It started about a year and a half ago. I was having problems with my grades at school. My dad and I had major conflicts. I knew it was coming. I faced the inevitable. I knew I had no choice but to go. My mom was in California for the three weeks right before I left because her mother was dying. Each Sunday I would ride my bike the many miles along that dangerous and busy road to go to church. I disregarded what my dad would say. If he locked me in, I'd break out of the house. If the garage was locked, I would walk to Somersworth. Weather didn't matter to me. I knew if I could get to church, I could make it down to Rochester with hopes to see you. When I had the bike, I would go down the big hill, knowing the dangers that could harm me. Cars almost hit me so many times, but I survive still to write to you. When I made it to Rochester, I would go onto your street and sit across the street from your house. I just stared at it. Only few times did I knock, usually with no answer in return. One time, I stayed all day in the pouring rain, sitting under the tree, waiting for you. I never found weather to be an issue, as I needed to see you as much as I could before I left....
