If you actually read this I'll love you.
It was rough and cold, just like her body. She leaned into the tree as if it were a blanket, curling herself into the large roots. Her breathing was unsteady, as she clutched her chest. A broody stranger loftily walked towards her, slowly taking soft footsteps as to not frighten or be noticed by the girl. The girl seemed as to be 14 or 15, wearing clothes that looked to be those of beggars’, but her features and gestures proved otherwise. Having porcelain skin of a royal, the stranger felt she might break at any moment. Lowering to the broken girl’s level, the broody stranger’s trench coat folded upon the ground, boots scuffing.
“Oh my. What do we have here?” The stranger muttered not to the girl, or to himself. Just merely thinking aloud.
Wide eyes quickly turned up to the stranger crouching next to her. The hood once covering her hair, falling back, letting soft purple and blond wisps of hair flock around in the wind. Glancing at the dirt, and at the man, and once again at the dirt. The girl straightened herself out. Sitting up. She stared carefully at the man in front of her. Choosing her words ever so carefully.
“Imogen.” Was the only word to leave her lips. And as they
had been staring continuously the man obviously forgot his own recent 2
words. Giving the girl a puzzled look,” Imogen is what you have.”
“It also appears I have a runaway.” The man sat down, no longer crouching. He watched as the girl said nothing, but looked as the girl’s words and feelings poured into her blue eyes, that never left his own. He wouldn’t turn her in. Yet,” You refuse to give up. Tell me what that’s about. Tell me what you’re about.”
It wasn’t an option, it was a command and Imogen felt as though all she could do was tell him her story. No matter how hurtful, no matter how hard she tried to forget. It was still fresh in her mind.
She breathed once, and deeply,” From the very beginning?” The man nodded, and Imogen closed her eyes. To remember.
“It’s long… His cheeks. The pinkness in his cheeks had just begun to fade. The blues in his eyes? They had only just begun to brighten. I felt him warm up beneath me. And I felt safe knowing that I was capable of laying on his chest. Shirt. Underwear. And nothing but breathing. And laying. And the occasional touch, just to be reminded that we were there for each other. It made things seem ever so pleasant. Made me forget that there were people in the world. Besides us. And places, besides that room.
I got the feeling that we were in a pretty perfect house. One that was lined
in rows and rows of other houses, filled with perfect families. Because that’s the way things should be. That’s the way things are. I didn’t want to
be lined in rows of the same person, same house, same corner, same twists 3
and turns. Every house has its own secrets to keep. One that proves, only to themselves that they are different. And if that’s released then they are pushed farther and farther from society. And who wants that?
I don’t…I didn’t want to be in a pretty perfect house. I didn’t want to be pushed away from everyone in the neighbor hood. I was already the strange girl down the street. Why be stranger? To the people of my cul-de-sac, strange is equalized to running every morning, disrespecting my mother, who never spoke to me unless it involved asking me why I killed dad, why I didn’t get good grades, why I was never home when it was possible. Why, why, why. Everyone asks me that. And do they, did they, stop to think, that maybe, just maybe. I don’t know? I think that proves I’m at least normal. To some extent. As opposed to prim and proper, and someone who hides themselves in a shell, never planning to leave it, even when they realized it’s been outgrown…
He noticed that I’d become tense. And I felt his hand rest on my stomach, all emotions dispersing into his hand, out my belly button. Maybe not literally, of course, but it felt like it. Because I leaned into his hand, just a little, and I had put my own on top of his. Ready to fall back into the quiet dark. No matter how restless my thoughts were. His body heat, his hand, was like a drug. It took me and pulled me in. and there was never a thing I could do about it. But it didn’t matter, because I’d never let him go.
4
'I'll never let you go.' I muttered beneath my breath. He smiled at me, and squeezed my hand, resting atop his. He kissed my forehead, pulling himself out of the bed. The cold air of the house, rushing in. Raising the hairs on my arms. My legs falling out from under the covers, his voice. Telling me I needed to let go. Only until tomorrow. But never for forever. He was still clutching my hand as he stood in front of me. My legs swaying off the edge of the bed.
He released my hand, and bent over. Eye level to me. 'When I leave, go to bed Imogen, aye?' And he grinned. My eyes smiling back at him. And I let go. Until the next day. I watched him exit my room. Hair messy, untucking behind his ear as he swayed his head to the motion of his steps. His fists clenched shut preparing himself for his grandparents at home. And I felt a tug at my heart, hoping, like I did every night, that he wouldn't be gone tomorrow.
I pushed myself up from the bed, to shut my door, as he walked down the stairs. As of right then, the light spilled from the hallway, but i twisted the knob and closed it, secluding me in the dark of my room. My feet glided across the wooden floors, quickly lifting my feet up once I got to the bed. I resumed my place. Feeling empty, open, without him, without Durden. I was under the blankets, and my closet caught my eye. The door was open and I saw the tentacles stretching out, contorting around the room. And I saw something roll to the edge of my bed on the
floor. Squeezing my eyes shut, willing myself not to look at what I knew 5
was already there. But I couldn't help it, glancing over quickly, my dad's head lay on the floor, it's eyes floating out, and up to me. I jumped out to the light switch, keeping my eyes off my dad's dismembered head. The light switch on, flooding the room with color, eliminating shadows.
The child in me still thrived. Only thanks to my dad. My dad that killed himself. And it's all my fault, my mom especially believes so. It's his fault. I can't sleep in the dark even at the age of 15. It's his fault mother hates me. Because he was in my close, my closet. And just past the tentacles, I know he's still there. And I know he'll come out at any second. I loved my dad, but I didn't love his death. That's what I've been afraid of.
At night I can see his eyes roll out of his head, to stare at me, just below my bed. Not matter how frightened I am, I can't look away. Which is when I see a hand creep out. I just wait for the face. The eyeless face. And it doesn't come because it can't yet.
I shut my eyes, knowing that I couldn't fall asleep but drift into a 'state'. My eye lids changed from a light shade of pink, to black in a matter of seconds.
The next morning I got up, out of bed at six, got myself dressed, and left the house before saying good morning to my mother.
Durden said he'd meet me up the street. We had an hour before school 6
started and I hoped to god, he'd be there. And he wouldn't leave me waiting. I leaned against the stop sign, the coldness of the pole prickling my back, but giving me feeling. And as soon as I saw Durden around the corner, his hair a jumbled mess, as always, I smiled. Pushing myself off the sign, straightening myself out.
But he didn't stop. he walked past me, grabbing my hand, and telling me he needed to talk to me. All the while we walked, we didn't say a word. We were silent and understood that silence. We occasionally squeezed on each other's hands reassuringly.
Durden pulled me along through the woods a few minutes away from my house. I never went in them, and I wondered why we were going. He dropped my hand so he could break off branches and push prickers out of our way. I got nervous. What if we got lost? We couldn't. That thought crossed my mind, and diminished when Durden pulled me into an open field thick with long grass resembling the hairs on a giant man's back. In the center of the field was an ever so tiny stone house. It was shackle and falling apart. Inside there were piles of stones that I assumed used to be on the house It was wonderful. Just the castle I was looking for. And somehow I understood how special it was to Durden. It was his place. Where the breeze felt amazing, and you felt infinite.
I turned to him, feeling his eyes on me, and I remembered
he wanted to talk. So I looked at him questioningly, asking,' What is it 7
Durden?' As quiet, as soft, as I could.
His eyes turned soft and he sat down on the ashy floor slowly,' Imogen. I"m finally getting away from my grandparents.' He smiled, genuinely happy, and I smiled too. Feeling that happiness. 'I'm moving in with my dad.'
'That's wonderful!' I had exclaimed bending over and hugging him. But he pulled away. His smile had faltered, fallen, and shook his head. His auburn hair covering up his teary eyes.
'My dad lives in Providence, Imogen. That's over seven hours away.'
I leaned against the broken wall behind me, scraping at the dusty bricks with my fingernails. I exhaled,' Well. It'll be better for you.' The only think I could think of.
Durden was abandoning me. He said he wouldn't. He'd never. And now? I couldn't think about it,' I have to get to school.'
