No Home

Chapter 2: Contents of the Dead Girl's Bag

The air in the room was still. The dust floated in the city light that crept through the window. She lies in her bed for the last time. The sheets rustle in her tossing and turning. She contemplates it one more time. Staying. Staying and enduring and never truly knowing. She looks over to the portrait of her mother, which had sat motionless on her nightstand for years.

"Mom is dead," she said to herself, "I refuse to wait until I am too." Dramatic I know. She grabbed the portrait and packed it into the heinously over packed bag she'd been hiding for days and made her way to her door.

Alice stood motionless at the frame of her bedroom door. What would you be thinking if you were in this situation? Willingness to leave a life behind surely doesn't come easy. All she could focus on was the ornamental blue painting that decorated her door.

The clock said 2:14 a.m. when she rose from her bed. Surely she had been pondering on the ground forever. 2:16 a.m. She ran her fingers through the softness of a stuffed bear that was within arms reach. Then came that still sick feeling. Hope, you may be thinking. No. None.

"I'll never come back," her shallow thoughts shouted, but a small whisper that his beneath her mind muttered, "I won't make it but a few blocks. I'll be running back by morning." She doesn't know which one to believe. 2:17 a.m. Surely she had been standing there thinking for an hour.

Three minutes.

She felt like a stupid child.

Alice swallowed the last doubtful thought and swung the door open. She quietly fled down the stairs. The portrait of her parents that hung on the wall by the kitchen stared her down one last time. She smiled at her mother then continued to the forbidden window. Her nails slid under the ledge, which was only open enough not to catch the alarm. She bit her lip with the first crack of the window. The slide was not smooth. Slowly the opening grew larger as inch by inch she forced the noisy frame up. When it was finally just open enough to slide through, she threw her bag out the window and then hiked one leg up just after her left shoulder slivering through the hole like a snake. This was no small task; her grip wasn't strong because she wasn't, and her awkward position made pulling her other leg through a challenge. She was nearly out when her grip slipped and she only barely caught herself; what a racket she caused. Scraping her elbow on the ledge, banging around loud enough to wake neighbors, or worse, her father. Dad! Dad! Oh no, surely he's awake. She practically threw herself through the window and rolled on to the ground land on the over stuffed bag.

Her fear heightened. Blood pumped through her veins coarsely and she could hear the beats of her heart. She stumbled through the yard, disoriented upon the realization her father could come looking. How could she have have been so stupid?

Answer: Focus is a selfish things; when it's used on one thing it often lets us forget about anything else.

She sprinted through the yard and onto the sidewalk. The street light pierced her eyes and exposed her to everyone else. There isn't a lot of traffic nor pedestrians at 2:21am. She continued along the street. She had very few thoughts running through her mind. The first: I have to get to the bus station. The second: I can't let anyone know.

Who knew her? By sight, maybe as a girl they passed on the street. Noticeably? Only a few from school; the young food truck guy. He was gone now. By name? Less than a handful. Her head became foggy despite such a narrow range of thoughts and small pool of circumstances. This is called fear. Her sight became blurry. She was walking but the sidewalk beneath her was darker than usual. She shook her head, staggering further up the road and farther into heavy breathing. The sidewalk was dark, with yellow lines. She looked around instead of at her feet only long enough to notice the garbage truck barreling toward her.

Inches from being hit by the careless driver she ran off the road onto the sidewalk stumbling onto her butt leaving dirt along her legs. Her heartbeat was deafening. She panted on the side of the road, and a tear smeared the mascara she hadn't removed. She didn't bother to wipe it.

After a few minutes she regained her stature and continued the long trudge to the east side of town. Bus station. Bus station. Nothing would run until 5:00, but the walk would take at least an hour. She could buy a ticket to... Wow. Focus. That stupid thing again. She had only thought through this far. The hour walk consisted of thinking of where to go. Cheap but far enough away, where she maybe had a little knowledge of the area. Such a place was hard to conjure. Alice's memory was usually very sharp. She had gone to Columbus and Pittsburgh before with her dad on business. Any small town and she would start getting noticed. When her mom was alive they lived near New York. She was five though; New York was too big. Maybe it wasn't. Anything ending in "–apolis" was a stretch.

As she came to these conclusions the fluorescent light spread to her feet leading her eyes to the door. "BUS" the lights almost sarcastically spelled out. She walked in. The white tile, the black and red seats scattered through out. She went up to the little desk where a woman sat behind a pane of glass. A dim greenish warm light came from behind and illuminated them both as though the fluorescents weren't doing their job. "May I help you." The woman didn't look up from the magazine she read.

Alice sniffed choking back the tears and cold air. "First thing to New York you have." The woman clicked through her computer.

"The first one comes at 9:15. Is that good for you?" The woman asked.

"Yeah," Alice replied, "That's fine."

After a few more clicks a slip popped up out of the machine. The woman grabbed it and gave it to Alice. Their eyes finally met, and concern draped over the woman's face. "Um," she staggered, "Are you alright honey?"

Alice faked a grin and shook her head, paying for the ticket and walking over to a chair. Alice knew her emotions were obvious but not like this. The station was empty save a man with a briefcase who sat on the far side along the wall. He had an older style coat on and sat with a book in his hand. He offered a sympathetic smile. Alice refused it.

She continued to wait there nearly dozing. Her feet kicked her bag around in the floor. She decided to open it just to make a quick run through of what she brought. A small change purse, with every bit of money she had saved and could get her hands on the past few days: $1,692. The picture of her mother. She didn't bring a cell phone (fear of being tracked.) A few small books she loved rereading. The last thing her mother wore: a pink shirt and jacket resembling the same that Jackie Kennedy wore on the day her husband was killed. Not identical - but I refrain. The list continued: a few outfits, underwear, minimal makeup, and a toothbrush. She needed to brush her teeth.

She put everything else in the bag and headed to the public restroom across the long waiting area. The water was cold, but this was a quick job. Her heart was still slowing down from the anxiety she was feeling before. For the first time in a very long time she looked up into a mirror and examined herself.

It was like looking at a ghost; how pale she was. He hair up in a ponytail; what once was a neat cluster of subtle chocolate waves was now a sweaty frizzy mess. Her mascara was running down her cheek on the left side of her face. She looked down at the scrapes on her hands and elbow that she obtained from nearly falling out the window and leaping out of the road. Her mouth was dry, and her usually supple lips, chapped. Her cheeks were red from the wind. Her shoulders were trembling, less from the cold and more from the fear. She stared deeply into the mirror examining every bit of this. She lifted her hand realizing how her smallest finger raises slightly above the others when she bent her fingers. You're checking if yours do the same now, its okay.

Alice was no more. She could start over, but she didn't have the energy to. She could barely muster tears right now. Don't worry, they came. The tight feeling in her chest broke when she realized what home she is leaving. She was as good as nothing. She was truly as good as dead. Alice the Living Dead Girl. Alice grabbed the lipstick from her bag, clenching it in her fist and marked along the girl in the mirror shredding her with the red streaks, mocking her, cutting her with a knife. Tears streamed as this took place. She sobbed in the floor of the girl's bathroom for a very long time.