by Avery Sawyer
“Baby girls?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Always.”
CHAPTER 20
$72 IN CASH WON’T GET YOU VERY FAR
I ran away from home once, and when I came back, my mom told me she had run away from home, too. But the thing is, she never went back.
Writing notes to myself was unsettling. I remembered things I hadn’t thought about in a long time. Things I wasn’t sure I wanted to remember. But I didn’t try to stop it.
“Fine, I’ll go with you, but I won’t sleep on the ground, and if my picture appears on some tragic missing girl flyer, I will kill you.” Em crossed her arms over her chest, but I could see her eyes glittering. As long as the plan was interesting, Emily was in. Her greatest fear in life was boredom. I sometimes wondered if having annual passes to theme parks changed your brain.
“It might. Better set out your fave school picture so your mom doesn’t choose last year’s.” Em’s seventh grade photo was hilarious. Her eyes were crossed the tiniest bit, but you could totally see it. She was still mortified. There was talk of suing the photographer, but she couldn’t find a lawyer who wanted to help a thirteen-year-old. And her parents thought the photo was adorbs, naturally.
“Well, we’re not going anywhere gross or scary like the bus station. Let’s go sleep at Nordstrom’s. Or Ikea, with all those cute rooms,” she grinned.
I thought about the beds they had on the second floor at Nordstrom’s, made up with about seven bright, white comforters inside frothing duvets and pillows. Sold.
“How?”
“All we have to do is go in close to closing time and hide. Duh.” Now that Emily had decided to go, it was almost as if she was bored with the plan. Like she ran away every day and twice on Saturdays. I smiled.
“Let’s go tonight. My mom is driving me crazy. After she signed my permission slip for the wetlands field trip, she put it in the refrigerator.” It had taken me two hours of searching to find it.
“How are we gonna get there, Runaway Train?”
“Walk?”
Emily sighed and checked her phone. “The mall is 5.2 miles away.”
“So? I can walk pretty fast. Or we can take the LYNX. We’ll stop on the way for Starbucks. Chocolate chip frappuciiiiino.” I knew I sounded a little nuts, but I had to get out of my apartment. I didn’t even care if I ended up on some tragic missing girl flyer…as long as they didn’t find me.
“Yum. Okay, let me go brush my teeth and put some stuff in my bag. I suppose giving my parents a little lesson in Emily appreciation probably isn’t the worst idea in the world.”
“Exactly. I’m ready to go when you are.” I patted my backpack, which contained my cell phone, ear buds, cell phone charger, $72.00 in mostly small bills, one of Mom’s credit cards for major emergencies only (I knew from watching movies that they could trace credit cards, so I didn’t plan to use it), a dozen PowerBars, seven pairs of clean underwear and small t-shirts, two pairs of socks, toothbrush, comb, hair ties, pepper spray, sunglasses, sunscreen. I wore comfortable jean shorts, chucks, a tank top, and a long-sleeved, dark blue t-shirt. I was ready.
As I listened to Em getting ready in the bathroom, I thought about my problems. It all started when my dad went on tour with Quicksand three years ago. My mom wasn’t thrilled, but she didn’t make a big thing out of it. She was sure the whole tour would implode and he’d be back within a week, especially because the band members were in their twenties and acted like they were twelve, according to her. If not a week, a month, tops. After five weeks with no sign of Dad, though, things began to slip. I noticed she wasn’t buying groceries and missed a couple shifts at work. Our cable TV got turned off, and then she said we had to share one cell phone. I stopped worrying about school and started worrying about her.
If I hadn’t met Emily at the beginning of sixth grade and started sleeping over at her house all the time, I would’ve gone crazy. Finally, when the utilities company threatened to turn off our electricity, Mom pulled it together. She got herself to work on time, cleaned the apartment, and paid our rent (mostly) on time. Then she did something insane: she enrolled in college again. Suddenly there were huge textbooks lying all over the apartment and she was asking me how to use a laptop to take notes in class. It was completely weird. I was secretly really proud of her, but even though the bills were getting paid, there was still no one buying groceries or doing laundry or fixing the air conditioner. Mom had exchanged depression for credit hours. I still didn’t have her back, and she was it. We were a family of two. I envied Emily and her endless numbers of aunts, uncles, and cousins. She claimed they all drove her bonkers, but I knew better.
