8 Months and 12 Days

Troublemaker

Ruby – Age 10and a half

I was gonna run away. Tonight. Catch a train maybe, whatever thosebrave tall men did in old western movies to escape their problems. Ihad always considered it, but I couldn't bring myself to leave mybest friend. School meant nothing to me. To me, school was just a bigbrick building. A big brick building that sought to destroy me. All Icould ever see were hands. To me, the boys and girls eyes were notwhat I focused on. Not their big bows and perfect noses and sleekcombed hair. All I saw throughout the school were their hands. Handsin the hallways, the green yard, and the cafeteria where I ate mylunches everyday since I was four years old. Their fists spoke louderthan the insults they spat at me.

Whiteknuckles and clenched fists by their sides on the playground.

Whiteknuckles and clenched fists in front of them itching tobecome red.

Whiteknuckles and clenched fists and then a broken nose, and theirknuckles were red.

Myblood was water to them, it didn't matter if it got on the floor.Didn't matter if it got on their clothes. They were dehydrated littlebeasts. Bloodhounds in a desert. To them, getting water was a dailynecessity.

Myparents however, did not see it that way.

Myparents saw my blood as a lesson; the more I bled, the more I wouldlearn to obey and follow by their rules. Bruises were given so Icould learn respect, and a sharp, bony hand to the face meant I hadinterfered or interrupted.

Mostof my clothes were hand-me-downs from Beth, and when I ate dependedon whether or not my parents needed to go out and buy morecigarettes. The roof above my head was leaky, and the water from thetap had an undesirable taste.

IfI ran away, I would have no more Beth, no more food at all, noroof, however leaky it was, and no more water, however gross it was.

But,it also meant no more school with its many fists, and no more of thewaste of a house I called home.

Thepros to my list could almost overcome my cons, if only it weren't forBeth. If Beth lived in the same circumstances as me, I would nothesitate to ask her to run with me. However, seeing as she had aperfectly normal family, and a cute dog, she wouldn't want to runaway.

Inmy eyes, Beth was a warrior. She kept me safe as much as she couldfrom the other kids. She was there when I cried (which was often),she invited me over as often as possible to keep me out of my house,and she took care of me when I had nothing left but myself. Beth'skindness to me was the only good thing I had. Not only was she mypersonal warrior, she was my sister.