Vela and The Stars

Vela runs away but isn't running away because she's running towards something

I'd craved adventure since I was a little kid. Like I always wanted to be special. And back in elementary school, I actually believed I was. I kept waiting for something to happen where I could prove myself, but nothing ever did. So by the time middle school came around, I figured that everyone thought they were special, which in turn made no one special. Right?

I began packing my bag. I had this heavy duty black army backpack that costed like, $150 dollars. Brone had gotten it for me freshman year.

"A bag this sturdy should last you all throughout high school." He'd said with a big smile.

My mom let out a frustrated breath. "A teenage girl doesn't care about sturdy, come on Brone."

"I love this bag, thank you dad. It definitely should last me all throughout high school."

Brone gave a half hearted smile. My mom rolled her eyes.
I laid the contents of what I figured I'd need for my journey out across the blue afghan I had covering my bed.

My canteen, pocky, my mini toiletries kit from my summer at girl scout camp, the heart shaped sunglasses I'd gotten from my school's bloodrive, 5 changes of under clothes, green nail polish in case I get bored, deodorant, and my wallet. A wallet which is currently empty.

Having officially worked at the family's Potawatomi Grocers since I was thirteen, I was pretty financially secure. That is, when it came to my savings account.

But when it came to money in my pocket, I might as well be just another broke teenager. I looked around my room, clicking my tongue until my eyes landed on my old piggy bank. I'd been filling that bad boy up for years. Every birthday and Christmas could be represented in this fat pink pig. I carefully pulled him off of my bookshelf. I expected it to be heavy, but was disappointed. I shook it and it made no sound. There was only one way in the pig. No hole in the bottom, just a slit at the top.

"Sacrifices must be made." I muttered, trying to make the moment more dramatic than it was.

I sat the bank down on my bed and walked over to my closet, grabbing the only pair of high heels I owned. I'd worn them to my grandpa's funeral.

Walking back over to the bed, I saw on my alarm clock that it was nearing 1AM. My mom would go crazy if I woke her up now. I grabbed the brown throw blanket from the chair in front of my desk and wrapped up my bank, blew it a kiss, sat it on my bed, then smacked it with the chunky heel. A muffled thump came through and I opened the blanket to find the pig cracked in three pieces. And inside those pieces were wads upon wads of rolled up, crinkled cash.

I pulled the money out and moved the dead pig off my bed, sitting down in its place.

I've never seen this much money before. After about five minutes of recounting I'd come to $365. I shoved a third of it in my wallet, a third of it in my sock, and a third of it in my bra. After packing the rest of the contents into my worn out backpack, I added in a throw blanket, two pairs of jeans I'd pulled from my floor, a handful of t-shirts out of my drawer and some socks. I then put on my converse and slung the backpack over my shoulders.

I headed towards the door of my bedroom but stopped when I caught a glimpse of myself in my mirror. I looked kind of dirty. I was dirty. I hadn't showered due to passing out on the couch earlier. But I still thought I looked cool. I looked purposeful. I thought seriously about giving myself a pep talk, but decided against it.

I left through the bedroom door, leaving it open behind me, then headed towards the stairs, jumping over the squeaky one with the mastery of a ballerina. Through the living room, behind the couch, through the archway to the kitchen then out the side door with the broken screen, and toward the train tracks.