Running Away

In Grade five, Katelyn had sat on her bed as the pain in her heart intensified. No matter how hard she had tried, she had not been able to forget what others said about her and she had not come to terms with it, had not let it set in, because they would think that she accepted it. If she had tried to defend herself, however, they would not listen, but would adamantly protest her, and she was too vested, so affected, that she could not talk calmly when they kept resisting her truth. She closed her eyes, feeling the salty sting of the tears against her eyelids. She had to talk to them, that was certain, but their response would always be the same, and she could not accept it without surrendering some of herself and losing the last shred of hope she had left. The problem was that she had not known the truth herself at the time.

There was a rush inside her, an anger, and when she was not careful, it would consume her, and she would lose control of herself. She had tried to keep silent, and they gave that a name and it did not work. She had tried to tell them, to get them to understand, but they did not listen and then she was uncontrolled and dangerous. She had regretted saying anything at all, but she doubted that they would remember. When she looked back, she wondered, if they had not used that against her, but she did not know what year they had picked up the knowledge of what she was. She had not paid attention to their reactions back when she did not even know the truth herself. If she had hid her emotions, she was presenting mixed emotions, which were dishonest. They would rather she had forgotten her feelings entirely—how could she otherwise with their words? They had not said that was what they wanted. No, in their hearts they had wanted her to be authentic, to show herself, but they did not know how it affected her and tore her apart. They had insulted her character, though they said they told the truth.

She knew what they would do with her, but she had not known back then, not that she had ever told them. Would they act differently because I am their daughter? She doubted it. The teachers would not care. At the time, she had known it would not go well because of the connotation of their words and how they thought she would do something that she would not. They had wanted her to tell them that she felt scared, too, but how could she be honest when she could not trust them? Her heart would not let her. She had risen to the floor. She had to be more than her emotions, had to get something done, but it did not matter to her. She had needed some reassurance to keep going, but there was nowhere to turn. They had been the ones who were supposed to help, but they could not, for they would never understand, as hard as they had tried and as much as they had thought they wanted to. Maybe, she had considered, they care, but that only made it worse, preventing her from getting the courage to just let go of all the cares.

Even now, she wished that she could just have the courage like the blonde girl in Kindergarten to resist them and maybe even to go beyond to fight them. She had walked to the door. Her parents would be angry with her if she did anything and they had always subjected her to some ruthless babysitter. Her parents, the babysitters—they had all felt the same, believed the same sort of things, even if they did not think they did. Sure, sometimes they had been at odds and had seemed to disagree more than they agreed. Opening the door, she had crept down the dark hallway to the staircase. It had been late at night, and the moonlight had glittered through the high window and down the carpeted staircase. At the ground, she had slinked a few steps further, grabbed her black ballet flats, and slid the latch on the outside door, before pushing it open and once outside flinging it quietly shut.

She had breathed in the cold, calm air, feeling it surround her in a strangely comforting torrent, almost like the pain inside her. The wind had rustled through her medium length brown hair and her thin scarlet dress. It had carried her forwards, down the rocky steps, across the driveway, and into the street, however far she dared to go. The further she had walked, the less she had wanted to turn back, but the more the raging wind had bit at her tender skin and chilled her through her fine garment. She had shivered, trembling in the blistering cold. She had not wanted to turn back, but even she had, by then she had been lost. The streetlights had shined like little stars leading across a narrow heaven, but she did not have the skills to read them, and they were far from her, too cold for comfort.

The memory pulled her back to her room and at last she fell asleep.

Even in her dreams, the memories would not leave her alone and she kept seeing the darkness flit before her eyes and the endless tall streetlights hovering above her as she crossed endless unfamiliar streets. This time, it was not a memory so much as a nightmare from a string of memories. She could see wolves all around her, running towards her, and one of them had the face of an old woman smiling eerily and saying in a distant voice, “Are you lost, sweetie?” The wolves grinned behind her.

