My Little Runaway

The first time I tried to run away I was seven years old. I barricaded myself in my bedroom and packed up every single toy I owned in black trash bags with red drawstrings. They were heavy and clunky and when I carried them they’d swing and jab my lower back and calves. Seven in total. Seven 40-gallon bags full of stuffed animals, Legos, Choose Your Own Adventure Books, baseball cards, remote control cars, and Smurfs. There were other things too, but they were just background toys. Toys that got pushed under the bed or thrown in the closet, toys that filled the drawers for years to come. When I was all packed up I kicked out the chair wedging my door shut and started carrying the trash bags to the front yard one by one. I don't remember why I was running away, I can't recall what made me angry or if I even was angry, I just new I wanted to leave and make a statement. I lugged the second bag past my dad and he asked me what my plans were. "I'm running away. I don't want any of these toys so I'm throwing them out. I don't need you guys anymore, I can make it on my own." Unimpressed with my threats and with out a question, he put his head down and continued to read the Sunday Times. I came back for the third bag, and then the forth and with each trip back and forth the desire to leave became weaker. My pace started to slow a bit and by the sixth bag not only was I exhausted, but I also didn't want to leave anymore, it was too much work. Yet, I pressed on because I was a pissed little kid who through wild tantrums that ended by aneurism or by defecation. There was only one bag left. Had I thought this plan through a little more, I would have taken this bag first because it had my trophies, my shoes, my hard cover pop-up books and the bowling ball I got for my sixth birthday. It was too heavy to lift and as I pulled it the plastic stretched to it's limit and became translucent. One small snag would have ripped it right open and sent my belongings all over the place. I was cautious to not let this happen. I was meticulous, concentrated and slow, extremely slow. I got the last bag out of my door into the hallway and in a haze of frustration and defeat crashed out on my bed. My sweaty little red face cooled as it hit the pillow.

When I woke up the mixture of tears and sweat had created a pasty film in my eyelashes that made it difficult to see. I sat up in bed and picked at my lashes until I couldn't feel them sticking as I'd blink. The first thing I did was go check on my toys. I had left my new GT out in the drive way last week and I was frightened my toys had met the same fate. As I suspected, the bags were gone, all of my toys were gone. I came in side fighting back the tears and stormed past my dad in fear he'd be angry with me for being so irresponsible. "Hey son, what's wrong", my dad asked. I grunted and slammed the door behind me. A couple minutes later there was a knock. I didn't answer so he spoke through the door. "Son, I have your toys in my truck. I figured you needed help getting them out of here. When you're ready I can take you on wherever you plan on living." I glared at him with an unbelieving eye. "You still wanted to get out of here, right son?" I didn't, but my seven-year-old hubris forced me to nod my head. He told me to grab my coat, it had ninja turtles on it, and we got in the truck. "So where we headed son?" He knew I didn't have an answer, but he kept on pushing. I grumbled, "I dunno", hoping that if I slurred my words enough it'd sound like a familiar and he'd just take me there. "Well if you don't have any ideas, I do, but first we have to get rid of some of these toys. It'll be too hard for a young man like you to take care of all these toys on his own. You'll probably only be able to afford a very small space to live too, much too small to fit all this stuff. I tried to play it cool, but with shakes in my voice said, "I don't wanna move out."

