome to stay with them and, in fact, 
insisted that I do so, pointing out it was a bit late to find 
accommodation now.  So I slept on a spare mattress on their living room 
floor, waking early when their children awoke.” 

*** 

I recalled the gratitude I felt for these wonderful people who had taken
me under their wings, so to speak, and insisted on caring for and 
nurturing me at their cost.  It still brings tears to my eyes to 
remember the caring affection this couple and their children showed me 
in the short time I was with them.  Never again will I judge people 
based on any sort of prejudice. 

I recall waking at dawn to their children gazing at me like a zoo
exhibit, large eyes shining and smiles on their faces.  They gave me 
breakfast and again, when I offered then some money for their trouble 
and expenses, they refused point blank, saying they were very grateful 
for the opportunity that the Lord had given them to show their caring 
and hospitality to someone in need.  Jethro even drove me to the I-78 
highway to New York. 

*** 

“After breakfast I was taken to the main highway to hitch the last five
hours to New York.  This was a very uneventful day, although it took 
three rides to make it to the city, then I caught a bus to the church.  
I arrived with only a few minutes to spare and had changed into my 
presentable clothes at the toilets down the street. 

“I saw my mother in the front row of the congregation but on attempting
to sit beside her she simply waved me away, pointing to the back of the 
church.  After the service I managed to get a ride to the cemetery for 
the burial. 

“As I left the graveside I noticed two New York police heading towards
me.  They introduced themselves, asked if I was Lana Peterson, and 
after I said I was, they told me that they had a request from the FBI 
in relation to the death of a person in San Francisco and requested 
that I accompany them.  They dutifully handcuffed me and took me away 
in their Police cruiser.” 

*** 

I was devastated both at being arrested and that I had taken a human
life, even such a low-life as Dingo.  I remember being processed at the 
station and locked up.  Obviously, with no money or support from 
relatives, I couldn't make bail, but it did solve the problem of 
accommodation and meals.  I remembered with gratitude the witnesses and 
neighbours from San Francisco who testified on my behalf, backing up 
the truth that I had struck out at Dingo in self defence and verifying 
that I had been held in sexual slavery for a long time. 

Possibly the most important thing to come out of this was the local
community leader who pleaded with the police to allow me to start the 
course, whose graduates I was now addressing, in an effort to reduce 
crime, drug addiction and prostitution among young people in New York. 
I was found guilty of second degree murder but due to the nature of the 
offence, the longterm provocation and the assault that resulted in my 
retaliation, my sentence was to be one year's community work in 
establishing and teaching this course. 

*** 

“Once all the paper work and the trial were completed, I ended up a
convicted felon who was directed to establish and teach the course from 
which you have just graduated.  So that is how it all happened.  Along 
the way I have learnt a great deal about people and about myself, just 
as you have this year.  I hope that you can also benefit from your 
learning as I did from mine. 

“Your main task now is to stay clean.  You know what it feels like; you
have each other for support.  I intend to run this course each year 
from now on, changing the lives of those young people who have been 
given a very rough start in life.  I would like you to help them by 
telling them about this course, about how there is another way and a 
better life. 

Thank you for being on this course.  I have learnt a great deal from
you.  Please go into the community and help wherever possible to bring 
those most in need to future courses so that we can truly be proud of 
the young people of New York.  Congratulations once again; you are all 
wonderful people and it has been a pleasure and a privilege to have 
taught you and learnt from you this year.  I wish you well for your 
futures.” 

*** 

Everyone in the hall stood, clapping and cheering.  After they had been
presented with their graduation certificates they all individually 
thanked Lana for her love, courage, support and the teaching she had 
given them.  They then all left the hall, heads held high, with their 
parents, relatives and support people. 

Those on stage thanked Lana for her work with the youth of New York. 
They were adamant that the course had made a huge difference, not only 
to these young people but to all youth because these graduates were now 
the shining lights going forth into the community.  It could only get 
bigger and better.  They all recognised that Lana was the best possible 
person to run this program because she had the skills and abilities, 
and also, of equal importance, she had the street credibility by having 
walked her talk. 

*** 

Epilogue: 

Lana was walking home from the school, a trip she had done every day for
the past year after teaching her students.  She was still buzzing from 
the accolades she had just received at the graduation ceremony.  It was 
dark and cold, with a hint of snow flurries in the air and her mind was 
on the coming Christmas break.  She barely had time to notice the 
shadowy figure step out from the alleyway a few feet in front of her.  
She certainly didn't have time to register the two shots that were 
fired into her heart at point blank range before she dropped dead on 
the pavement. 

The shadowy figure stepped back into the alleyway and took out his
cellphone, dialling a number he knew well. 

“She's dead.” 

“Great.  Can't have do-gooders reforming our clients, can we.  Bad for
business.  Good work.” 


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