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The first time I ran away it was behind my house. There is a moat of woods there running uphill and separating the tiered rows of houses. It was the forest of all my adventures, most of which involved indians or the circus. That day, it was me Matt and Richie. Richie had "nudie" magazines that he wanted to show us. He was older and had a dirtbike that would later break his legs and require skin grafts and keep him back a grade. That evening he was still whole, still in his own grade. Matt and I were probably 7 or 8. Illicit was not lost on us though and we eagerly followed Richie to his fort.
Richie suggested we run away. This sounded fun. We would be like soldiers hiding out in the jungle. I nodded. Matt chickened out and I felt braver, suddenly a part of an older world with Richie and his long hair and acne. We folded ourselves into the crevices between the large rocks tumbled everywhere and waited. I heard my mom calling. Time passed. I heard her voice again, shrill now, panicky. More time passed. It grew dark.
Without a word, Richie got up and ran up toward his house. hey. hey! Dinner he yelled back. The next day, he would ignore me at the bus stop.
I rubbed my fingers in the dirt and drew warrior symbols on the cold rock. Trouble was growing for me at home with every minute. I had not prepared to go home hours late. I had only prepared to never go home at all.
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