bird | r.c

the boulangerie

I'VE BEEN running for as long as I can remember. 

I think it started when dad first left us. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon in Paris, and we had just returned from our daily trip to the boulangerie down the street. Mom and I, that was, dad didn't feel well and stayed behind. 

"Hey," he said when we came in with bags clutched in our hands, while his head tilted to the right ever so slightly, a hand scratching awkwardly behind his ear. "Can we sit?"

He packed his bags not too long after that and, well, left.

And so did I. 

I ran along the streets of Paris, desperately trying to find a way to deal with the emotions that surged through me.  I didn't,  and so when we finally got back to my hometown, Boston, I never stopped running.

That's also when we found out my dad was in fact, gay. He knew for a while. He just didn't want to acknowledge it, turned away from it too long, but when we visited his beautiful home country of France and his eyes had fallen on all of the gorgeous men that walked around there, he couldn't run from it any longer. And so he.. experimented. A lot.

Sometimes I think fleeing might run in the family, it just expresses itself differently.

Dad finds a new man to lose himself in, mom overworks herself, and I run. I've found a healthier way to describe it, though. I work out.

 I was on the track team most of high school, I ran a marathon, I even got myself a full-ride scholarship, and up until a few months ago, I was planning on going to college. Political science. I practically already packed my bags by the time I got my acceptance letter. Then my life went to shit, and I had to say good bye to  Dartmouth. So, yeah, I ran quite a bit those days.

Why?

My uncle died. And now, apparently, my cousin is just living on his own, I guess. My uncle Ted was supposed to take care of him, but then again.. it's uncle Ted. Always been a bit of a weirdo. So now we're moving.

"You ready, bird?"

We're leaving tonight. It kind of happened out of the blue. After everything that happened with mom and the entire situation just blew up on the news, she wanted to get out of here. And then there's John B too, of course.

John B. He should be about seventeen now. Shit, what was the last time I even saw the kid?

"Wren? Are you almost done?"

The heel of the foot that belonged to my mother made a bang on the floor with every step she took, slowly finding its way towards my room. 

"Hello?"

"Yeah, sorry." I pushed a strand of brown hair behind my ear and smiled apologetically. "Almost done. Just need to zip this up."

"Okay. Hey, dad is stopping by in a minute. Just put your stuff by the stairs, he'll carry 'em down, alright?"

"You got it."

"Cool. Oh, and Wren, please don't wear those stupid earplugs when I can't see them. Feels like I'm talking to a wall."

"Sorry."

She tapped my door, signalling an 'okay', and took the stairs down again.

I wasn't even wearing any.

I sigh before pushing my entire bodyweight onto the suitcase and fail to zip it up. Again.

This was going to be a bit of a hassle.