Runaway(ON HOLD)

1

     "Harry Styles Missing," the bright red headline blared on the small T.V., and small, white, bullet-pointed facts flashed up on the screen.  "17 years old, high school student.  Last seen in his school on Monday.  Height: 5'11''.  Drives a Ford pick-up truck.  Suspected to have run away.  If you have any information, please call . . ."

     A phone number came on the T.V. as another picture of a curly-headed boy flashed on the screen.  His smile was wide and dimpled; not the smile of someone you would've thought to have run away.

     Aunty turned down the volume and turned to look at me disapprovingly.  She shook the remote at the T.V.  "You see that?  You see that, Autumn?  That's what happens when you disobey.  Stupid teenagers, always thinking they know what's best for themselves.  You ever want to run away?  You'll end up dead, just like that dumb kid probably is."

     I just nodded my head and resumed coloring.  "Yes, Aunty."  Aunty just shook her head and grumbled about stupid kids, turning the T.V. off and flinging the remote on the couch.

     "Okay, aunty's out of her special juice, so she's gonna go out and grab some more, okay?  I'll be right back," she said, grabbing her purse and giving me a light hug.  I nodded, and switched my green crayon with a blue crayon.  "Lock the door behind me!"

     Sighing, I slid out of my chair and followed Aunty as she walked out the door.  Once she shut it, I reached up and locked it. I ambled back over to my coloring book.  I almost liked it better when Aunty was gone; it was nice and quiet and I had the house all to myself.

     The wonderful feeling of loneliness didn't last long as a loud knock suddenly interrupted my dutiful coloring.  Once again, I climbed out of my chair and walked over to the door, peering curiously out the window.  A big, tall man in a police uniform stood outside.  Eyes wide, I unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

     "Hello," I said shyly.

     The police man looked startled when he saw me.  He bent down slightly so that he was on my level.  "Oh, um, hello.  Are your parents home?"

     "I live with my Aunty, but she's in the shower at the moment.  Can I help you?" I recited what my Aunty had always told me to tell people.

     The police man frowned.  "Will your aunt be out of the shower any time soon?"

     I wavered for a moment, the question catching me off guard.  Then I shook my head.  "She just got in, and she takes really long showers.  I can take a message?"

     Oh, well, okay," the police man said, his expression softening slightly and a smile appearing under his bushy mustache.  He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me.  "Can you give this to your aunt for me, please?  It's nothing to worry about, just want everyone safe."

     I took the piece of paper out of his meaty hands and opened it up to reveal another picture of that curly-headed boy that ran away with practically all the same information.  I smiled.  "Oh yeah! I've seen this boy before!"

     "You have?  Where?" the police man was suddenly very alert.

     "On my T.V!  Aunty was watching before she went . . . to take a shower," I rambled, almost slipping up.

     The police man nodded uneasily.  "Alright.  Well, just . . . if you see him in real life, call 911 immediately, okay?

     "Is he dangerous?"

     "I would say more . . . troubled," he said, thinking for a moment.  I nodded slowly, staring at the picture of the boy.  The police man stood back up and turned around to leave, but not before adding, "Oh, and, uh, sweetie?  Don't open your door anymore to strangers, okay?  It's not safe."

     I nodded again, before waving good-bye and shutting the heavy door again.

     "They're saying they found his car in this area," Aunty slurred, chomping down on her fried chicken.

      I took another bite of mine.  "Does that mean he's here?"

     Aunty took a huge swig from her bottle and shrugged.  "Possibly.  Apparently, he's got some serious problems.  Drugs and alcohol and everything," I looked at her, slightly confused.  She rolled her eyes and clarified.  "Aunty's special juice, Autumn.  It's called alcohol.  And drugs . . . they're bad.  That's all you need to know."

     I frowned.  "Well, then don't you have ac-lo-hal problems, too?" I asked, stumbling over the word 'alcohol'.

     "No I don't," she stated defensively.  "Stop asking questions."

     I nodded, and glanced at the piece of paper with the picture of the missing boy on it.  I couldn't help but ask one more question.  "Why are they looking for him?"

     "What?" she asked through a mouthful of food, giving me a frustrated look.

     "Why are they looking for him?" I repeated.  "If someone runs away, they don't want to be found, right?"

     "It's complicated," Aunty responded, sighing.

     I looked at the paper forlornly.  "Maybe he just wanted to escape."

     "You can't just escape, Autumn.  It doesn't work like that.  Now shut up and eat your chicken," she scolded.  I obeyed, eating slowly.  But I couldnt' stop myself from wondering why someone would run away.  Why someone would be so unhappy that they felt that they needed to leave everything behind and start over.  Why someone would want to escape so badly.  I wondered.

     We finished our meal in silence, and Aunty finished her bottle of her special juice.  She went to bed without so much as a 'good night', but that was okay.  She never said good-night to me.

      After a bit more coloring, my eyes drooped sleepily, and I put away my coloring supplies and straightened up the kitchen a bit.  I was about to go up to my room when a sudden movement outside of the kitchen window caught my eye.  I froze for a moment in fear, but my curiousity eventually won out.  I clambored up on to the kitchen counter and peered out the window in to the dark.

     Ever since I had lived with Aunty, the lot to the left of her house had been empty.  It was now overgrown with weeds and things like that because whoever owned the lot never decided to build on it.  There was one giant tree in the middle of it all, and whenever the loneliness got too lonely, I would go out to the abandoned lot and talk to the tree.  Mr. Tree was my only friend.

     Leaning against Mr. Tree was a tall, lanky boy digging through an old backpack.  My eyes widened, and I scampered down from the counter and over to the kitchen table where the paper that the police man had given me was.  When I went back over to the window, the boy was still there, his back against Mr. Tree so that no one from the street could see him, but I could.

     I flattened the paper against the window and compared the boy outside to the boy in the picture.  Although it was dark and I could only see the side profile of the boy outside, I could tell they were the same boy. 

     I gasped, and lunged for the landline phone that sat on it's consul on the counter.  I dialed a 9 and a 1, but hesitated with my finger hovering over the 1.  Why should I call the police?  The boy wasn't doing anything wrong, as far as I could tell.   I know the police man told me to call the police if I saw him, but why should I?  He obviously didn't want to be found.

     After a few moments of debating, I hit 'cancel' and set the phone back down.  I carefully slid off the counter and tip-toed over to the door so as to not wake up Aunty.  Slowly, I turned the door knob and silently creaked the front door open.

     Hey, if I wasn't gonna call the police, I might as well go say hi.