by Olivia Wertz

We decided to run away Wednesday evening. We figured that Wednesday would be best because I had a vocabulary test on Thursday, and because Mama always made Jenni make breakfast Thursday and Friday mornings. Jenni hated making breakfast. I didn’t mind tests, but I hated having to stay in school until 5th period—that’s when my English class was.

It was 7:36, Tuesday morning. Today was my day to make breakfast. The bread felt hard, so we couldn’t have French toast. It was only 3 days past the expiration date on the egg carton, so I made omelets. We were out of cheese, but I remembered that Neighbor Bill brought us some tomatoes and onions from his garden yesterday, so I made veggie omelets. I slipped the left over vegetables into the pocket of my coat.
Jenni sat at the table reading The Giving Tree for the millionth time.

“It’s ready,” I grabbed the book from her hands, “so get up and get yourself a plate.” Jenni obeyed.

After I ate, I ran up the steps to grab my backpack. When I got to the top of the steps, I could see Mama’s shadow moving back and forth behind her bedroom door. Another shadow appeared, and then the two shadows became one.

I realized I had been standing there eyeing Mama’s room for a dangerous amount of seconds, so I grabbed my backpack, tiptoed into my room, and quickly deposited the tomato and onion into my dresser drawer. Then, I silently crept back down the steps. I knew Mama would get mad if she knew I was snoopin’ outside of her room.

“Let’s get to the bus,” I said to Jenni.
“Okay,” she responded. She grabbed The Giving Tree from the counter, shoved it into her backpack, and forced her feet into her beaten sneakers.

I wanted to sneak out of school after lunch, but I knew that I wasn’t going to be in class tomorrow, so I stayed. I didn’t care to listen to my English teacher reviewing the vocabulary. I thought of Jenni and myself, hand in hand, headed for Freedom.

Jenni and I got off the bus at 2:51. I always look down at my watch to see what time it is, so I know how much time we have until Mama gets back from work. She’s a waitress at Dean’s Diner and works from 8:30 to 3:30 Tuesdaythough Saturday. Sometimes we get a pink notice on our door, and then Mama works Sundays, too.

“Okay, Jenni. Do you remember the plan? Take all of your schoolbooks out of your backpack and put the clothes you’re taking with us in there. I have some food saved up that I will put in my backpack with my stuff.”
“Okay,” said Jenni.

Mama got home at 3:47. She looked tired, so she told us she not to bother her. She would go out later. Every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday Mama went out. The other nights, people came over.

Jenni and I were up in our room. I heard Mama’s heels clank down the steps. Then, I heard the door slam. Mama had left. I looked at Jenni. She folded The Giving Tree shut and put it in her backpack. I didn’t want her to take the book with us because it took up space in her backpack and then we couldn’t fit the box of Poptarts in her bag, but I knew she would cry and be a pain, so I shoved the box into my already overstuffed backpack and let her take the book.

As we headed out the front door, Jenni grabbed my hand and looked at me with large worried eyes. “It’ll be okay,” I said. She nodded.

Whenever I was smaller and Jenni was still a baby that Mama had to carry around, we lived close to Grandma. We would take the bus to see Grandma every Friday after Mama got off work. I figured I would remember how to take the bus from all those times, so I wasn’t worried about finding our way to Freedom.

Jenni and I walked, hand in hand, to the bus stop that was four blocks away. Sometimes, if Jenni and I missed the school bus at the stop outside of our house, we would run to this one.
I had $7.49. I had seven $1 dollar bills, four dimes, one nickel and four pennies. One time Mama gave me $10 to get milk and when I brought the change home she was already asleep. The next day she must have forgotten about it, so I kept it. That’s where this money came from.

We waited for a bus. It was dark. Jenni clutched my hand so tight that I could feel the coins in my palm indenting into my skin. Finally, the bus came. The door slid open. The bus driver was old and tired looking. His eyes looked like they were melting off his face. Sometimes Mama’s eyes look like this in the morning.

“A buck-twenty-five each,” he said. I shook off Jenni’s grip. I could feel the other passengers on the bus watching me, waiting for me. I fumbled with the coins. Suddenly, I forgot how to count. I wanted to cry. I wanted to turn around, get off the bus, and walk to Freedom, so that I never had to count money again.
“Here, darlin’. Give me three bills and we’ll call it even.”
“Uh…uh okay.” I handed him three $1 bills. He directed us to walk back. He watched us in the mirror as Jenni and I walked back to a seat. He smirked at me, closed the bus door, and began to drive. I felt sad.

We were on the bus for a long time. Jenni’s head rested on my shoulder. I was lightly leaning against my backpack, trying not to squish the vegetables I had stowed away in there. I was uncomfortable from trying to not squish the food in my backpack and trying to balance Jenni’s head so that she was confortable.

After two more stops, the bus halted. “Last stop, girls. Let’s go, get yer things.”

I lightly pushed Jenni’s little head away from me. I stood up and gathered my backpack, the money, my sister, and her bag. I wasn’t sure if this was Freedom, but I was too scared to ask.
Jenni shuffled behind me as I stepped off the bus onto the concrete sidewalk. I felt the doors close behind us and heard the bus begin to pull away. I did not look back. I looked around. I looked across the street and saw a streetlight with a blue “K” spray-painted on the side. I looked up and saw a billboard that read, “Got Jesus?” and had a picture of a gold cross on it. I looked to my left and saw a black cat sleeping beside a trashcan overflowing with aluminum cans and newspapers and McDonald’s bags. I looked down and saw Jenni looking up at me. I thought of Mama.

“This isn’t Freedom,” I said to Jenni. I could tell that she already knew that.
“So where do we go from here?” she asked and we walked on, hand in hand.