As I trudged through the snow back to the car, I thought
about how things could have gone differently, if only I were a stronger person,
if only I were more self-aware, if only I said the right things at the right
time. I knew this wasn’t going to help me out of this situation. I knew it
would only make me feel bad, but I also felt like I deserved to feel bad. After
all, this failure was mine. Just like the last one. I was going back to the car
and leaving, sad and alone, because I didn’t have the strength to tell you the
truth. To tell you anything. I let the party goers enjoy themselves and make
fun of me. I let them tease me about my lack of confidence. I let them ignore
me when I tried to join in conversations. I let them make me feel unwelcome. I
helped them to make me feel those things. I was shy and nervous and I didn’t
fit in. I don’t know why I keep trying. I don’t why, on this winter’s night, I
thought I could come to your party and talk to you and tell you how I felt
about you. I had hoped a dream could come true, but they don’t, at least not
for me.
And so I got in the car and I drove away. And I didn’t ever
come back. Another missing person to put on the milk carton. But no one put my
picture out there, did they? My foster parents reported me missing but they
only did what they had to do. In a few months I’d be out of the “system”
anyway. No one to miss me, no one to care, no one to be obligated for me.
I went to Landfield, Mississippi after that. I hadn’t
planned on it. I just ran out of money. I hadn’t planned on driving away that
night. I just got in the car and I drove as far as it took me. I didn’t have
anything that I couldn’t leave behind, so I just went. I’d been pretty much
living out of the car anyway. I wouldn’t be let in the house if it was after
curfew and those stubborn fosters refused to understand that I couldn’t get
home from my part time job at the bowling alley all the way across town before
they wanted to lock down the house. So, I’d keep extra stuff in the car and
sneak into the house after they left for work. I knew one day something like
this would happen. Felt it in my bones and so the only things I cared about
were with me in the car. The car, the only thing I had from my old life. It had
been a present for my 16th birthday, two days before the fire took
my family. Two days before the worst years of my life began.
So, now here I am, at the edge of 18 and a runaway. Out of
money in Mississippi with just a car that I can’t afford to fuel. There are
choices to be made. Options that aren’t very appealing. I have to do something.
I can’t stand the hunger. I’ve lost some weight in the last couple of weeks. My
clothes are dirty and I’m starting to get those looks when I’m walking down the
street. I don’t go far. I don’t want to lose the car too. I was lucky enough to
find a warehouse to park it behind. The janitor there said he’d keep an eye
out. He doesn’t make me feel that safe but he’s the only one that’s been nice
to me. He offered me a joint the other night. I turned it down. I can only
imagine what it might have been laced with. It’s thoughts like these that keep
me safe, but they also hurt my heart. I don’t want to be hard and jaded. I want
to be a normal kid. They say you grow up fast on the streets. I don’t know if I
believe that. I feel younger and more vulnerable than ever. It’s only been a
couple of months.
At least it’s not too cold here. It’s pretty damp, but it’s
not too cold.
(all rights reserved -Sharlene)