His suburban rumbled down the Hollywood freeway, further and further from the familiarity of Christmas lights, picket fences and two car driveways I'd grown up with. "Dad, did you hear me? I don't want to move out anymore." We took the 101 to the 110, drove past the 10 and finally got off at a street named Soto. After a long intermission, he finally took a breath and said, "Really? That's great son, I was already starting to miss you. You're Mom will be happy too. We'll call her after we're done with your toys." The road was damp, it was dark and I could smell the stench of trash break through the windows and infest the car. The city was a ghost town and the hollowness frightened me. It took me a minute to process what he said, about my toys, and I had to ask him what he meant. "Dad, what are we doing with my toys? I said I wasn't going to move out anymore." He looked over to me and put his hand on my neck. "I know and I couldn't be happier, but you still said you didn't want these toys, and it got me thinking that a boy who already has so much probably doesn't need them anyways." Every other block we'd pass by a bus stop lit with a solitary street light and under them were crowds of people, 3, 4, 9 dressed in over sized coats and work boots, huddled together. I asked my dad if the busses run this late and he told me that busses didn't even come down these streets anymore. He explained to me how the bus stops and streetlights were remnants from the cities birth, left behind to rot with the unfortunate people who got stuck here or pushed here. I didn't understand what he meant by this, but the way he said it let me know how to feel about it. We drove deeper into the foreign land. Cutting down alleyways and weaving through side streets we saw homes made out of tents, boxes, shopping carts and windowless cars. "Where are we going Dad", I said with a hint of naive innocence in my voice. "There's a place down here called a mission. Some missions have women in them, others have men, but the one that we're going to is filled with children." I asked why. "Because unlike you, Son, these kids don't have a mom and a dad who care for them, and protect them and buy them gifts throughout the year." I'd seen orphans portrayed on TV, but I guess I had never realized kids exist in this state. "Are we giving away all of them, Dad?" He nodded and said, "Whatever's in these bags." The breath escaped from my lungs. I would be left with nothing. I was a little angry, a little sad, confused and shocked. I took an inventory of the items left in my room. The shelves were empty except for a baseball signed by Nolan Ryan. The toy chest was vacant except for some abandoned Lego men stuck in the cracks. A.G bear was the only buddy I kept, the rest of them were bound and stuffed into these plastic bags. The drawers remained open, the closet hollow, and the bookshelf with dust shadows, stickers and a geo rock bookend. Everything my parents had given me for birthdays, holidays and those special days that Dad just picked up something on his way home from work, was about to be given away to a stranger.

We pulled up in front of small blood red stucco cottages that surrounded a courtyard of dead grass and bikes missing tires. "Alright son, help me out with these bags." I let him get out of the car first. I couldn't believe people lived out here. On one side of them was a meat processing plant. It reeked of putrid fat and salmonella. On the other side was the sanitation department. All night long these giant turbines filled with piss and shit would churn and steam and battle the processing plant for the worse smell. Dad took 5 bags and left me with the two lightest ones. We walked up 3 small, cracked steps to the middle of the courtyard where a lady came out and greeted us. I figured she was a Mom as she invited us in. From the outside I thought maybe one family lived in each little unit, but once inside I notice each unit was connected by a small hallway and instead of families, there were only children. Brown children and black children and two white children sat on worn out sofas, shot pool on a mini table that was missing the 4 and 13 balls and huddled around a black and white TV with a 5 foot antenna bent and wrapped in foil. The lady asked us to have a seat. She offered us some dinner rolls and coffee of which I declined. The other kids stared at me, and they stared at my bags of toys. I didn't stare back. I kept my eyes toward my lap and every time my dad adjusted I did to, a little closer to him. A boy who introduced himself as Braydon came up and pulled on my arm. He asked me if I wanted to play pool. I looked to my dad, but he didn't look back at me. At first I said no, but quickly recanted and joined Braydon, Dom, and Lafayette to play doubles. We got to talking about Christmas gifts and every time I'd start a story with "My dad got me..." my mouth would sting and I'd change the subject. Bonnie, the lady who ran this place called all the kids over to where her and my dad were sitting. "Everyone, I have a little surprise for you. These kind people wanted to make sure you had a merry Christmas, so they brought gifts for everyone." I didn't look up, but I smiled. They cheered and two boys in the back started dancing. I laughed and so did Dad. I was still in a bit of shock when we handed out the last of the toys, but even at seven years old I understood why my dad had done this.

The windows fogged on the way home and I drew spirals and Stussy S's with my finger. It'd be a lie to say I wasn't a little sad about loosing all my toys, but I knew other kids would love them more than I had. When I thought about it, my nothing, was another person's everything. I smiled at myself in the window even though it made me sick to think that this difference existed. We pulled into our drive way and before Dad shut the car off I jumped out and ran inside. I gave my mom a hug and ran straight to my room, jumped on my bed and enjoyed the bare space. It felt good having an empty room, it felt right. It cleared my view to see the things that were really important. As hollow as the room seemed at first glance, it was still supported by walls and windows and arms and love that tenderly held it in place and gave it the strength to remain purposeful and solid through changes that occurred on the inside and out of it.