'Imogen. Please. It's not for another half hour.' His tone was defiant. Almost like he actually cared.
'No. This is hard, Durden. I have to go. Without saying
anything. Less to remember.' I glanced at him, I remember, kneeling down, 8
and cupping his face. I gave him what I thought to be a warming smile, and let go. Forever.
I had run. As fast as I could. As fast as I could. My feet barely even touching the pavement. Until I reached my house, where I noticed my mom's car was gone, to work, and I'd be home alone. Which was perfect, perfect so I could go upstairs, and pack a light bag. In my bag, there was only toothpaste, a change of underwear, another shirt, a brush, and a notebook with a pen. That's it. I couldn't be hauling a lot of things around if I were to run to...Well. To where ever I bothered.
I creped out of the house, even though no one was home. But I felt like it was necessary to sneak. To be silent. To be invisible. But the latter was a given. It was normal. And it was easy. So I ran, to the highway to be exact. To Dover? It didn't matter. Durden has disappeared, and I was going to too.
These were the way something felt. And it's not that I didn't realize they happened, but I didn't want it too. Because it really did hurt. No matter how much I knew those feelings should've disintegrated, but I knew everyday they'd grow stronger. Yearning for his return. And they'd be so strong. So strong. They're so strong sometimes, I can't even, I can't even breath. The length of time I haven't let things affect me? Way too
long to even remember. But somehow this was different. Want to know 9
why? Because Durden cared. They also cared, but I chose him because I thought it might work. It didn't. It definitely didn't. I know, I know, I know. 'Now pull all those cares from your heart and mind. So nothing's attached anymore.' That's what I told myself, and what I tried to do.
I ran so fast, so fast I was flying. Or it felt like it. Everything was blurry, the florescent street lights were so bright. One side of me regretted leaving just like that, but if it wasn't for my bolting, my energy, I wouldn't have been flying off the tar. Dover, at a run, took half an hour to get to, and as soon as I caught a glimpse of the 'Welcome to Dover' sign, I was surprised I ran for so long. My legs didn't feel like jelly, like they should've. But they'd be sore in the morning, I was sure of that.
I walked slowly past the lights, and the workers in their cars, heading to their jobs. Their jobs that were high paid or low paid, but they were content enough to stick with them. All the signs, and houses and convience stores were melting into each other. Making my sight a palette of colors, one that artists used to paint, and ran their fingers over when all the paint was dry, proudly staring at the mess. But I wasn't proud of my eye sight, because trees fell into houses, and the sidewalk floated. Thankfully, no matter how melted the town was, I could still read the signs. Because I had the words memorized.
My arms were contracting spaztically. I couldn't tell if it
was from the bitter coldness, the nervousness I felt, or because of recent 10
events. Or a combination of all. But it was nothing I wanted to pay too much attention to. I needed to focus on walking. Walking without falling, walking straight, to somewhere else, other then Rollinsford. To the tip top of Maine.
And as awkward as it sounded, I wasn't scared to run off, away. Normally people would be frightened, only because around these times, there were freaks and murders just lingering on the streets. But I just wasn't worried about it. Maybe it's because I'm young, and think I'm invincible. I don't know, but I didn't care, and I still don't.
I walked with my bag slung around my shoulder, half heartedly throwing myself into bushes or behind large signs to avoid the police officers sights. Thought I doubted my mom was home yet, so she wouldn't bother looking for me. And my school didn't know my mom's work number. So I had smiled, and walked with more of a strut, with much confidence in running away.
I was on the highway much later, and it was high afternoon, fading into dusk. No idea what time it was, but rush hour had been and gone. So I was bound to need to start diving into bushes, and weaving through the woods. I was, am, heading towards Augusta. To my uncle. I knew things would be better with him, as opposed to living with my mom, in such a horrible, small town. But I had had so long to go. Keeping my
eyes opening for police cruisers, I stretched out and trotted to the middle of 11
the high way, the space between. The place that was the whole length of forever, covered thick with trees and bushes. A wonderful place to nap, at the least.
I pulled my hood up over my face. Putting the image of my room in my head, giving myself the idea that I was still in my room, even if it was colder, scarier, and much more uncomfortable. I flung my bag to the ground and groped around, so I could lay on it. Huddling around it, even as my head rest on it. And I feel into a 'state'.
When I woke up, few cars went by, and if there was even one, they snailed along the road. The sun was fairly low still, but it shed some light onto the open route 95. I assumed it was maybe 7, but how would I know? I was stupid enough to not even pack a watch. I mentally berated myself as I picked myself off the ground. My next goal was Wells. I'd never been there in my life, never. But I guess I had to, if I wanted to sleep in an enclosed city that night.
I glanced around the deserted road, making sure that there were no cop cars, and reluctantly kept my hood up. Thanking God for the cool breeze, and not giving me difficult conditions to work under. 'Thanks, God. Even if I never believed in you. Thanks.' Is what I thought to myself.
I got tired along the way. And took several breaks, only stopping in 12
the woods when I was positive I'd be okay. Running away had aggravated me at that point. Because during the whole trip, I got so unbearably paranoid. Each step I took, the breeze got colder, and more bitter. I thought it reminded me of me. I was bitter, and cold wind, blowing where ever I took myself, not knowing where I'd end up exactly, but knowing I had a destination to get too.
I don't know how long it took me to walk. But I remember dashing into the woods several times, only on false alarms. It worried me that I hadn't seen any cops yet. And none searching for me. It gave me the impression my mother really truly didn't care. Honestly though, I was glad I discovered that.
I arrived at Wells, late in the night. Having no idea what to do with myself, I looked for a park. Never stopping. The lights on the street were dim, and I realized my eye sight was getting better. I had no idea what had happened yesterday, but I was glad everything wasn't melting together, I was glad that I didn't feel like I was on acid anymore. The houses in Wells were of the rich and snobby, all of them different, and all of them elaborate. Dream houses. I gave them all the finger, when I got jealous of the size, or the excessive lawn designs.
Even the park was beautiful. The trees were given shapes. Dogs, families, swans. I turned towards a bench, which looked like fancy
expensive mahogany, the steel wire that laced it had been twirled along the 13
woods, gorgeously. And I rolled my eyes. Rolled my eyes at the idiocy, rolled my eyes at wasted money, rolled my eyes at were I was. But I smiled. Somehow I smiled. I think it was because a dog trotted across the lawn, took a shit, and walked away. Completely disrespecting two rules of the park, which had been on a sign, that I glanced at on my way in. 'No dogs in the park without an owner.' and 'Make sure to pick up any remains of your animal.' I was bitter, and I was happy.
I laughed at the dog, and leaned back across the bench, stretching out, and noticed how comfortable it was, especially compared to the hard floor.
'Hopefully I'll wake up before dawn.' I mumbled before I fell asleep.
Luckily I woke up early enough. As usual though, there were a few early birds. And they were walking their dogs, in such an elegant fashion I got aggravated. One or two of them gave me disgusted looks, and all I did was smile. I smiled. Like everything in the world was perfect, and peaceful, and happy. I smiled like I cared about their days, like I was telling them they were wonderful, and that they should be happy too. But only to annoy them, because they and I both knew that smile was a lie.
I laid there on the bench for several minutes. Preparing myself. I 14
knew I had such a long day ahead of me. Miles and miles to walk. To walk to Kennebunk. I knew my stuff, I'd just never been to these places. I had the way memorized because I demanded my mother to drive me up to Augusta several times a month, because my uncles was the greatest thing in my life, next to Durden.
And again, I got up and slammed my fist into my head, thinking of Durden was silly. And I was an idiot. I slept with my bag wrapped around my shoulders. I knew I probably needed to change. I knew I probably smelt bad. I knew a lot of things, but they weren't really helpful walking through Wells, and up to Kennebunk. So I told myself to forget everything I knew and just do what I had too.
Exiting the town of Wells, and entering on the highway, I stared at the clouds and guessed the shapes of them. Making sure to keep myself in a forward motion, and not walking disastrously off the edge of the road. Same scenery, same scenery, same scenery. Nothing was changing, route 95 was impossibly repetitive. So I kept my head up, I kept it up in the clouds, staring at them. Only bending my neck down for a few minutes, to get rid of the kink. There was a dog, a moon, an elephant. Even a flower, and...And some rainclouds. I sighed loudly, and prayed I'd make it to Kennebunk before the rain began pounding down.
