Where to Begin

Chapter 1

"Argh! Come on, come on, come on!" I shouted at myself as I fumbled with the keys to our boat. "Finally!" I listened to the engine roar to life as I watched my drunken dad stumbling down the hill to the dock.

  "CELINE! Get your ass back here! You little – little shit!"

He'd fallen twice down the hill and in that time, that he was lying on the frost bitten grass, struggling to get up, I quickly glanced back at my stuff packed in three suitcases at the foot of the seats behind me. I fumbled around in my carry on bag, to make sure I had brought enough snacks and food for the trip because I didn't know how long it would take.

I double-checked that everything was working on the boat, I checked my phone – 3:14am; 07 June 2018; 25% battery – it read. I really should have charged it. Ugh, I was so stupid not to charge my phone.

Just as my dad came running onto the jetty, I pushed the throttle forward and the boat jerked, pulling me away from the dock, leaving a small wake behind me.

"No!"

As I pulled away from the jetty, my phone flew off the dashboard from the front of the boat and into the cold, Pacific Ocean. "Oh come on!" Now what the hell was I supposed to do?

I was finally free from my dad and the gut-wrenching memory of my mom but I had no way of communicating with anyone! Another problem was that I didn't know where the hell I was going.

As soon as I couldn't see the peaceful shoreline of Tofino, I killed the engine so I could get out a map and compass, which I had luckily packed at the last minute. What was I thinking! I didn't know how I was going to survive on my own. I once had to come home early from one of my over night excursions with my school because I was feeling homesick but, to be fair, this time I couldn't really call the cold brick house, that stood on the Western edge of Tofino, 'home'.

I killed the engine and had a small panic attack as I sat on the floor of the boat and cried, bobbing up and down with the motion of the calm, cold sea. I cried for a long time.

The previous night was chaotic as I silently tried to pack up all of my most sentimental and beloved belongings, which was nearly everything I owned. It was heart breaking. Once I knew, for sure, that my dad had passed out from all the whiskey and was fast asleep on the couch in front of the TV, I quietly left the house to pack the boat. I even tried to pack some stuff my mom left behind when she left, you know, the stuff that was special to me like her earrings and jewelry, photos of us and of me that she kept on her dresser. The stuff I thought was sentimental but she didn't bother taking with her. I even found her old fake crocodile skin diary she left in a box in her closet. I never dared read her diary because she had always scolded me if I even looked at it.

My plan was that, first thing in the morning, I would wake up super early to come to the boat. I would put on my warmest clothes, because I knew it would be cold, especially in the early hours of the morning, and run away or in my case, drive away.

Just as I was creeping down the stairs, I found a few bottles of whiskey and rum, abandoned by my dad, on the island in the kitchen from the night before and made a spontaneous decision to dump all of what was left, down the drain – just to really piss him off.

The cold, crisp morning air stung my face where my tears had fallen from my tired eyes and dried, reminding me of where I was and what I was doing. I was running away, for real this time. Not just out to our backyard and into the old tree house – my dad found me after a few hours. I saw a good few beatings that night.

I checked my old watch that I took from my mom's jewelry box, 4:29am it read.

I gathered my courage, checked the map of North America and Canada, and drove the boat as far as I could. I drove at high speed straight out for as long as I felt necessary and then started heading left, down along the coast of North America.