Run Away With Me

"Nobody's Perfect" -Practice

It's 3 am and the house is silent. Like, earie silent. The kind of silent, that even when you are putting on socks it sounds like chainsaws are battling jackhammers.

My mother, asleep in her bed three doors down, is the heaviest sleeper I have ever met. An atomic bomb couldn't wake her. I could light the house on fire and the only movement she would make would be tossing her blankets aside because it's getting toasty. But it's not waking her that I'm worried about.

My father, could hear a feather drop. I would bet of my life savings that he was in a secret military operation in his youth. To have the hearing of a hawk at all hours of the day and night, asleep or awake, you have to be specially trained for something like that, right?

I weighed my options while staring up at my plain cream-colored ceiling.

There is the front door but that requires me getting down our old rickety stairs, the ones my parents refuse to fix because they have "charm". Then opening the door that I know has had a squeak ever since I ran face-first into it three years ago.

There was the back door, which was much farther from their room and had no squeak, but again: stairs.

And then there is my window. He wouldn't hear it. I've opened my window plenty of times and I know it's silent. But then I would have to walk across the roof over to the lattice by their window and climb down without being seen or heard.

While It seems like the best option, I don't want to break my leg before I even finish the first phase of my plan.

I huffed a long breath, puffing out my cheeks in the process. It's okay to be afraid, just don't let it hold you back.

Back door it is.

I threw back the covers and tiptoed across the cool hardwood floors. I had packed and loaded up my suitcases already and they are in my car. It took me days to get them out one by one so that it wouldn't be too suspicious. Casually throwing in a 'hey mom, have you seen my favorite top anywhere' one or twice this week.

Opening my closet as silently as possible I took out the backpack I had packed a few hours ago that had the remaining essentials I still needed. Slinging it over my shoulder and taking my keys from the desk in the corner, I slipped my door open just enough for me to check if the coast was clear. After seeing that it is, I start my silent creep down the hallway and stairs. I had mapped out the loudest of them all to avoid as much noise as possible. Making sure I skip the fifth, eighth and last one down so it doesn't creak under my weight, I weave in and out of the halls until I reach the back-patio door in the dining room.

A few more feet and I'm outside and in the clear. I silently undo the lock and pull the door open, all the while patting myself on the back for getting out without making any noise or waking my parents. I close the door behind me and throw up my arms in the air in joy. I obviously can't jump up and down or yell or cheer but this will have to do.

"What are you doing out here Madeline?" My father's voice, to say the least, scared the living shit out of me. I screamed into my hand and spun around to where I heard his deep bravado.

Sitting in one of our deck chairs was my father. In one hand a short glass filled with an amber liquid that glinted in the moonlight and in his other, a lit cigar. My father didn't smoke. And rarely did he drink, not unless he had a really good reason to. I wanted to ask him what was wrong but I couldn't bring myself to speak.

How was I supposed to escape now?

"Sit down." He says calmly, motioning to the chair beside him with him cigar, the angry red end of it a hard contrast to the deep blue night sky.

He doesn't feel angry. When my father was angry you couldn't hear it, no, he sounded calm and collected. But you could feel it. You could feel the anger radiate off him and the coldness of his body language trying to swallow you whole. But I didn't feel anything, actually I felt the absence of it. I followed his orders silently and sat down in the chair next to his, curling my legs up under me, my backpack hanging limply at my side, no use in trying to hide it. "Are you leaving?"

I nodded my head and then realized he wasn't looking at me, but at his drink, so I said, "Yes. Only for a little while. I just need... I need to..."

My father was not a harsh man. He didn't hit us or verbally abuse us, but he was a man of few words and little patience for people that spoke with no direction or purpose. As I grew up, I realized that if I only spoke when I had something important to say, he gave me respect and treated me as an adult. Trying to explain why I wanted to leave without so much as a goodbye, would be using worthless words and hollow arguments in his eyes.

"Do you need any money?"

I was stunned. He wasn't stopping me? "I have the money I've saved over the years. Roughly 3000. I'll be ok." I was quiet, obedient. Only speak when spoken to.

He started pulling his wallet out and flipping through the bills. I've learned long ago that when my father takes out his wallet, you don't say anything you just let him do whatever it is that he intends to do. If you try to fight him over it, he just retaliates by giving you more than he was going to in the first place. I hated taking his money. I didn't need it and I didn't want to be one of those kids that expected their parents to pay for everything.

After a moment of silence between us he hands me a wad of hundred-dollar bills folded in half. Why does he have this much money in his wallet? "I don't want you to need for anything. I hope you stay safe, wherever you are going."

"You aren't going to stop me? What about mom? What will you tell her?"

"I'm assuming you didn't tell her you were leaving, so obviously, you wouldn't tell me either. I never saw you. You need to leave and I understand that. When will we see you again?"

"I'll be back before college. I don't know an exact date yet but I worked too hard to forget about college now."

He nodded his head, mulling my answer over for a minute. "I'm proud of you, pumpkin. I hope you know that. This is exactly what I did at your age. I know you need this just as much as I did. I've been expecting this day for some time now."

I nodded my head silently, willing the tears that were on the verge of falling to stay where they were and wondering what he meant by that. My dad has never been the sharing type and it never bothered me before. "I love you, dad. Will you be ok?" I stood from my seat and fumbled with the keys in my hand.

"I love you too. I'll be fine, you should worry about while you are out there." I put my hand on his shoulder and kissed the top of his head. He placed his hand over mine and gave it a squeeze then a pat. With no more words between us I hiked my bag up higher on my shoulder and walked towards the back gate.

It was time to leave.