Just my luck. As I spotted the sign stating,”Kennebunk Shelter” the 15
tears of the sky poured over my head, and on my body. Giving me a much needed shower, for that I was thankful. But otherwise, I was wet, and miserable. Sauntering into the rundown building, I glanced around. I never realized there were so many homeless people, or runaways. At this I smiled, and finally didn't feel alone.
The lady at the desk, near the entrance asked me name. To be safe, I gave her a fake one. Fayt Branconnier. Using Durden's last name subconsciously. She took me to a cot on the floor, in another room, after writing my name down, and a few other things. She also handed me a bag, that had 'necessity items', her words; not mine, and another bag with food in it. I was grateful. I hadn't eaten for two days.
The whole while I slept there, I only thought about my dad once. Reminiscing times of him. The time I fell out off the swing, the time when the ghosts flew around me, the time when I hit the ground, and my front teeth fell out. I fell asleep that night. Without tentacles, without my dad's head, which I hadn't even seen in a few days, and without thinking of my dad's body, laying on top of my cloths in my closet. My dad's body, flung carelessly, arms bent behind him and across his chest, legs spread out in an awkward position. My dad's body, bloody, and mutilated. My dad's body, silent, and never to breath another word to me again.
I heard voices, urgent ones. The secretary saying,' We only had one 16
person check in last night, and no one with the name Imogen.'
'Ah you sho-uh, laydeh?' The man speaking had a dead voice, and a thick accent.
'Positive, officer. It'd be a name I'd remember.' Officer, shit. They were looking for me after all.
'Wull. Tell meh 'bout this laydeh that checked in, oi?' I wish I had known what his accent was, actually, because it was strange.
'She had this porcelain skin. Quite the broken girl, though. She had a jacket on, with a hood. Which made it impossible to see her hair, or face that well, because it was up. Oh, and her name, her name was Fayt Branconnier. Quite different from Imogen, if you ask me.'
'Dayum, dun't sound like hur. Wull, give us a call down tha station if su'um comes up, aye? And let 'er know 'er mom misses the heck outta hur. She was all done wound up 'bout Imuhguyn.' The man slaughtered my name, but regardless I knew I had gotten away. For once in my life, gotten away.
I was out of that shelter as fast as I could get. Not running. But
rushing. Because even though I hadn't gotten caught, I didn't want to risk 17
another day. I didn't want to risk another chance of being sent back home, being sent to court for being a reported runaway. I wouldn't ever be able to deal with that kind of structure and enclosure.
I whipped out a map, that the secretary had given me. Making sure I was on the right track, continuing onto route 95. I could only hope Scarborough would be as nice as Kennebunk. Not a horrible town, but not a snobby over-done one either. It didn't sound like either. It sounded like this town that was covered and dwelled in the past. Not a place of my liking to be honest. I scanned the map, hoping that maybe there was a town closer to it, that sounded nicer. But there wasn't, Portland was over 20 miles away from Scarborough, so I was stuck with it.
The highway, of course, still had the trees surrounding it. The same evergreen trees, that were always found in Maine, and New Hampshire. But when passing between two towns, there were houses and interesting things to watch. Young children running in their lawn, with their parents washing there cars, and watching them. Pre-teens saying,'F the world.' and thinking they were bad. Then there were kids my age, driving around in cars, being wild, and happy, because school had just let out minutes before. Arundel and Biddeford? Two perfect suburban towns. I hated them. I hated them, but let them be of interest to me, and give me entertainment.
I had walked over 50 miles, and still didn't feel tired. It was because
I was getting used to it. Getting used to the long walks with small 5 minute 18
breaks to pee, or nibble at the food and water the shelter in Kennebunk had given me. It wasn't even tiring anymore, I thought I was invincible.
I was on the Maine Turn Pike, which was in the middle of Scarborough. Having no idea which way to go, I took a turn down Broadturn Rd.
My days were uninteresting and long, nothing I need to really explain. But my nights, always got interesting. Right when the sun fell down, scrapping it's knee, and giving the sky a warm crimson color. Which is when I went to lay down on a golf course, in a mass of ornamental grass. I had to admit, it was comfier then the bench in Rich Town, but worse then a bed. That's a given.
I knew I could sleep well, since I hadn't had any dreams of my dad, in such several days. So I carefully laid my bag out, and wrapped myself in my hoodie, and in the reeds of ornamental grass. The lights of the town were especially dimmer out on the golf course. But the breeze was stronger, because it was near a river. I watching the stars twinkle brighter then I ever would, and watched the smear together to make a canvas spread with dark blue and yellowy-white. Letting them lull me to sleep.
19
He came towards me. His head rolling beside him, and one arm dangling off his shoulder. His clothes were torn, leaving it easy to see the stabs, and gashes running along his stomach, chest, and legs. His legs were bent, permanently. And he came at me full force. Full force, but floated right through, giving me a jolt of cold, acrimonious air. I turned around to watch him bolt, bolt at what? I squinted, and it was Durden. Durden was being brutally murdered by my father. And I couldn't watch it anymore. My eyes squinched shut, hard, hard hard. Hoping I wouldn't have to see another moment, another second, or hear another scream, another scrape, another crack.
Another crack is just what I heard, and my hand was throbbing. I opened my eyes, glancing around me. Still in the grass, still at the golf course. Before I even began to analyze my dream, I needed to look at my hand. My hand that had begun to pulsate while...while my dream was taking place. It was red, and slightly swollen. I groped around me to see if I scratched it on something, or bashed it against something during my dreadful sleep. I lifted up a putter, it was long, and steel. And looked like if something slammed into it hard enough, it would hurt. I glanced at my hand, and the putter, and put two and two together. 'Why the hell was this just laying in the grass?' is what I said to myself.
I stopped, and recalled the dream that I had just had. I didn't even know where to go about dissecting the dream. But I knew, from the
moment I saw Durden there, that I was never going to be able to forget 20
about him. My subconscious wouldn't let me. And it wouldn't let me forget about my dad either. I wasn't sure if it was telling me to forgive him, because he'd kill a boy that hurt me, or to hate him, because he killed a boy I loved. That's where I stopped myself, got up, and walked straight out of the golf course, going onto Gold star Memorial Highway and onto route 95, again.
The tedious walk to South Freeport, also held no interest. Until I got to the out-skirts of the town. The place where I wasn't regionally in Freeport but I was because the town was starting. Walking along there, making my ho-hum way to somewhere pleasant to sleep later, or along to another town, a man who came outside to get his mail, stopped and evaluated me. Looking me up and down.
He said to me,'You look like you need some food in you're belly, miss. Scoot your butt along into the house and sit yourself down at the table. I'll get you a nice grilled cheese sandwich, and give you some money to get some solid food for later.'
And that was it. He had grandpa-like smile, and wore a plain white t-shirt. He scuttled around the kitchen, cooking me up a sandwich, and I not complaining in the least. My stomach was waging a war, growling, and attacking my insides. It smelt so good, and even though I felt horrible about imposing on a sweet man like that, my deficiency overtook my
judgment. 21
'You can call me James, by the way.' The old man had told me as he hummed a tune, flipping over the bread on the pan.
I smiled at the back of his head and said simply,'Thank you, James.'
He turned around, plate and small 99 cent bag of chips in his hands, and winked at me while he placed the plate in from of me,'Never a problem, little miss.'
I thought for a moment that I should stay with him. But I'd feel extremely unwelcome anyway. So I let this be enough. I ate the food in 40 seconds flat, grinning at James when I was done. He told me I could stay as long as I wanted, but I knew I couldn't stay, I'd be a burden really. So I told him I had a destination. James smiled at me heartedly, and I felt totally connected with this man. He grasped my hand firmly, and I felt how soft they were. How spiny and veiny his hands felt. When I released, there were 30$ in my hand, and I shook my head. But he put a finger to his lips, implying,'Sh.'
