“Mama Mumu once told me there’s a difference between searching and escaping,” Marjorie answered. “I’m not running away anymore”

September 1964

Marjorie scrambled up off the floor.

“Are you okay, Margie?” Sam Lefkowitz asked. His voice, roughened by years of chain smoking, was unusually mild.

Marjorie gave herself a shake and hastily grabbed a can of tuna. “Yeah, sure, all cool. Mr. Lefkowitz,” she added, speaking quickly and urgently, “can I take a few days off? Like two or three?”

A raised eyebrow. “You need a beach vacation already?”

“No. I want... I need to go to the mountains.”

Marjorie stood in the aisle, fingers nervously clutching the tuna can that she’d obviously forgotten about. The grocer sighed. “C’mon, Margie, let’s go to the back, have a cuppa Joe, and you’ll tell me what’s going on.”

Sipping the hot and bitter brew, Marjorie spoke about those few precious moments in Tijeras Canyon, watching dawn break and feeling emotions so rare she could hardly recognize them, let alone give them a name. Unexpectedly and completely crazy, she felt the experience was somehow connected to the vibes of the Freed Hotel, the Levine family, and their strange but also compelling way of life.

“I mean, take Shabbos, it’s so full of rules and don’t do this and don’t do that, but it’s freaky, I can’t figure out why, sometimes when I saw the candles or heard the singing, I felt a little like the way I did in the canyon. Mr. Lefkowitz, I want to get a handle on my life, can you dig that?”

“I dig holes, not life, but I think I understand what you’re trying to say. So how long will it take for you to get there, solve the world’s problems, and get back here to my tuna fish?”

“If they haven’t hurt my Mustang’s engine,” Marjorie said, her face darkening, “about twelve hours’ travel. I’ll camp out overnight and be back some time the next day.”

“Marjorie Burton, you will not sleep outside in the middle of nowhere by yourself, not if I have to chain you to the cash register. Here,” he said, opening his wallet and pulling out a 20-dollar bill. “This will pay for a motel room in Albuquerque, with some left over for gas.” He looked at her directly in the face. “It’s a long drive. You sure you can’t just figure yourself out on the beach? It’ll be a lot cheaper and a lot easier.”

“Mama Mumu once told me there’s a difference between searching and escaping,” Marjorie answered. “I’m not running away anymore. Just trying to tune in to my life and figure it out.”

When Sammy Lefkowitz smiled, his face became a mass of wrinkles. Those wrinkles appeared now, as he shook his head and grinned. “Margie, has anyone ever told you that you are an incredible person?”

She did not return the smile. “No, Mr. L.,” she said seriously. “No one has ever told me that.”