The one about the time I decided to run away

Using a topic from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop today: That time you ran away from home




I was a good kid.

What?!? I totally was!

Yes, really.

My brother was the more difficult of the two of us. He had some anger issues and quite frankly from a younger sister's perspective, just issues in general.

I was the pouter. And, if memory serves me correctly, a bit of a whiner. ::shudder::

Looking back, I have no idea how my mom kept from going flat out batshit crazy some days.

Of course, I still am not sure how I survived T's toddler years before we figured out he had SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder) issues, so I guess you just do what you have to, one frustrating, ear agonizing moment at a time.

Anyway....

I don't remember how old I was when I decided to run away from home. I'm guessing about 10 or so. I don't remember why I was angry enough to run away from home, either, but I remember being really, really, really, reallllllllyy mad.

I'm also pretty sure there was stomping, nostril flaring, fist clenching, and yelling involved. On my part of course. My mom had a nasty, nasty habit of being infuriatingly calm when I was at my most angry.

And really, is there anything worse than being angry enough to spit nails at someone that looks like they are mid-meditation? Oooooommmmmmmmmm. You have no effect on me. Oooooooommmmmmmmm. I am being perfectly rational despite your yelling. Ooooooooooommmmmmm.

(In case you weren't sure about that, the answer is no.)

So I announced that I was running away.

What did my mom say?

Okay. 

Infuriating.

I stomped to my room and slammed the door - because, duh!

I remember trying to figure out what to pack. I didn't want to carry a heavy bag around. Who knew how long or far I'd have to walk. I remember being so angry that I was determined  - determined, dammit! - not to take anything with me that Mom had given me.

Which, as it turns out, was kind of a problem.

Can't take 99% of my clothes.

Hmmmmm.

Can't wear my shoes, take a coat, or most of my favorite books or toys.

Hmmmmmm.

20 minutes later I'm sitting in the floor of my room, naked. Because, you know, Mom bought most of my underwear too.

Hold up! Wait a sec....I dive into my closet and dig around. I triumphantly find the granny panties that were four sizes too big that my grandmother had given me for Christmas. Now we're cooking! I yank those on up to my armpits.

HA! I have underwear. That kinda could pass for an odd one piece, strapless swimsuit in a pinch. Excellent. Too bad it's not summer.

More scrounging around my room produces a completely inappropriate and hilarious outfit  - purple sweatpants with a red stripe around the waist and the pockets (hey - it was the 80's), mesh high tops that were two sizes too small, and a shirt of some sort that was so tight it just about cut off my circulation. If memory serves me correctly, I think it was green. All the clothing had been given to me by someone other than Mom.

Now I was ready. Packing up some books, a couple of stuffed animals and the five remaining pairs of granny panties, I was ready to hit the trail. I carried everything down to the basement and put it in our little red wagon.

Wheeling the wagon out of the basement, I headed towards the carport and driveway while making as much noise as possible. Let's call that my grand exit strategy. I don't even think Mom was outside at the time, but I'm willing to bet she was watching from the window and trying not to be appalled at my outfit.

I marched off down the street announcing loudly that "I AM LEAVING NOW! GOOD BYE AND HAVE A NICE LIFE, NOT THAT YOU CARE IF I DO OR NOT!!!!!!!!!!"

I walked to the end of our road, which was a little over half a mile.

Obviously, I hadn't thought this through very well.  So I sat in the wagon, waiting for someone, anyone to notice and take pity on my poor, neglected, obviously abused self.

That, um, never happened. I think it was the red and purple sweatpants and the green shirt. Who wants to save a kid with no kind of style at all?

I should probably mention that we lived in an area that didn't see much traffic.

Not my best idea. I waited outside, sulking and feeling nice and sorry for myself, until it was dark. Then, defeated, I took the wagon and my stuff and  trudged home.

Foiled!