So I replied with a hug, and a whispered,'I won't forget you, James, thanks so much.' And left, happily. I wanted to be like him when I was old. Even if I was alone, to be happy, and grateful, and helpful. I wanted to be
like that, exactly. 22
I ended up in Topsham the next day. It was early evening by the time I made it there. I was keeping an eye out for a corner store, to get some food. For safe keeping of course. Food that will be able to stay in my bag for several days, and not look/taste disgusting afterwards.
There was a Cumberland Farms that stood silently in the middle of the town. It was empty except for one car, which I assumed belonged to the person who was working currently. The town was a ghost town, nearly. And houses were spaced far, far apart. I was in the boonies for sure.
I entered the store uneasily. Not wanting to use up all my money, I thought of an alternative. Shoving copious amounts of chips and water into my bag. It wasn't a bright idea, it wasn't the smartest thing to do. But it works all the time, right? So many kids got away with stealing, especially useless items like food and water. But I wasn't sure if I could be one of those kids. But I knew I could try, just so those 30$ James gave me could last me. I carefully walked up and down the isles, debating whether I should do it or not.
I looked around cautiously, and opened my bag just enough. I grabbed a small bag of chips, preparing to shove it in my bag. I felt my pulse increase greatly, and I held my breath. I didn't want to get caught. Then I'd be arrested for counts of runaway and theft. I blinked and my
heart felt like it was going to burst. 23
Then the door behind me swung open, and I jumped. I was scared like hell and exclaimed,' I think I'm going to buy these chips!'
Winning a strange look from the man that walked in, and the cashier, I quickly grabbed several bags of chips, and 5 bottles of water. I shut my eyes for a few quick seconds when I placed my items on the counter. And I just breathed. Breathed. I would've been screwed if I got caught. But I could have done it, is what I told myself. I said,'I could have done it. I was so damn close. So, damn, close.' The cashier rung me up to about 12$, which I handed over to her, exactly, and left shoving everything in my bag.
I pulled off my hood for the first time in days, and ran my fingers through my blonde, purple streaked hair. It was greasy, and revolting, so I pulled the hood up again. I was shaking all over, thank you ever so intelligent idea. Next stop, Bowdainham. Those were the true freakin' boonies. There was only several houses along the road. And the rest was empty fields, and farms.
I sang a song that appeared in my head, out of no where,' There's a man, on the way to church, avoids the eyes of a dying soul, turns his head. There's a child on the side of the road, to Jericho, who needs a friend. Oh, we all could do a little more loving wouldn't you agree? So come on love,
give your love away with me. Hold nothing back, like you have nothing to 24
lose. Love with all you have, like you don't have a clue, what it's costing you. If loving were easy it wouldn't be love...'
Another voice joined me, a deeper voice, a man's voice, or a boy's,' If loving were easy it wouldn't be love. If loving were easy it wouldn't be love. Oh, oh, you give your love away.'
I turned around to see a a smiling face, shaggy hair encircling it, and attached to a tattered body. Just like me. We had both stopped singing, both stopped walking, to look at each other. He stared into my eyes, and then I watched as they glanced at my cloths, and the strands of hair that freed themselves from under my hood. He still smiled. Then he put out a dirty hand.
'I'm Mickey.' His voice had a cocky tone to it. And when I didn't grasp his hand and tell him my name he let his hand drop. 'I thought you were a runaway like me.' Then he shrugged and started walking ahead of me,'I guess I was wrong. Sorry, man.'
I jogged a little to catch up to him, never once looking at his face, but for once, keeping my eyes on my sneakers, and the tar, and the way one leg kept disappearing behind me, then reappearing. 'Runaway would be the correct term. And Imogen would be the correct name.' I gave a sideways
glance and saw him smile again. 25
'Cool, bro. Where you headed too?' Still cocky, but this time, comfortable, and inviting. Durden.
I told him where I was heading, but chose not to give him details, or tell him where I came from, or even my last name. I wanted to keep those things secret, so I had something to hold onto, and hide. He respected that. So I respected him.
We walked along the long road, both planning to stop at Gardenia next. We talked about nothing, we talked about everything. He was the first person I could really relate to in years. The first person I could really talk to in days. And I didn't feel so lonely, and I didn't feel so lost. I felt this strange secureness around him, and hoped that maybe he'd be heading to Augusta too, so maybe, maybe I'd have a friend there. A friend I could really talk to. Besides my uncle, because somehow, because always, that never counted.
Gardenia consisted of three cul-de-sacs, with maybe 30 houses in total. I wouldn't call that a town at all. But it was, for some reason. Mickey and I agreed to sleep in the same place. Just so we could stick together in the morning, and it'd be easy to keep warm. Mickey was smart enough to have pack a small blanket with him, which could easy cover both of us if we huddled close enough together. It was getting colder out, so it was
necessary. 26
We luckily found an abandoned house, which we knew for sure was abandoned because people had already smashed windows, vandalized, and all in all ruined the house as a whole. But it wouldn't be horrible to stay in. Especially since there was an old, but more-comfortable-then-the-floor mattress. Which we laid ourselves out on, awkwardly shifting as to be close enough together that the blanket could stretch across both of us, to be warm.
I felt his breath on my back, and slightly on my neck. It was warm. His breathing pattern, I followed it. Trying to breath in when he did, and breathe out when he did. Mickey was already asleep, and I didn't fall asleep until I was sure bad thoughts had been swept away. Breathing in, breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out, breathing out, breathing in. And out, and in. And asleep.
I woke up to Mickey pushing my shoulder. 'Get up, man. Now!' I slowly opened my eyes. Wondering why he was up now, and why I needed to get up too,'Man! The cops are coming to check the place out. I saw them cruisers park across the street. You have to get out, bro!'
My mouth had dropped open, and I dashed to grab my bag and strapped it over my shoulders.
'Take my blanket. Kid, just take it.' He didn't sounded nervous, 27
though.'I'm going to make a run for it across the street. You're going to sneak out the back, so you can get away.'
'Mickey...' I didn't know what to say. He was going to risk getting caught, so I could leave. I didn't understand it.
'Imogen, get out now! Before they come in, please.' It was the first time he used my name, instead of 'Man', 'Bro', or 'Kid', so I knew this was urgent. I hurriedly folded the blanket up, around my arms. Dashing out the back door into the woods whisper words of thanks and goodbye to an unhearing Mickey.
In the woods I was ready to give up. I regretted leaving Mickey like that, but he was so much stronger then me. So ready, so able to give up something, for some else. Someone he barely knew. Which was something, I guess I really didn't understand.
I knew I didn't understand it, because I wasn't ready to give up Durden, even though I knew his life would be better with his father. I was selfish. So completely selfish.'Only now you realize this. 5 days later. 5. And only then do you recognize your mistake.'
From then on I was ready to give up, but I knew I couldn't because then what Mickey did for me would all go to waste. And I wouldn't let that
happen. From Gardenia, I got here. In this Highland Park. In Augusta.” 28
The broken girl let out a shakey laugh, which cracked. She was clearly ready to cry, but wouldn't give in. The broody stranger looked hurt. And he reached up to pat her shoulder.
“Imogen. I think you deserve to make it to your uncle's house.” The man stood up, gently grabbing the broken girl's arm, pulling her up with him.
“You're not going to turn me in?” Her eyes bright, wild, happy.
“No, Imogen, I'm not.” The broody stranger rummaged through his pocket, and extracting a wallet, with a police badge on it, stating he was part of the state police. And that his name was Jordan Koubou.
Imogen looked up at him questioningly,”I'm sorry...Officer Koubou. But I don't understand.” Her words stumbled over 'Officer'. But she never once stopped looking the broody man straight in the eyes.
“You're mother causes you troubles. Your uncle seems like the person you need to live with in this situation. And that I can explain to the judge if it comes to it.” Officer Koubou shoved the wallet and badge back in his pocket, but taking out a pair of keys from his trench coat pocket,”You know where he lives, Imogen. So tell me and I'll take you
there.” 29
The keys went to his car. His car beeped, and it was perfect. It was nice. He was nice. And Imogen was finally allowed something she wants. Allowed to live with her uncle. Who by the time she got there was worrying himself sick over her M.I.A. But happily obliged to take her in as long as she called her mother, sometime soon.
