Runaway

Chapter Nine: Hits the Fan

The intrepid explorer must always be ready for surprises. Often times things don't go as planned.

The soft glow of the street lamps and the vibrant hues of the graffiti staining the walls lead me back to Helen's ski shop. When I walked in she was getting ready to head out.

"No one has been in here for hours, I'm packing up," Helen said, stuffing some magazines into a large black leather purse. "There's no point in being here if I can't make any money," she added with a smirk.

Crap. I needed to think fast, otherwise I would be out on the street for the night. I needed to be the last one in the ski shop so I could camp out.

"Uh, I still need to finish up some ski sharpening," I lied, hoping Helen hadn't seen me do it earlier.

"Oh . . . well I don't really want to stay here," she paused, thinking. "You know what? You can close the shop when your done. I'll leave you the spare key and you can lock everything up when you decide to go home. I trust you, don't make me regret it,"

"I won't," I said, relieved that she bought my lie. Helen ran into the back room, searching for the key. I shrugged out of my coat and threw it behind the counter. Moments later she emerged from storage holding a silver key. She tossed it to me and I slid it into my jeans pocket.

"Make sure you lock the storage room and the workbench before you leave. If anyone does break in that will stop them from getting to much stuff,"

"Have you been robbed before?" I asked, suddenly worried about where I would be sleeping for the night.

"No, just a shopkeeper's fear," 

My heart slowed down after she said those words. I was working myself up over nothing. 

"Okay, that's good. Who would want to rob you of all this crap anyways," I jested, holding my hands out, gesturing to all of the racks lining the walls. The merchandise was actually pretty nice. The quality let Helen raise the prices just a little higher than her competitors and still keep her business. 

"I know, right? It's just a load of junk," Helen replied, her speech dripping with sarcasm. She began to make her way towards the door, buttoning her coat all the way up. The felt collar looked warm and cozy, around her neck. I shivered, suddenly feeling cold. 

"Have a good night," Helen said, waving as she opened the door. A gust of chilly air blew in, causing me to shiver again. 

"You too," I replied, waving back.

The door chimed as it shut, sealing off the chilly wind.

I slumped back against the wall behind the main counter, letting my back rub gently againt the wallpaper. A sigh escaped my lips, an echo of the constant stress within me.

My fingers went to the zipper of my backpack, pulling the pocket oopen. My hand dove into its contents, searching for the familiar feel of a glossy print photgraph. I peeled the tape back and slid the phot out of the bag. I cradled my parents in my hands, my eyes rolling over every detail.

My father's khaki uniform, ribbons pinned above his breast pocket, and the chevrons stictched to his arm. My mother in her uniform, and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. I dragged my finger over their figures, longing to feel their embrace again.

I sighed again, partly in sorrow and another part acceptance. I returned the photo to its place in my pack, patting down safely. I checked my watch, the hands read half past eight. It wasn't too late but I was still exhausted. I quickly got up and locked the door, closing the blinds that rested above its window. I hit the lights, letting the soft glow of the moon illuminate the room dimly. I grabbed the radio and flicked it on, setting it to a classical rock channel. The soothing tones of Pink Floyd entered the air, relaxing me and helping me drift off into dreamland.