The Run Away

It was the most tragic day, the day she ran away. When I realized she was gone panic set in and I felt like nothing made sense. She had done this before but I wasn’t sure if she would come back this time.

We had an argument that morning. The same argument we’ve had most mornings. It wasn’t like we were horribly mean to each other but I guess I could have been nicer. But some of it was true.

How would she ever see if I didn’t tell her the truth? How would she know that she needed to wake up earlier, eat healthier, be nicer, sit up straight, be more creative, smarter and brush her hair? It was like she didn’t care about anything of importance.

Lately our fights had gotten more intense and I actually threatened her on a few occasions. A couple of times I might have let my emotions take over because I told her that if she didn’t get her shit together I might just kill her. But I never really meant it.

I think.

Her running away is so childish, just like her attitude. I sometimes wish I could talk nicely to her and comfort her but it probably wouldn’t matter anyway. She should take some initiative and figure it out. I’m tired and worn out too. I’ve put so much into this relationship that I feel like I do all of the work.

So maybe it’s a good thing she ran away again. I can’t take care of everything and everyone. It’s not like she was helpful to me anyway. She made life hard. She was sad all of the time and her pain made me hurt and I’m tired of hurting. I’m just tired.

Around 1 AM there was a knock on my door. I wasn’t asleep but I didn’t want to get out of bed. I knew who it was and I didn’t want to answer. The knock became louder and a voice that I didn’t recognized yelled through my door.

“Ma’am? Answer your door please. We need to talk to you.”

I pulled the covers over my head and yelled back, “NO! I don’t want to see or talk to her! She’s dangerous!”

“Ma’am. She’s just a little girl. You have to take her back. She can’t be out here on her own.”

I started to cry because I knew what aloneness felt like. I knew what not being wanted felt like. But I still didn’t want to have her back. Her pain was too much. 

“Ma’am, please. She needs you.”

I sat at the edge of my bed and pulled a robe on, tied my hair up, wiped my tears away and took my time getting to the door. They weren’t going anywhere and I wanted to be clear I wasn’t in a hurry.

She ran away, not me. 

I got to the door and took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. I paused for a minute, afraid of what was on the other side. I can’t keep playing this game. It hurts too much.

I cracked the door so they could only see in a little bit when all of the sudden she bursts open the door and pushes her way back in! I stumbled backward. I still held the doorknob and looked out to see who had brought her but no one was there. Of course.

There never is.

She walked over and sat down on the couch and invited me to sit with her.

She looked at me with the same “I’m sorry” look she always gives me when she does this. “Please sit down with me? I need to tell you something.”

I walked over to the couch but didn’t sit down. “I’ll stand.” I crossed my arms. “You woke me up and I’m going back to bed after you explain to me where the hell you’ve been.”

She sat there silent. I could tell she was afraid and that frustrated me even more. I guess maybe I was afraid too.

“Who brought you home?” I quipped.

“You did.” She mumbled shyly. “You did. You always do.”

I sat down on the couch and wept.

By Polly Hamp

(First publication 8/25/2019)