Imogen thanked the Officer, planning on calling Durden, to apologize in the least, and wish him luck, truthfully.
Yeah, my epic, I actually like it. And I'm surprised at how well written it is. Or, well...I think it's well written, haha.
“Oh my. What do we have here?” The stranger muttered not to the girl, or to himself. Just merely thinking aloud.
Wide eyes quickly turned up to the stranger crouching next to her. The hood once covering her hair, falling back, letting soft purple and blond wisps of hair flock around in the wind. Glancing at the dirt, and at the man, and once again at the dirt. The girl straightened herself out. Sitting up. She stared carefully at the man in front of her. Choosing her words ever so carefully.
“Imogen.” Was the only word to leave her lips. And as they
had been staring continuously the man obviously forgot his own recent 2
words. Giving the girl a puzzled look,” Imogen is what you have.”
“It also appears I have a runaway.” The man sat down, no longer crouching. He watched as the girl said nothing, but looked as the girl’s words and feelings poured into her blue eyes, that never left his own. He wouldn’t turn her in. Yet,” You refuse to give up. Tell me what that’s about. Tell me what you’re about.”
It wasn’t an option, it was a command and Imogen felt as though all she could do was tell him her story. No matter how hurtful, no matter how hard she tried to forget. It was still fresh in her mind.
She breathed once, and deeply,” From the very beginning?” The man nodded, and Imogen closed her eyes. To remember.
“It’s long… His cheeks. The pinkness in his cheeks had just begun to fade. The blues in his eyes? They had only just begun to brighten. I felt him warm up beneath me. And I felt safe knowing that I was capable of laying on his chest. Shirt. Underwear. And nothing but breathing. And laying. And the occasional touch, just to be reminded that we were there for each other. It made things seem ever so pleasant. Made me forget that there were people in the world. Besides us. And places, besides that room.
I got the feeling that we were in a pretty perfect house. One that was lined
in rows and rows of other houses, filled with perfect families. Because that’s the way things should be. That’s the way things are. I didn’t want to
be lined in rows of the same person, same house, same corner, same twists 3
and turns. Every house has its own secrets to keep. One that proves, only to themselves that they are different. And if that’s released then they are pushed farther and farther from society. And who wants that?
I don’t…I didn’t want to be in a pretty perfect house. I didn’t want to be pushed away from everyone in the neighbor hood. I was already the strange girl down the street. Why be stranger? To the people of my cul-de-sac, strange is equalized to running every morning, disrespecting my mother, who never spoke to me unless it involved asking me why I killed dad, why I didn’t get good grades, why I was never home when it was possible. Why, why, why. Everyone asks me that. And do they, did they, stop to think, that maybe, just maybe. I don’t know? I think that proves I’m at least normal. To some extent. As opposed to prim and proper, and someone who hides themselves in a shell, never planning to leave it, even when they realized it’s been outgrown…
He noticed that I’d become tense. And I felt his hand rest on my stomach, all emotions dispersing into his hand, out my belly button. Maybe not literally, of course, but it felt like it. Because I leaned into his hand, just a little, and I had put my own on top of his. Ready to fall back into the quiet dark. No matter how restless my thoughts were. His body heat, his hand, was like a drug. It took me and pulled me in. and there was never a thing I could do about it. But it didn’t matter, because I’d never let him go.
4
'I'll never let you go.' I muttered beneath my breath. He smiled at me, and squeezed my hand, resting atop his. He kissed my forehead, pulling himself out of the bed. The cold air of the house, rushing in. Raising the hairs on my arms. My legs falling out from under the covers, his voice. Telling me I needed to let go. Only until tomorrow. But never for forever. He was still clutching my hand as he stood in front of me. My legs swaying off the edge of the bed.
He released my hand, and bent over. Eye level to me. 'When I leave, go to bed Imogen, aye?' And he grinned. My eyes smiling back at him. And I let go. Until the next day. I watched him exit my room. Hair messy, untucking behind his ear as he swayed his head to the motion of his steps. His fists clenched shut preparing himself for his grandparents at home. And I felt a tug at my heart, hoping, like I did every night, that he wouldn't be gone tomorrow.
I pushed myself up from the bed, to shut my door, as he walked down the stairs. As of right then, the light spilled from the hallway, but i twisted the knob and closed it, secluding me in the dark of my room. My feet glided across the wooden floors, quickly lifting my feet up once I got to the bed. I resumed my place. Feeling empty, open, without him, without Durden. I was under the blankets, and my closet caught my eye. The door was open and I saw the tentacles stretching out, contorting around the room. And I saw something roll to the edge of my bed on the
floor. Squeezing my eyes shut, willing myself not to look at what I knew 5
was already there. But I couldn't help it, glancing over quickly, my dad's head lay on the floor, it's eyes floating out, and up to me. I jumped out to the light switch, keeping my eyes off my dad's dismembered head. The light switch on, flooding the room with color, eliminating shadows.
The child in me still thrived. Only thanks to my dad. My dad that killed himself. And it's all my fault, my mom especially believes so. It's his fault. I can't sleep in the dark even at the age of 15. It's his fault mother hates me. Because he was in my close, my closet. And just past the tentacles, I know he's still there. And I know he'll come out at any second. I loved my dad, but I didn't love his death. That's what I've been afraid of.
At night I can see his eyes roll out of his head, to stare at me, just below my bed. Not matter how frightened I am, I can't look away. Which is when I see a hand creep out. I just wait for the face. The eyeless face. And it doesn't come because it can't yet.
I shut my eyes, knowing that I couldn't fall asleep but drift into a 'state'. My eye lids changed from a light shade of pink, to black in a matter of seconds.
The next morning I got up, out of bed at six, got myself dressed, and left the house before saying good morning to my mother.
Durden said he'd meet me up the street. We had an hour before school 6
started and I hoped to god, he'd be there. And he wouldn't leave me waiting. I leaned against the stop sign, the coldness of the pole prickling my back, but giving me feeling. And as soon as I saw Durden around the corner, his hair a jumbled mess, as always, I smiled. Pushing myself off the sign, straightening myself out.
But he didn't stop. he walked past me, grabbing my hand, and telling me he needed to talk to me. All the while we walked, we didn't say a word. We were silent and understood that silence. We occasionally squeezed on each other's hands reassuringly.
Durden pulled me along through the woods a few minutes away from my house. I never went in them, and I wondered why we were going. He dropped my hand so he could break off branches and push prickers out of our way. I got nervous. What if we got lost? We couldn't. That thought crossed my mind, and diminished when Durden pulled me into an open field thick with long grass resembling the hairs on a giant man's back. In the center of the field was an ever so tiny stone house. It was shackle and falling apart. Inside there were piles of stones that I assumed used to be on the house It was wonderful. Just the castle I was looking for. And somehow I understood how special it was to Durden. It was his place. Where the breeze felt amazing, and you felt infinite.
I turned to him, feeling his eyes on me, and I remembered
he wanted to talk. So I looked at him questioningly, asking,' What is it 7
Durden?' As quiet, as soft, as I could.
His eyes turned soft and he sat down on the ashy floor slowly,' Imogen. I"m finally getting away from my grandparents.' He smiled, genuinely happy, and I smiled too. Feeling that happiness. 'I'm moving in with my dad.'
'That's wonderful!' I had exclaimed bending over and hugging him. But he pulled away. His smile had faltered, fallen, and shook his head. His auburn hair covering up his teary eyes.
'My dad lives in Providence, Imogen. That's over seven hours away.'
I leaned against the broken wall behind me, scraping at the dusty bricks with my fingernails. I exhaled,' Well. It'll be better for you.' The only think I could think of.
Durden was abandoning me. He said he wouldn't. He'd never. And now? I couldn't think about it,' I have to get to school.'
'Imogen. Please. It's not for another half hour.' His tone was defiant. Almost like he actually cared.
'No. This is hard, Durden. I have to go. Without saying
anything. Less to remember.' I glanced at him, I remember, kneeling down, 8
and cupping his face. I gave him what I thought to be a warming smile, and let go. Forever.
