Contributed by AFK4life 

The Greyhound sauntered off in a loud choking fog of diesel and dust that covered Shmuel – Samuel, he corrected himself. He was no longer in the Country, he was here, in this new and exotic place that was nothing like he’d experienced, and more than a bit scared, but it had been his decision and now that it had been made they would not speak with him again. He had tried to soften the blow by not dressing English, but the men in the carriage would not look at the boy whom they felt had betrayed him. He tossed the wide-brimmed black hat into the gutter and found his way behind the closed gas station that passed as a bus stop in this humid hell.

 It must easily be a hundred degrees in the soaking shade, and he threw his entrenched shame aside, stripping off all of it, the black suit, everything, down to the bare skin, standing naked behind the white concrete block building in the sun, feeling it warm his body, feeling the sweat slither down his naked chest. And the final step was the Necklace given him at an age to early for the boy to remember, which had in the past few years become a noose to him.
He felt an odd mix of shame and sadness and fear, and the shame, strangely enough, did not come from behavior so immodest that it might even get him in trouble with the English, he had to stop calling them that, because for all purposes he had to be one himself now. It had been months if not years in coming since he felt the difference and the tug of the Outside, and had all blown up in spectacular form, first the contraband mobile telephone he had purchased from a small shop in Lancaster for twenty dollars from a curious clerk who looked as if he might be selling meat to a vegetarian, and oh the clucking when it was discovered.

Still his mother accepted he had done this, and let him keep it, but she knew others would not, and quietly had found a way for him to go down South. But she had always known he was different, and he had seen this in her eyes as he got on the bus, that this would change things forever. At least for her, but she had felt that Shmuel, Samuel, had always been a different boy, and as a mother she had never failed to make sure all of her children had everything they needed in life.
He hoped she would find a way to someday see him again, even though for sure he would be shunned by now, the Elders were not stupid enough to believe this was just Rumspringa, but the reality of it was that everyone knowing everyone’s business (which had led to some very tense and complicated business after him and his best friend were discovered naked in the stream a few years back), the reality was that this must happen for everyone’s good.
He had become lost in his thoughts, his dreams, his hopes, as he was prone to do, and was more than a bit shocked when a voice in front of him yelped something he dared not say out loud but knew what it meant, and he scrambled to cover himself while the other boy laughed and looked down.
He had a pair of jeans he had found at a mall in Buckstown with the money his mother gave him, and struggled at least to get into them without bothering to find the underwear stuffed into some impossibly small space in his backpack, before attempting to greeting the boy, a kid who could have been Samuel’s twin if not for his long black hair, the inked marking on his arm, and the earring boys would never be allowed to wear in his community.
Samuel knew he must be several shades of red at this point, only hours into the world and already he had grown immodest, but the other did not seem to want to make an issue, and instead stuck out a small hand with long thin fingers and dirty nails, a silver ring on one of them with a shimmering blue gem on it, and with a smile, all he said was, “Don’t worry ’bout it, dude, I’m Dusty, I guess yer not from round here, eh?”
The accent pouring out of his mouth like honey, soft and slow, drawled, and Samuel found himself thinking things that he had punched himself for thinking back home.
The boy shuffled a black sneaker towards the discarded suit in the steel trash barrel and nodded his head a bit, looking confused but more an interested way rather than scared, at least.
“Shm- Samuel,” said Samuel, forcing himself to shun habits as his habits had shunned him.
“Can I call ya Sam?” asked the boy.
“I-, I-, I guess.”
The boy laughed and shocked Sam more when he pulled a slightly crushed smoked pack of cigarettes out of his too-tight jeans and offered him one. Not knowing what to do, Sam accepted one. He stood there for a minute feeling stupid until Dusty produced a big silver lighter with a flip-top like he’d once seen in an old movie about some war and lit it for him, then Sam tried to smoke it and almost died coughing.
Dusty laughed.
“First time?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck, I feel like I’m watchin’ a porno version of ‘Witness,’ dude, at least zip yer fly.”
“My what?”
Dusty clenched the cig in his mouth and shook his head before grabbing Sam’s jeans some place Sam knew he sort of wanted him to, but was scared to think about wanting, then yanked up the zipper, narrowly avoiding a really bad event, before Sam could react, then he stepped back while Sam stumbled a bit, dizzy from the smoke that was going into his eyes and strangely turned on by the whole thing, and all he could do was plop into the dirt, confused. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this moment, it was nothing like those fantasies about his friends, it was rough and had sharp scary edges that were dangerous and intoxicating and exciting. He didn’t know what to think but was quite aware now he was obviously erect and that just made him feel more embarassed so he leaned over to try to cover it up, to no avail.
There was an awkward silence where he didn’t know what to do, because this kid just seemed so comfortable and he just felt so scared. He faked it from the five movies he had seen, darn it, stood up and yanked off the chain around his neck, tossing it into the bin when he felt more like tossing up the greasy food that had passed for lunch, before he finally spoke.
“I’m going to school here,” said Sam, trying to stop his voice from squeaking in panic.
“Here? Where?”
His mind went blank at once, and his eyes focused off of Dusty just long enough to realize he’d gotten off at the wrong stop, not noticing the “East” in front of the name of the right place.
“Shit,” he said, then covered his mouth at once at realizing he’d just cursed.
“Now, that’s more like it,” laughed Dusty.
Sam watched in curiosity as the boy found some container behind the gas station and poured it on the clothes in the barrel, then tossed his cigarette into the barrel, and the whole thing went up in flames.
What have I done? wondered Sam.
“So, basically, you got off at the wrong bus stop, you’re lost, and you’re from some weird country where all they wear is black suits an’ they don’t curse?”
Sam could only nod and sat down hard, feeling it very hard to breathe.
“Hey, don’t worry, man, it’s cool. You can crash with me and my dad, we’ll figger it out.”
That accent, so foreign, that made Sam’s stomach turn over and his head spin.
Dusty crouched down and took the cigarette from his fingers. Sam hadn’t even noticed the pain.
“Serious, dude, it’s okay.”
The boy gave him something to drink that tasted like his father’s ‘Special,’ disgusting and sharp and burning, but it stopped him from gasping for air for the moment. He watched the clothes burning in the barrel and felt a tear roll down his cheek, then Dusty put his arm around him and lifted him to his feet, taking Sam’s bag over his shoulder.
“Let’s get you to my place, okay, you can call it home til we figger things out, okay?”
And Sam nodded, being dragged more than walking. It wasn’t hard to follow Dusty, though, because he had nowhere else to go, and somehow the kid made him feel safe, not so alone in this place full of profanity and sin and liquor and cigarettes.
So much sin he wondered if the Elders had been right, for surely a place this dripping hot must be the Hell they talked of.
But he could not deny he felt safe.
“Have you called yer moms?” asked Dusty. “To let her know you’re safe?”
“I, I…she doesn’t have a telephone. I can only send her mail to a special box.”
Thunder rumbled, which didn’t make Sam feel much better, but Dusty’s arm around him made him feel a little less scared, and he didn’t want him to stop guiding him.
“Thanks,” said Sam. “I mean that. Thanks.”
And Dusty just nodded and things began to feel a bit better already.

Click here for parts 2 – 17 of Dust

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