Emily understood about my messed up family and didn’t ask any questions. I loved her for it. Reno, on the other hand, didn’t have a clue. His family was so perfect and normal I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand him, either. He always had new shoes and new video games and a season pass to Universal. I shook him out of my mind.
“Ready?” Emily appeared in the doorway. I could tell she’d just exfoliated her face; it was all pink and splotchy. She shouldered a bag and grabbed her wallet from her bureau.
“Always.”
“Well, let’s do this, then.” We put sunscreen on our noses and walked out the door.
Four minutes later we were both sweating. I’d forgotten that even if you didn’t strictly need a car for transportation, the air conditioning was pretty key for the whole A to B experience. It had to be at least 90 degrees and the sun was beating down like a weapon. There was no else walking; we got some strange looks on the way to the bus stop. Everyone in Florida treated their cars like clothing: they didn’t leave home without them. Thank God Em was with me. I might have chickened out within a half hour if she hadn’t been.
At every major intersection between downtown Kissimmee and the Florida Mall, there were hundreds of cheap plastic signs littering the roadside. People advertised roofing, cleaning, jobs hotlines, you name it. It looked like a dump, like the city was full of scam artists. If you wanted beauty, you had to either imagine it or pay for it by getting inside some gates.
When the Florida Mall was in sight, the sky opened up. It was September, which meant almost-daily monsoons. The clouds would blow up out of nowhere, pour rain in sheets, and disappear again, all within an hour. We got off the bus and ducked under a Denny’s awning to wait it out.
Emily pointed. Starbucks. It was only a hundred yards away, across a parking lot. If we made a dash for it, we’d be soaked, but we’d have coffee. We grinned at each other and ran like little kids, flailing and screaming.
I ordered us two venti chocolate chip frappucinos, extra whip, and we sprawled out on the leather couches like we owned the place.
“So, Runaway Train, why are we here?” Em put both fists under her chin and leaned forward onto her knees like I was about to tell her where babies came from.
I crossed my eyes at her. She did her best iguana face, which involved touching her index fingers to her thumbs, inverting her hands and pressing them up against her eyes, then sticking out her tongue and hissing. Even though I’d seen her do it a million times, it always cracked me up. It usually made even the teachers smile, unless they were half dead already, which some of them were. We giggled and slurped our drinks and every time I thought I was done laughing, Emily would hiss, just a little, and set me off again. I wished we were sisters so we’d never have to spend time apart. Finally, I took a swallow of the cold chocolate coffee and it slid down the wrong pipe, directly into my lung. I had one of those huge, embarrassing coughing fits that you only get when you’re trying to tell a story to, like, nine people who know they are cooler than you. Emily giggled at me, whacked me on the back a couple of times, and went and got a cup of water from the barista. I sipped it until the frappucino gradually dissolved out of my poor, abused lung. We were cured of the giggles.
“Are you going to call me ‘Runaway Train’ from now on?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Great.” I sat quietly for a couple minutes while Emily waited. I could tell she was letting me gather my thoughts because she didn’t even take out her phone to see if she had any texts. She just sat there. It was an unusual thing to sit there with another person, not talking, not texting, just being. If the person you’re with will wait for you to work out what’s in your head so you can make them see, you know they care. I wondered if I even needed to say anything. It was like she understood already—the way Reno used to, before he got annoying.
“So technically, I shouldn’t be doing this, because my mom isn’t so bad. In the scheme of things,” I added.
“In the scheme of things,” she repeated, nodding.
“But I’m just tired of doing all the work. Ever since she started school, I have to get groceries, and do the laundry, and clean the bathroom, and make dinner. It’s not fair! Plus, she’s always super bitchy because she’s so stressed out.”