I had run. As fast as I could. As fast as I could. My feet barely even touching the pavement. Until I reached my house, where I noticed my mom's car was gone, to work, and I'd be home alone. Which was perfect, perfect so I could go upstairs, and pack a light bag. In my bag, there was only toothpaste, a change of underwear, another shirt, a brush, and a notebook with a pen. That's it. I couldn't be hauling a lot of things around if I were to run to...Well. To where ever I bothered.
I creped out of the house, even though no one was home. But I felt like it was necessary to sneak. To be silent. To be invisible. But the latter was a given. It was normal. And it was easy. So I ran, to the highway to be exact. To Dover? It didn't matter. Durden has disappeared, and I was going to too.
These were the way something felt. And it's not that I didn't realize they happened, but I didn't want it too. Because it really did hurt. No matter how much I knew those feelings should've disintegrated, but I knew everyday they'd grow stronger. Yearning for his return. And they'd be so strong. So strong. They're so strong sometimes, I can't even, I can't even breath. The length of time I haven't let things affect me? Way too
long to even remember. But somehow this was different. Want to know 9
why? Because Durden cared. They also cared, but I chose him because I thought it might work. It didn't. It definitely didn't. I know, I know, I know. 'Now pull all those cares from your heart and mind. So nothing's attached anymore.' That's what I told myself, and what I tried to do.
I ran so fast, so fast I was flying. Or it felt like it. Everything was blurry, the florescent street lights were so bright. One side of me regretted leaving just like that, but if it wasn't for my bolting, my energy, I wouldn't have been flying off the tar. Dover, at a run, took half an hour to get to, and as soon as I caught a glimpse of the 'Welcome to Dover' sign, I was surprised I ran for so long. My legs didn't feel like jelly, like they should've. But they'd be sore in the morning, I was sure of that.
I walked slowly past the lights, and the workers in their cars, heading to their jobs. Their jobs that were high paid or low paid, but they were content enough to stick with them. All the signs, and houses and convience stores were melting into each other. Making my sight a palette of colors, one that artists used to paint, and ran their fingers over when all the paint was dry, proudly staring at the mess. But I wasn't proud of my eye sight, because trees fell into houses, and the sidewalk floated. Thankfully, no matter how melted the town was, I could still read the signs. Because I had the words memorized.
My arms were contracting spaztically. I couldn't tell if it
was from the bitter coldness, the nervousness I felt, or because of recent 10
events. Or a combination of all. But it was nothing I wanted to pay too much attention to. I needed to focus on walking. Walking without falling, walking straight, to somewhere else, other then Rollinsford. To the tip top of Maine.
And as awkward as it sounded, I wasn't scared to run off, away. Normally people would be frightened, only because around these times, there were freaks and murders just lingering on the streets. But I just wasn't worried about it. Maybe it's because I'm young, and think I'm invincible. I don't know, but I didn't care, and I still don't.
I walked with my bag slung around my shoulder, half heartedly throwing myself into bushes or behind large signs to avoid the police officers sights. Thought I doubted my mom was home yet, so she wouldn't bother looking for me. And my school didn't know my mom's work number. So I had smiled, and walked with more of a strut, with much confidence in running away.
I was on the highway much later, and it was high afternoon, fading into dusk. No idea what time it was, but rush hour had been and gone. So I was bound to need to start diving into bushes, and weaving through the woods. I was, am, heading towards Augusta. To my uncle. I knew things would be better with him, as opposed to living with my mom, in such a horrible, small town. But I had had so long to go. Keeping my
eyes opening for police cruisers, I stretched out and trotted to the middle of 11
the high way, the space between. The place that was the whole length of forever, covered thick with trees and bushes. A wonderful place to nap, at the least.
I pulled my hood up over my face. Putting the image of my room in my head, giving myself the idea that I was still in my room, even if it was colder, scarier, and much more uncomfortable. I flung my bag to the ground and groped around, so I could lay on it. Huddling around it, even as my head rest on it. And I feel into a 'state'.
When I woke up, few cars went by, and if there was even one, they snailed along the road. The sun was fairly low still, but it shed some light onto the open route 95. I assumed it was maybe 7, but how would I know? I was stupid enough to not even pack a watch. I mentally berated myself as I picked myself off the ground. My next goal was Wells. I'd never been there in my life, never. But I guess I had to, if I wanted to sleep in an enclosed city that night.
I glanced around the deserted road, making sure that there were no cop cars, and reluctantly kept my hood up. Thanking God for the cool breeze, and not giving me difficult conditions to work under. 'Thanks, God. Even if I never believed in you. Thanks.' Is what I thought to myself.
I got tired along the way. And took several breaks, only stopping in 12
the woods when I was positive I'd be okay. Running away had aggravated me at that point. Because during the whole trip, I got so unbearably paranoid. Each step I took, the breeze got colder, and more bitter. I thought it reminded me of me. I was bitter, and cold wind, blowing where ever I took myself, not knowing where I'd end up exactly, but knowing I had a destination to get too.
I don't know how long it took me to walk. But I remember dashing into the woods several times, only on false alarms. It worried me that I hadn't seen any cops yet. And none searching for me. It gave me the impression my mother really truly didn't care. Honestly though, I was glad I discovered that.
I arrived at Wells, late in the night. Having no idea what to do with myself, I looked for a park. Never stopping. The lights on the street were dim, and I realized my eye sight was getting better. I had no idea what had happened yesterday, but I was glad everything wasn't melting together, I was glad that I didn't feel like I was on acid anymore. The houses in Wells were of the rich and snobby, all of them different, and all of them elaborate. Dream houses. I gave them all the finger, when I got jealous of the size, or the excessive lawn designs.
Even the park was beautiful. The trees were given shapes. Dogs, families, swans. I turned towards a bench, which looked like fancy
expensive mahogany, the steel wire that laced it had been twirled along the 13
woods, gorgeously. And I rolled my eyes. Rolled my eyes at the idiocy, rolled my eyes at wasted money, rolled my eyes at were I was. But I smiled. Somehow I smiled. I think it was because a dog trotted across the lawn, took a shit, and walked away. Completely disrespecting two rules of the park, which had been on a sign, that I glanced at on my way in. 'No dogs in the park without an owner.' and 'Make sure to pick up any remains of your animal.' I was bitter, and I was happy.
I laughed at the dog, and leaned back across the bench, stretching out, and noticed how comfortable it was, especially compared to the hard floor.
'Hopefully I'll wake up before dawn.' I mumbled before I fell asleep.
Luckily I woke up early enough. As usual though, there were a few early birds. And they were walking their dogs, in such an elegant fashion I got aggravated. One or two of them gave me disgusted looks, and all I did was smile. I smiled. Like everything in the world was perfect, and peaceful, and happy. I smiled like I cared about their days, like I was telling them they were wonderful, and that they should be happy too. But only to annoy them, because they and I both knew that smile was a lie.
I laid there on the bench for several minutes. Preparing myself. I 14
knew I had such a long day ahead of me. Miles and miles to walk. To walk to Kennebunk. I knew my stuff, I'd just never been to these places. I had the way memorized because I demanded my mother to drive me up to Augusta several times a month, because my uncles was the greatest thing in my life, next to Durden.
And again, I got up and slammed my fist into my head, thinking of Durden was silly. And I was an idiot. I slept with my bag wrapped around my shoulders. I knew I probably needed to change. I knew I probably smelt bad. I knew a lot of things, but they weren't really helpful walking through Wells, and up to Kennebunk. So I told myself to forget everything I knew and just do what I had too.
Exiting the town of Wells, and entering on the highway, I stared at the clouds and guessed the shapes of them. Making sure to keep myself in a forward motion, and not walking disastrously off the edge of the road. Same scenery, same scenery, same scenery. Nothing was changing, route 95 was impossibly repetitive. So I kept my head up, I kept it up in the clouds, staring at them. Only bending my neck down for a few minutes, to get rid of the kink. There was a dog, a moon, an elephant. Even a flower, and...And some rainclouds. I sighed loudly, and prayed I'd make it to Kennebunk before the rain began pounding down.