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Katelyn jerked from her sleep. She walked to the bus that day, not wanting to run into her parents and have to ask them to drive her. They had not yet found her another babysitter. She could walk to school as she sometimes had, but her legs felt shaky, and she did not feel safe walking alone today after what happened to Victoria. In her mind, she wished that it was all a dream and that Victoria was not really gone. Any moment, Victoria would walk up behind her and talk to her and then everything would be alright, but Victoria was gone. She was afraid that her parents might get caught. They had not called the police and denied Victoria justice, but her father had at least tried to save Victoria even though she had let Katelyn’s mother kill her anyway. If Victoria had listened to him, everything would have been alright, but she did not. It did not matter. The wind was brisk and biting, but it just seemed to reflect all the pain she was already feeling. She ignored its rush on her skin as if it was an irritating bully she could not ignore, but the message of who would sink deep into her memory telling her she was alone, and it was her fault. It was her fault. All her fault. She had done nothing, just as she had done nothing years ago in Kindergarten. She resisted the urge to cry.

The bus slowly pulled into the bus stop and the students streamed out, shattering Katelyn from her thoughts. As Katelyn climbed the steps, the other students gave her suspicious looks. She never rode the bus. They knew that. Katelyn spotted her best friend, Hanna. Hanna sat next to the window with her long blonde hair streaming down her back. She stared at the window with an almost forlorn expression, reflecting Katelyn’s inner torment. When Katelyn sat next to her, she turned her blue eyes towards Katelyn, but she did not judge Katelyn. Her expression was blank, and she said nothing. Katelyn wished Hanna would say something, anything, but she just smiled weakly. The bus started moving again.

After she had run away, despair had settled in, though she had tried to fight it away, and then she longed to go home, to get out of the frigid airs. In her heart, home was not her house, but some idea of comfort she had never felt. Getting there would have been more impossible than returning to her literal home. A wolf had howled in the distant wilderness beyond the reaches of the suburban neighbourhood, but not having heard wolves before in her simple district, she had felt more than knew that she had gone beyond it. She had backed up into a streetlight, her hair disarrayed. She had felt a wild fire in her soul, a kind of feeling she had never felt before that at first had filled her as a thrill, but in a moment felt like an excruciating, debilitating heart burn. She had heard of strangers attacking the unprepared in the darkness of the streets, but no one had approached her. Rather, the eyes had all hid in the shadows, peeking out like little glimmering matches waiting like cats to pounce. She had run until all feeling left her legs and she collapsed, the world spinning above her. What had I been thinking? she had questioned.

When she had awoken, the sun shone brightly, as if it had no thought for the effects of its work, but had to do it, no matter what. Her hands had been shaking, and miraculously, no one had come near her, though there were still dark shapes in the shadows staring at her, eager to pounce, but for whatever reason holding back. She had risen to her feet and brushed the dirt off her dress, and then looked around at the unfamiliar neighbourhood around her. Maybe, she would have called her parents, or thought about it, but she had not brought her phone. By then, they probably would have called her, given the bright daylight, and possibly even gone to work or to the police, because they might have been worried. Part of her had wanted to be found, but the rest of her had felt tormented and wanted to keep hiding. After all, they would not be pleased that she had run away. She had thought they would probably tear her apart, unless they had not bothered to check on her at all that morning and just assumed she was still sleeping, as often she never saw them in the morning. She had thought of retracing her steps, but she was disoriented and did not know which way she had come. She thought of looking for something familiar, but she knew there would be nothing. What had I been thinking? she had mourned once more, before wondering, Where am I? and with more consternation, What am I going to do?

“You lost, sweetie?” an elderly lady had asked her, but she knew better than to look vulnerable. She shook her head, but the woman just laughed, almost mockingly, “Why aren’t you in school?” Jeeringly, she had added, “Sleeping?” Katelyn had backed away, until she was pressed against the streetlight, while the woman stalked off down the street.

Katelyn had walked the other direction, smoothing her hair with her still trembling hands, and not really sure if she was going the right direction or getting herself more lost and not really caring.