The Driver

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 16^th 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)