Just my luck. As I spotted the sign stating,”Kennebunk Shelter” the 15
tears of the sky poured over my head, and on my body. Giving me a much needed shower, for that I was thankful. But otherwise, I was wet, and miserable. Sauntering into the rundown building, I glanced around. I never realized there were so many homeless people, or runaways. At this I smiled, and finally didn't feel alone.
The lady at the desk, near the entrance asked me name. To be safe, I gave her a fake one. Fayt Branconnier. Using Durden's last name subconsciously. She took me to a cot on the floor, in another room, after writing my name down, and a few other things. She also handed me a bag, that had 'necessity items', her words; not mine, and another bag with food in it. I was grateful. I hadn't eaten for two days.
The whole while I slept there, I only thought about my dad once. Reminiscing times of him. The time I fell out off the swing, the time when the ghosts flew around me, the time when I hit the ground, and my front teeth fell out. I fell asleep that night. Without tentacles, without my dad's head, which I hadn't even seen in a few days, and without thinking of my dad's body, laying on top of my cloths in my closet. My dad's body, flung carelessly, arms bent behind him and across his chest, legs spread out in an awkward position. My dad's body, bloody, and mutilated. My dad's body, silent, and never to breath another word to me again.
I heard voices, urgent ones. The secretary saying,' We only had one 16
person check in last night, and no one with the name Imogen.'
'Ah you sho-uh, laydeh?' The man speaking had a dead voice, and a thick accent.
'Positive, officer. It'd be a name I'd remember.' Officer, shit. They were looking for me after all.
'Wull. Tell meh 'bout this laydeh that checked in, oi?' I wish I had known what his accent was, actually, because it was strange.
'She had this porcelain skin. Quite the broken girl, though. She had a jacket on, with a hood. Which made it impossible to see her hair, or face that well, because it was up. Oh, and her name, her name was Fayt Branconnier. Quite different from Imogen, if you ask me.'
'Dayum, dun't sound like hur. Wull, give us a call down tha station if su'um comes up, aye? And let 'er know 'er mom misses the heck outta hur. She was all done wound up 'bout Imuhguyn.' The man slaughtered my name, but regardless I knew I had gotten away. For once in my life, gotten away.
I was out of that shelter as fast as I could get. Not running. But
rushing. Because even though I hadn't gotten caught, I didn't want to risk 17
another day. I didn't want to risk another chance of being sent back home, being sent to court for being a reported runaway. I wouldn't ever be able to deal with that kind of structure and enclosure.
I whipped out a map, that the secretary had given me. Making sure I was on the right track, continuing onto route 95. I could only hope Scarborough would be as nice as Kennebunk. Not a horrible town, but not a snobby over-done one either. It didn't sound like either. It sounded like this town that was covered and dwelled in the past. Not a place of my liking to be honest. I scanned the map, hoping that maybe there was a town closer to it, that sounded nicer. But there wasn't, Portland was over 20 miles away from Scarborough, so I was stuck with it.
The highway, of course, still had the trees surrounding it. The same evergreen trees, that were always found in Maine, and New Hampshire. But when passing between two towns, there were houses and interesting things to watch. Young children running in their lawn, with their parents washing there cars, and watching them. Pre-teens saying,'F the world.' and thinking they were bad. Then there were kids my age, driving around in cars, being wild, and happy, because school had just let out minutes before. Arundel and Biddeford? Two perfect suburban towns. I hated them. I hated them, but let them be of interest to me, and give me entertainment.
I had walked over 50 miles, and still didn't feel tired. It was because
I was getting used to it. Getting used to the long walks with small 5 minute 18
breaks to pee, or nibble at the food and water the shelter in Kennebunk had given me. It wasn't even tiring anymore, I thought I was invincible.
I was on the Maine Turn Pike, which was in the middle of Scarborough. Having no idea which way to go, I took a turn down Broadturn Rd.
My days were uninteresting and long, nothing I need to really explain. But my nights, always got interesting. Right when the sun fell down, scrapping it's knee, and giving the sky a warm crimson color. Which is when I went to lay down on a golf course, in a mass of ornamental grass. I had to admit, it was comfier then the bench in Rich Town, but worse then a bed. That's a given.
I knew I could sleep well, since I hadn't had any dreams of my dad, in such several days. So I carefully laid my bag out, and wrapped myself in my hoodie, and in the reeds of ornamental grass. The lights of the town were especially dimmer out on the golf course. But the breeze was stronger, because it was near a river. I watching the stars twinkle brighter then I ever would, and watched the smear together to make a canvas spread with dark blue and yellowy-white. Letting them lull me to sleep.
19
He came towards me. His head rolling beside him, and one arm dangling off his shoulder. His clothes were torn, leaving it easy to see the stabs, and gashes running along his stomach, chest, and legs. His legs were bent, permanently. And he came at me full force. Full force, but floated right through, giving me a jolt of cold, acrimonious air. I turned around to watch him bolt, bolt at what? I squinted, and it was Durden. Durden was being brutally murdered by my father. And I couldn't watch it anymore. My eyes squinched shut, hard, hard hard. Hoping I wouldn't have to see another moment, another second, or hear another scream, another scrape, another crack.
Another crack is just what I heard, and my hand was throbbing. I opened my eyes, glancing around me. Still in the grass, still at the golf course. Before I even began to analyze my dream, I needed to look at my hand. My hand that had begun to pulsate while...while my dream was taking place. It was red, and slightly swollen. I groped around me to see if I scratched it on something, or bashed it against something during my dreadful sleep. I lifted up a putter, it was long, and steel. And looked like if something slammed into it hard enough, it would hurt. I glanced at my hand, and the putter, and put two and two together. 'Why the hell was this just laying in the grass?' is what I said to myself.
I stopped, and recalled the dream that I had just had. I didn't even know where to go about dissecting the dream. But I knew, from the
moment I saw Durden there, that I was never going to be able to forget 20
about him. My subconscious wouldn't let me. And it wouldn't let me forget about my dad either. I wasn't sure if it was telling me to forgive him, because he'd kill a boy that hurt me, or to hate him, because he killed a boy I loved. That's where I stopped myself, got up, and walked straight out of the golf course, going onto Gold star Memorial Highway and onto route 95, again.
The tedious walk to South Freeport, also held no interest. Until I got to the out-skirts of the town. The place where I wasn't regionally in Freeport but I was because the town was starting. Walking along there, making my ho-hum way to somewhere pleasant to sleep later, or along to another town, a man who came outside to get his mail, stopped and evaluated me. Looking me up and down.
He said to me,'You look like you need some food in you're belly, miss. Scoot your butt along into the house and sit yourself down at the table. I'll get you a nice grilled cheese sandwich, and give you some money to get some solid food for later.'
And that was it. He had grandpa-like smile, and wore a plain white t-shirt. He scuttled around the kitchen, cooking me up a sandwich, and I not complaining in the least. My stomach was waging a war, growling, and attacking my insides. It smelt so good, and even though I felt horrible about imposing on a sweet man like that, my deficiency overtook my
judgment. 21
'You can call me James, by the way.' The old man had told me as he hummed a tune, flipping over the bread on the pan.
I smiled at the back of his head and said simply,'Thank you, James.'
He turned around, plate and small 99 cent bag of chips in his hands, and winked at me while he placed the plate in from of me,'Never a problem, little miss.'
I thought for a moment that I should stay with him. But I'd feel extremely unwelcome anyway. So I let this be enough. I ate the food in 40 seconds flat, grinning at James when I was done. He told me I could stay as long as I wanted, but I knew I couldn't stay, I'd be a burden really. So I told him I had a destination. James smiled at me heartedly, and I felt totally connected with this man. He grasped my hand firmly, and I felt how soft they were. How spiny and veiny his hands felt. When I released, there were 30$ in my hand, and I shook my head. But he put a finger to his lips, implying,'Sh.'
So I replied with a hug, and a whispered,'I won't forget you, James, thanks so much.' And left, happily. I wanted to be like him when I was old. Even if I was alone, to be happy, and grateful, and helpful. I wanted to be
like that, exactly. 22
I ended up in Topsham the next day. It was early evening by the time I made it there. I was keeping an eye out for a corner store, to get some food. For safe keeping of course. Food that will be able to stay in my bag for several days, and not look/taste disgusting afterwards.
