Runaway

VII. Smoke and Mirrors

We were in Iowa. We had passed through Chicago on our way down from Michigan, through Indiana and through Illinois and across until we hit the edge of Iowa, and then we had an idea. Charlie and I parked the car on the side of the road at the first sign of a cornfield higher than our heads and gave each other one last big grin before we both started running through the stalks, our laughter echoing into an endless blue sky as we headed in two different directions, not caring about getting lost because that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that we had been gone for a week and a day, and nothing could feel freer.

I needed to run. From my life back home, from the knowledge I would have to return. I had to run for the reason why we were running in the first place, from all of the unspoken words, from when KC had asked me if I really could rely on Charlie.

Despite the sun, despite the freedom and the smog-less air, I suddenly felt so sad.

I was wearing my favorite dress—it was black with small flower patterns on it, the flowers pink and purple and red. I don’t know why, but I had always loved that dress. The skirt was flowing when I twirled and it was down to about my knees, giving me enough room to run in it. Maybe I just liked it because of the memories that came with it.

I remembered when I bought it out shopping with my mom, when I wore it on mine and Charlie’s first date, when I wore it under my graduation gown, when I wore it on that last day . . .

There was something unique about being in a field like this where the stalks of corn reached high above my head, pointing to the spot the sun was in the sky in the middle of the day. It made me feel like I was hidden, like the earth was swallowing me up. It was safe, secure. I liked just standing here and looking up at the blue and cloudless sky, feeling like I was just another body on earth, and there was so much hope for the rest of them to be something wonderful.

I couldn’t have been staring up at the sky thinking for more than ten minutes before I felt Charlie’s arms wind around my waist from behind, pulling me against his chest and leaning his head on my shoulder. I didn’t look away from the sky but did relax against him, leaning into him. He must have taken that as a good sign because he kissed my cheek, smiling.

“It’s infinite, isn’t it?” he murmured.

I stared into the blue, blinking slowly. “Yeah,” I agreed absently, lost in my thoughts. “Infinite.”

“Is everything alright, Bee?” he asked, still smiling, leaning closer to me to see my face properly. “You look like you’re lost in thought.”

“I am.”

He waited, but I offered him no other explanation. His hands held my hips as he asked me, “What are you thinking about?”

“Those times that you hit me,” I said.

His hands suddenly dropped.

I didn’t look away from the infinite sky when I murmured, “Or were we never going to talk about that?”

“I thought that was why we left?” Charlie asked me, his voice sounding strained, sad, like he was about to break down. “I thought we left so we could leave that all behind us.”

“It wasn’t left behind,” I said sourly, finally closing my eyes. “Don’t be a fool, Charlie, you know that it’s been on the front of both of our minds since the moment we hit the city limits.”

He sighed.

I slowly tore my eyes away from the beautiful blue sky and looked toward my boyfriend, trying not to show any emotion on my face. He was standing before me, crumbling before my eyes. His expression was devastation, sadness, all as he pleaded for me to understand him the way I used to think that I did, before the first blow. I loved Charlie like I couldn’t believe, and I always tried to explain away his behavior to even myself, but I didn’t think I could do that anymore. He hadn’t hit me in months, but sometimes . . . Charlie had a temper.