CHAPTER FIVE
By the time I stopped running through the field, I had reached the hobo encampment. I dropped down beside a small group of travelers and stared ahead at the tracks. A few of them noticed I was crying and shaking, but no one interfered. They nodded and continued talking as though my presence was nothing unusual. In their lives, I suppose it wasn't.
I thought I was just catching my breath, but I stayed for weeks. The field comforted me. Jake and I had spent many nights sleeping in his back yard under the stars, so the outdoors was more of a home to me than almost anywhere. The open air gave me the freedom to stay or to run, but I had nowhere else to go. I couldn’t go back to Jake’s house, and I couldn’t go home.
The encampment itself was as familiar to me as any other place i