“That sucks.” Emily had been over to my place enough times to observe my mother staring into her empty cup of tea and rubbing her eyes as she tried to meet a paper deadline.
“And it makes me feel so guilty to even complain about it. Because before she started school, I hated her being so pathetic about Dad. She was always waiting for him to come back. And now she’s not doing that anymore, and it’s worse.”
“Why should you feel guilty?” Emily pointed out. “You shouldn’t have to do everything. That’s messed up.”
“I don’t know. I guess. Let’s go.”
After several hours of trying on clothes, we settled in for the night. The plan went perfectly. I fell asleep with a smile on my face, my cheek against the softest sheets I had ever felt. When my phone alerted us that it was close to opening time, Emily and I climbed out of our downy beds and hid under them. We waited as the employees arrived.
After about forty-five minutes, I knew the store was open and it was technically safe to come out of my hiding spot, but I decided to wait a few more minutes. If we didn’t give the place enough time to fill up, employees would notice us and we wouldn’t be able to sleep there again.
I texted Emily to tell her not to move for a while and closed my eyes again. We could sleep another half hour and then spend the day doing whatever we wanted. The thought thrilled me.
Then, the worst possible thing happened.
Someone—not Emily—lifted up the comforter hanging down over the bed. A face peered in to my hiding spot. It was, of all people, my mother. Awesome.
“Hi, Robin.” She didn’t sound mad. She sounded amused. I narrowed my eyes, wishing I could disappear. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hi.”
“Don’t you want to know how I found you?” She was supremely pleased with herself. You’d think having your kid run away from home would make you stop and think for a minute or two, but apparently not.
“Not really.” I crawled out from under the bed.
“Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.”
“Great.” I grabbed my backpack.
“Your phone has a GPS thingie in it. God bless Big Brother.”
“You’re tracking me?” I frowned. Stupid phone. I should have known she was up to something when she agreed so quickly to give me a new cell phone for Christmas.
“Let’s go.” She picked up my bag. I wondered for how many years I’d be grounded for taking her credit card. Probably seven.
I couldn’t decide whether or not to call out to Emily. On the one hand, she’d need a ride home. On the other, she might not have a tracker in her phone. She might enjoy a couple more days of sweet freedom.
“You too, Emily.” My mom said, still as smug as all get out. So much for that.
Emily scrambled out from under her hiding spot. She didn’t seem upset either. What was wrong with everyone? “Hey, Mrs. Saunders.”
“Actually, it’s Miss Larson again. Signed the divorce papers this morning.”
“Um…congratulations?” I could feel Emily looking at me, trying to gauge how I was feeling, but I refused to meet her eyes.
“Thanks. Now, let’s get out of here before the store management finds out they had two unwanted overnight guests. I’d rather not buy all the pillows you two drooled on last night.” We headed for the door and Emily jabbed me. She crossed her eyes and put her palms up, like: What can you do? Moms, right?
The ride home was bizarre. Before we dropped Emily off, they both acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Mom asked Em about school and she answered. When we pulled into the parking lot of her condo complex, Emily grabbed my hand before she jumped out of the back seat. I met my friend’s eyes, she gave a little wave, and it was over. Mostly, I felt embarrassed. I didn’t know my phone would give me away. I could have left it behind so easily. Instead, the whole thing was a joke now, the kind of thing my mom would tease me about until I was forty and she was senile. I wanted to make a statement, and instead I made an idiot of myself.
We were both silent for a long time, and then I noticed Mom missed our usual turn. We probably needed gas or something. I was resigned to anything; I just wanted to fade into the car upholstery.
When she finally stopped the car, we were just inside the Disney World gates. All the road signs were purple with white letters, and all the grass was a uniform length. Palm trees lined up between 3-D billboards advertising the latest rides. She parked our car in a huge lot by a white Cirque Du Soleil amphitheater. The lot was free; sometimes we came in here to get ice cream or see a movie. When she finally spoke, her voice was no longer smug or jokey.
