It started out packing toys and clean underwear in my red duffel bag. It had blue writing on it claiming my brothers ownership. Each thing would be placed just so and I figured out the economy of which toys I had to leave behind and which toys I couldnt live without.
That first time, I got to the end of the block. The second, I got to the end of town.
It grew steadily more complicated than that first and second time. The bags got bigger; toys broke and were grown out of. I added socks to the economy of running away.
Later, I drew plansif it got worse, I would leave to my friend's house. I spoke with him and he spoke with his parents. They agreed and the plan was buried until it needed to be dug up. I bought a new bag, a green bag that was indistinguishable from a school bag. I knew its true purpose.
When the plan was put into action after it got worse than my own imagination, the plan itself had a weird antique quality: the song we would have sung that fateful day no longer lingered in our mouths. I no longer loved the same things. I shook more than I thought I would.
I thought that that would be the last time that I needed to have a plan for running. I didnt think I needed more bags, but I found out that bags come in all shapes and sizes, plastic ones for food, garbage bags for the bus, boxes when you have picture frames or the contents of a desk. But each time I left, there was a kind of plan in place and a bag to put it in; all else increased in complexity.
Its starts when you realize a plan has been hatched against you. You never recognized the bags in place by the door just-in-case. Or maybe you saw the bags, but didnt think they were for you.
That first time, I got to the end of the block. The second, I got to the end of town.
It grew steadily more complicated than that first and second time. The bags got bigger; toys broke and were grown out of. I added socks to the economy of running away.
Later, I drew plansif it got worse, I would leave to my friend's house. I spoke with him and he spoke with his parents. They agreed and the plan was buried until it needed to be dug up. I bought a new bag, a green bag that was indistinguishable from a school bag. I knew its true purpose.
When the plan was put into action after it got worse than my own imagination, the plan itself had a weird antique quality: the song we would have sung that fateful day no longer lingered in our mouths. I no longer loved the same things. I shook more than I thought I would.
I thought that that would be the last time that I needed to have a plan for running. I didnt think I needed more bags, but I found out that bags come in all shapes and sizes, plastic ones for food, garbage bags for the bus, boxes when you have picture frames or the contents of a desk. But each time I left, there was a kind of plan in place and a bag to put it in; all else increased in complexity.
Its starts when you realize a plan has been hatched against you. You never recognized the bags in place by the door just-in-case. Or maybe you saw the bags, but didnt think they were for you.
That was my only attempt...my brother ran away from home more than I did...mostly when he was in trouble for something. Anyway...sorry for rambling.
~T.C.
p.s.
You should click on the word "Superman" in your testimonial I gave you. I thought it would make it a little more interesting...well, you'll see.
[Edited on Jun 20, 2004 12:35PM]