It was dark.
The moon was just starting to creep across the sky as I snuck along the beat-up sidewalk. The shadows of the leaves on the trees bounced up and down, the wind gently bowing them as it wrapped itself around the trunks. The temperature was starting to drop, as it was spring and nights weren’t warm yet.
I was alone. I was painfully aware of the silence.
I placed foot after foot, forcing myself to keep going. I didn’t have my phone. I had my bike with me, but I had stopped riding it a while ago. Now I was holding the handle bars and pushing them along with me. I had a large backpack hanging on one arm that had a water bottle and a change of clothes. My hair was in a ponytail, and I still had my shin guards, socks, and cleats on from my seventh grade soccer practice earlier that night.
My head was filled with a mix of emotions. Fear, because I didn’t know what the future had in store for me, and I knew deep down it would be nothing good. Regret, because I wished I hadn’t ran off into the unknown, leaving my mom standing in the front doorway. Anger, mostly at myself for coming up with this now clearly stupid idea.
I wanted to go home. This wasn’t worth it at all.
As I realized this, I saw it in the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t remember the way back. Were those red and blue flashing lights? I wasn’t sure, but I took off running just in case, pulling the bike along with me.
That day had been somewhat normal. I had gone to middle school, come home, and gone to soccer practice. Back then, fights with my parents were a normal occurrence. I was going through rough times, and I felt sad and angry at the world.
Running away was not an idea that just popped up into my head. After my parents moved to Lovejoy, I had a hard time adjusting to the change, so I started thinking of new ways I could escape and return to my old school, and everything would go back to normal. Of course, that wouldn’t have happened.
I had never gone farther than planning. Until that day.
The fight with my mom was stupid. Honestly, that’s all I remember about it. It was incredibly dumb, and not worth the trouble. I do remember calling her the “B” word, and things escalated. I realized what I had done and raced up the stairs, afraid for what would happen next.
She only took my phone. But that moment was enough to compel me to pack a bag of stuff and leave. Looking back, I think I wanted to leave because of the inevitable consequences of my words when my dad got home, and not because I actually wanted to leave home, which is stupid on its own.
Either way, I left. I hopped onto my bike, swung my backpack over my shoulder, and peddled down the street. I heard my mom shout my name, but I was gone.
I didn’t go far. I pedaled the neighborhood park and got off of my bike, walking it down the pathway that led to Celebration Park. Once I was at Celebration, I entered a neighborhood, avoiding people that could potentially sell me out.
And I walked. I was alone with my thoughts and my footsteps echoed in the small and quiet neighborhood.
I walked for hours on end, and in that time my anger faded away and was replaced with dread. This was a bad idea. I wanted to go home. By now it was dark, and I was trying to get out of that beat-up neighborhood. I could see police lights down the street, so I picked up my pace, breaking out into a run. I guess they didn’t see me, and after a few minutes I slowed down again. I made it to another park, and I sat down onto a bench, thinking everything over. Checking the time on the clock at a nearby elementary school, I realized it was late, and I was lost.
Another 30 minutes of walking passed, and I found myself at the back of a building. I walked around and realized I was at the convenience store on Exchange. The convenience store was one of the only parts of that night I can still remember, and everytime I see it, the memories return. It was still open, and I stood there for a few minutes, trying to work up the courage before going in to ask for directions.
That was my mistake. I remember the blue and red lights, and the sirens. I remember the cop car pulling up onto the curb. I remember the cops getting out of the car, but I don’t remember what they looked like, other than they were big. I remember one of the cops asking for my name, and me giving it to them. I remember them asking if another girl was with me, and me saying no.
But they’re just details.
It’s the lecture I got from the other cop that I remember the most. He asked for my motive, and as I said before, I’ve forgotten what that motive even was. He looked down upon me as I stood there, petrified. I never meant for it to go that far.
That cop said a lot that night, a lot I can’t remember now. However, I think what hit me the most was what the cop told me about my parents. The cop had been to my house, and said that my mom was crying, and my dad was doing his best not to cry. He asked me why I had done it, and I said I didn’t know.
I know it sounds overly dramatic, but waves of guilt crashed over me. My parents pulled up in my dad’s black Honda Civic, and I remember the disappointment in their faces.
The police loaded my bike into the back of their cars and I got into the back of my parents’ car. The car ride was silent. I only broke that silence once, and that was to say sorry.
I meant it. I really was sorry.
Mom just nodded.
When we got back to our house, I went straight up to my room. My aunt and uncle were at our house, but I didn’t talk to them. I sat on my bed, pulling my soccer socks off. My aunt was next door in my brothers room, and I can’t begin to imagine how my 8-year-old brother had felt when he woke up to policemen searching his room and his sister gone. Eventually everyone left, and my brother went back to sleep, leaving me to have a long chat with my parents.
I don’t talk much about that day. We just seemed to forget it ever happened because nobody ever brought it up. We went to dinner that Friday with our aunt, uncle, and little cousins and it was like nothing happened. Everyone knew that it happened; you don’t just forget something like that.
When I had made the decision to walk down the busy street of Exchange and not go through the neighborhood behind it, I viewed it as a mistake. A dumb error that had caused me to get caught by the police. I don’t look at it as a mistake anymore. If I hadn’t been found, who knows what could have happened? I most likely would have gone home. Afterall, that’s where I was heading in the first place. I just didn’t have to walk the full distance, and after all that walking, I was glad that I was found and I never thought about running away again.
