Let's Run

Why I Stole a Car

                   My name is Sophie. But, for the last few weeks, everyone's been calling me Sapphire. I'll tell you why later. Now, if you're nosy, you're probably wondering why a nineteen-year-old is driving through the Southwestern U.S. with a truck driver with a fish tattoo on his arm, a person named Taffy, and broken toy robot who's dating a flower. Oh, you weren't? Well, you are now. 

                I'm getting ahead of myself. If you want to know the full story, then I guess I'll start at the beginning. I learned I was ace when I was sixteen. How did I figure it out? All of my friends were dating, talking about their boyfriends, and...well, I probably don't need to go into too many details. They were talking about all of that, and I was just sitting there, not really understanding what they were talking about. I wondered if I was sick or something. Like any Gen-Z kid, I looked to Google for answers. The prognosis? Raging asexuality. 

               I come from a Christian family. They love me, and they're generally good people. Underline generally. My parents were of the part of the church that believes that being anything but straight is a one-way ticket to Hell. So, being brutally honest with them wasn't really an option. 

             Asexuality isn't a sin, as far as I can tell. I read through the family Bible at least twenty times, and I looked up asexuality on the Bible app on my phone. Nothing at all about asexuality being a sin, but a lot of stuff condemning sex. So, I thought I was in the clear, and came out to my friends and little brother. Once I explained to them what it was, they were all pretty supportive. So, happy ending, right? 

          Nope. My brother, who wouldn't keep his mouth shut if you covered in with duct tape, told my parents that I was ace. They did not take it well. When I came home from the last day of high school (which was also my nineteenth birthday), I came home expecting cake, balloons...at least a card. What I got instead was my entire dresser stuffed into two suitcases, and my parents telling me that I was sick, and that they had found a place that would make me better. 

         It took me a second to process this. During that second, my parents shoved me into the car, loaded the suitcases in, and started driving to...well, wherever homophobic parents take their queer children. I didn't wait to find out. It's a family joke that my dad can't make it through one hour in the car without going to the bathroom. He pulled into a rest stop and made a beeline for the men's room. After asking for a drink (and reminding her that she was basically kidnapping me on my birthday), I got Mom out of the car. 

      I wasted no time. I slammed the door shut, locked it, hopped in the driver's seat, shifted into drive, and sped away. I saw my mom's shocked face as I drove out of the parking lot. I was driving down the freeway when I realized two very important facts: one, Mom still had the keys to the car, and two, I was almost out of gas. And according to Siri, the nearest town was still fifteen miles away. As if that wasn't enough, the radio stopped playing Imagine Dragons played an Amber Alert. Apparently, my parents claimed that I was a car thief. They gave a description of my parents' midnight blue minivan, and a thankfully inaccurate description of me. My hair is a dirty blonde that looks brown; they just said I was blonde.

    Seeing no other choice, I decided to walk to the next town. I did a quick sweep of the car and found an empty gym bag shoved under the backseat from when my dad joined a health club. From the scent of it, it had never been used. I got my suitcases from the back and filled the duffel with my hair brush, toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, phone, charger, and as many of my clothes as I could fit. During this process, I found a tiny box.

    It was wrapped in shiny blue paper, with a white ribbon. The tag said it was for me. Inside was a beautiful cross necklace, with a blue sapphire at the center. I felt a little guilty; my parents had gotten me a birthday present. And I stole their car. Then I remembered what they'd tried to do. I put the necklace on and finished packing. 

    I searched the car one more time and found an extra fifteen bucks in cash. I stuffed the money in my purse, retied my sneakers, swiped on my lipstick (black honey, my favorite color), and started walking. The sun was still setting a bit, so it wasn't too dark. According to my phone, I was moving at 2 miles an hour. Meaning that, unless I could thumb a ride from someone who wasn't a serial killer, I had a seven-and-a-half hour walk in front of me. Wonderful.

    You're probably thinking that this is where I met the truck driver, right? Nope. I walked for three hours before I thumbed a ride with a minivan full of kids ages four to seven and two very frazzled parents. I took a nap in the backseat, and woke up to find out that all of the kids had taken a turn with my lipstick, and had not only used up the entire tube, but covered themselves, my white sweatshirt, and most of their toys with black-honey colored smears. The parents simply let me out in the outskirts of Baltimore without an apology. 

    I gave my ruined sweatshirt to a homeless woman I passed on my way to town (she didn't seem to mind the lipstick stains) and walked into a Cracker Barrel. I was ravenous, and ate my way through an Old Timer's Breakfast, two cups of extra sweet coffee, and a second plate of biscuits. With all of that food, I was already feeling queasy. Then I saw the bill.

    I ran into the bathroom and threw up. The full impact of what I'd done (stealing a car, running away, etc) was finally hitting. I was passed the fifteen bucks I had found in my parents' car. Sure, I had a debit card, but my parents had specifically made my bank account so that they could check in on it to see how and where I was spending my money. And I had a strong feeling that they would be watching my account like a hawk. 

    I walked out of the bathroom with an upside down stomach, an awful taste in my mouth, and no idea what to do. That's when I met Marlin.