There was a Cumberland Farms that stood silently in the middle of the town. It was empty except for one car, which I assumed belonged to the person who was working currently. The town was a ghost town, nearly. And houses were spaced far, far apart. I was in the boonies for sure.
I entered the store uneasily. Not wanting to use up all my money, I thought of an alternative. Shoving copious amounts of chips and water into my bag. It wasn't a bright idea, it wasn't the smartest thing to do. But it works all the time, right? So many kids got away with stealing, especially useless items like food and water. But I wasn't sure if I could be one of those kids. But I knew I could try, just so those 30$ James gave me could last me. I carefully walked up and down the isles, debating whether I should do it or not.
I looked around cautiously, and opened my bag just enough. I grabbed a small bag of chips, preparing to shove it in my bag. I felt my pulse increase greatly, and I held my breath. I didn't want to get caught. Then I'd be arrested for counts of runaway and theft. I blinked and my
heart felt like it was going to burst. 23
Then the door behind me swung open, and I jumped. I was scared like hell and exclaimed,' I think I'm going to buy these chips!'
Winning a strange look from the man that walked in, and the cashier, I quickly grabbed several bags of chips, and 5 bottles of water. I shut my eyes for a few quick seconds when I placed my items on the counter. And I just breathed. Breathed. I would've been screwed if I got caught. But I could have done it, is what I told myself. I said,'I could have done it. I was so damn close. So, damn, close.' The cashier rung me up to about 12$, which I handed over to her, exactly, and left shoving everything in my bag.
I pulled off my hood for the first time in days, and ran my fingers through my blonde, purple streaked hair. It was greasy, and revolting, so I pulled the hood up again. I was shaking all over, thank you ever so intelligent idea. Next stop, Bowdainham. Those were the true freakin' boonies. There was only several houses along the road. And the rest was empty fields, and farms.
I sang a song that appeared in my head, out of no where,' There's a man, on the way to church, avoids the eyes of a dying soul, turns his head. There's a child on the side of the road, to Jericho, who needs a friend. Oh, we all could do a little more loving wouldn't you agree? So come on love,
give your love away with me. Hold nothing back, like you have nothing to 24
lose. Love with all you have, like you don't have a clue, what it's costing you. If loving were easy it wouldn't be love...'
Another voice joined me, a deeper voice, a man's voice, or a boy's,' If loving were easy it wouldn't be love. If loving were easy it wouldn't be love. Oh, oh, you give your love away.'
I turned around to see a a smiling face, shaggy hair encircling it, and attached to a tattered body. Just like me. We had both stopped singing, both stopped walking, to look at each other. He stared into my eyes, and then I watched as they glanced at my cloths, and the strands of hair that freed themselves from under my hood. He still smiled. Then he put out a dirty hand.
'I'm Mickey.' His voice had a cocky tone to it. And when I didn't grasp his hand and tell him my name he let his hand drop. 'I thought you were a runaway like me.' Then he shrugged and started walking ahead of me,'I guess I was wrong. Sorry, man.'
I jogged a little to catch up to him, never once looking at his face, but for once, keeping my eyes on my sneakers, and the tar, and the way one leg kept disappearing behind me, then reappearing. 'Runaway would be the correct term. And Imogen would be the correct name.' I gave a sideways
glance and saw him smile again. 25
'Cool, bro. Where you headed too?' Still cocky, but this time, comfortable, and inviting. Durden.
I told him where I was heading, but chose not to give him details, or tell him where I came from, or even my last name. I wanted to keep those things secret, so I had something to hold onto, and hide. He respected that. So I respected him.
We walked along the long road, both planning to stop at Gardenia next. We talked about nothing, we talked about everything. He was the first person I could really relate to in years. The first person I could really talk to in days. And I didn't feel so lonely, and I didn't feel so lost. I felt this strange secureness around him, and hoped that maybe he'd be heading to Augusta too, so maybe, maybe I'd have a friend there. A friend I could really talk to. Besides my uncle, because somehow, because always, that never counted.
Gardenia consisted of three cul-de-sacs, with maybe 30 houses in total. I wouldn't call that a town at all. But it was, for some reason. Mickey and I agreed to sleep in the same place. Just so we could stick together in the morning, and it'd be easy to keep warm. Mickey was smart enough to have pack a small blanket with him, which could easy cover both of us if we huddled close enough together. It was getting colder out, so it was
necessary. 26
We luckily found an abandoned house, which we knew for sure was abandoned because people had already smashed windows, vandalized, and all in all ruined the house as a whole. But it wouldn't be horrible to stay in. Especially since there was an old, but more-comfortable-then-the-floor mattress. Which we laid ourselves out on, awkwardly shifting as to be close enough together that the blanket could stretch across both of us, to be warm.
I felt his breath on my back, and slightly on my neck. It was warm. His breathing pattern, I followed it. Trying to breath in when he did, and breathe out when he did. Mickey was already asleep, and I didn't fall asleep until I was sure bad thoughts had been swept away. Breathing in, breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out, breathing out, breathing in. And out, and in. And asleep.
I woke up to Mickey pushing my shoulder. 'Get up, man. Now!' I slowly opened my eyes. Wondering why he was up now, and why I needed to get up too,'Man! The cops are coming to check the place out. I saw them cruisers park across the street. You have to get out, bro!'
My mouth had dropped open, and I dashed to grab my bag and strapped it over my shoulders.
'Take my blanket. Kid, just take it.' He didn't sounded nervous, 27
though.'I'm going to make a run for it across the street. You're going to sneak out the back, so you can get away.'
'Mickey...' I didn't know what to say. He was going to risk getting caught, so I could leave. I didn't understand it.
'Imogen, get out now! Before they come in, please.' It was the first time he used my name, instead of 'Man', 'Bro', or 'Kid', so I knew this was urgent. I hurriedly folded the blanket up, around my arms. Dashing out the back door into the woods whisper words of thanks and goodbye to an unhearing Mickey.
In the woods I was ready to give up. I regretted leaving Mickey like that, but he was so much stronger then me. So ready, so able to give up something, for some else. Someone he barely knew. Which was something, I guess I really didn't understand.
I knew I didn't understand it, because I wasn't ready to give up Durden, even though I knew his life would be better with his father. I was selfish. So completely selfish.'Only now you realize this. 5 days later. 5. And only then do you recognize your mistake.'
From then on I was ready to give up, but I knew I couldn't because then what Mickey did for me would all go to waste. And I wouldn't let that
happen. From Gardenia, I got here. In this Highland Park. In Augusta.” 28
The broken girl let out a shakey laugh, which cracked. She was clearly ready to cry, but wouldn't give in. The broody stranger looked hurt. And he reached up to pat her shoulder.
“Imogen. I think you deserve to make it to your uncle's house.” The man stood up, gently grabbing the broken girl's arm, pulling her up with him.
“You're not going to turn me in?” Her eyes bright, wild, happy.
“No, Imogen, I'm not.” The broody stranger rummaged through his pocket, and extracting a wallet, with a police badge on it, stating he was part of the state police. And that his name was Jordan Koubou.
Imogen looked up at him questioningly,”I'm sorry...Officer Koubou. But I don't understand.” Her words stumbled over 'Officer'. But she never once stopped looking the broody man straight in the eyes.
“You're mother causes you troubles. Your uncle seems like the person you need to live with in this situation. And that I can explain to the judge if it comes to it.” Officer Koubou shoved the wallet and badge back in his pocket, but taking out a pair of keys from his trench coat pocket,”You know where he lives, Imogen. So tell me and I'll take you
there.” 29
The keys went to his car. His car beeped, and it was perfect. It was nice. He was nice. And Imogen was finally allowed something she wants. Allowed to live with her uncle. Who by the time she got there was worrying himself sick over her M.I.A. But happily obliged to take her in as long as she called her mother, sometime soon.
Imogen thanked the Officer, planning on calling Durden, to apologize in the least, and wish him luck, truthfully.
Yeah, my epic, I actually like it. And I'm surprised at how well written it is. Or, well...I think it's well written, haha.