“I ran away from home, too,” she said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
I had to lean toward her to catch what she was saying. “You what?”
“I ran away. And I didn’t go back. Well, not until you came along. And then only for a visit.” She took her hands off the wheel and played with her rings. She looked younger than thirty-five to me. She bit her lip and seemed almost teenager-y, if you took away the tired eyes.
“How old were you when you ran away?” I pulled my feet up and sat cross-legged, right there in the passenger seat. This was getting interesting.
“Sixteen.”
“Wow.” I knew my mom was from Michigan, specifically the Upper Peninsula—the place on earth for which they invented the word “boondocks”—but I hadn’t realized she’d been that young when she came to Florida.
“Yeah. I got on a bus and never looked back.”
“Was it…were things…bad?” I felt ashamed. It wasn’t like anyone was beating me or anything. Not making me the chicken I liked on a consistent basis wasn’t exactly child abuse. What if my mom was about to tell me some things I really, really didn’t want to hear?
“Things were cold.” She stared off into space, and then added, “It was foolish. I should’ve at least finished high school. Doing it later on was hard.”
“Um, why are we parked here? Are we going to a movie?”
“This was my, uh, destination,” she said, sheepishly. “I saw this television commercial for Disney World and it looked so perfect. So sunny and happy and…well, I was just a stupid kid.”
I got it. This was supposed to be some sort of mother-daughter bonding moment. I didn’t say anything, just squirmed in my seat. Did this mean I wasn’t grounded? I remembered visiting Grandma and Grandpa and a half-dozen aunts and uncles when I was six or seven, at Christmastime. The town they lived in consisted of a church, three bars, a Piggly Wiggly, and a bait shop.
It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, though. The land was covered in thick forest and I was thrilled—thrilled—with the snow. I’d made snow angels and snow men with my cousins and worn mittens, which, for some reason, pleased me to no end. The swishing sound my borrowed snow pants made was like music, and I found the Yooper accent hilarious in a good way. My grandma carried around this enormous purse that had everything you could possibly need in it. I’d made a game of it, testing her by asking for gum, band-aids, lotion, Chapstick,
aspirin, a nail clippers, a scissors (!), tape, and a compass during the course of the visit. I finally got her on Girl Scout cookies. She said she’d just finished her purse box the week before.
Yet I also remembered how people there, my grandparents included, would stay in their favorite bar practically all night, every night, not moving from their favorite stools. How the town was the perfect place for you if you didn’t expect much out of life other than clean air and fried food. Even the radio station that supposedly played Top 40 music mostly played stuff from a while ago. It was strange. Frozen.
“I’m not a stupid kid,” I said.
“Oh honey, I know. I guess what I’m trying to do here is apologize. I’ve been a rotten mom and I’m going to do better. You don’t have to run away. I’m here to tell you I tried it, and it doesn’t make anything easier. There are no shortcuts or easy ways out. We just have to help each other.”
I thought about that for a while. “Well, it is a lot, um, warmer, here.” I settled on. “And you met Dad,” I added, and immediately regretted it. I didn’t want Mom to feel bad for coming to Florida. She was someone who wanted more. She always wanted more, always lived in the future. I understood that.
“That I did.”
“I…” I didn’t know what I wanted to say then, other than that her little scheme to get me to understand her better had actually kind of worked. “I’m sorry too.”
“How about if you promise not to run away again, I’ll promise not to use the GPS on you?”
“Okay. Um, deal.”
It wasn’t as if all the bad feelings I’d been trying to escape went away that day. But I started thinking of Mom as a human being, which, when it comes to your parents, you should try to put off for as long as possible.
CHAPTER 21
LOW
The phone rang as I tried to sort my school stuff into piles in my room. I wanted to figure out which assignments I actually planned to do versus which ones were out of the question. I didn’t care about my grades super-much, but I didn’t want to fail, either. I heard Mom answer and give a couple “uh-huhs,” and one “great,” before hanging up.