At eighteen Eli left Marlow with a backpack, one hundred and twenty dollars, three books, and the decision never again to be anybody’s son if that meant obedience.

He went first to Wichita, then to Kansas City, where people can disappear more easily into traffic and lights, which sometimes feels like freedom if you come from a small town. He worked in a diner, in a warehouse, at a gas station, in a used bookstore. He lived with roommates who talked too much and cleaned too little, ate cheap, slept too little, read even more. He also made the other mistake many people make when they leave an oppressive home. He thought that because he had left geographically, he had healed too.