B: Chapter 2: 1971

1971

I am running away from home. I live on a street called Greenbriar, the
only place I remember living. My sister told me about another place we
lived, an apartment. An apartment is like a house, she said, only
they're all stuck together and there was a pool that all the families
shared. She said we lived on the second floor, and that I got lost once
at the bottom of the stairs and walked back and forth crying. She
watched me, she said, and laughed until I heard her and came back home.
"I was laughing and you came right up the stairs."

My mother and father don't know I'm running away, but my sister might
because I borrowed her suitcase. The suitcase has orange and red and
yellow flowers on it, with green leaves in the background. The inside
smells like baby powder. I had to promise I'd bring it right back, even
giving her my set of Lincoln Logs until I did. I figured I'd need the
suitcase more than the Lincoln Logs.

I am running away to find Johnny Quest, the boy on the television. I
love him for his blond hair and his friends and his father, who teaches
Johnny tricks and lets Johnny drive a boat. Johnny is real, I think,
because he is on the television every day, saving people with his dog
and a dark friend who wears a towel on his head. This is enough for
me.

I am four, an easy number for my fingers because all I have to do is
hold up my hand and tuck in my thumb when people ask me how old I am. I
know how to tie my shoes. I got it right the first time in the car
while my father drove home from the store. He didn't say anything when
I told him. I pointed down at my sneakers so he could see the bows.
They weren't perfect like his but my shoes were definitely tied. He
didn't look over, just kept driving. I decided my mother would notice,
maybe give me money.

But my mother just smiled at me and then kept reading her book. I
showed my sister, but one of my laces had come undone. She said, "So
what? Anybody can tie their own shoes. Let's see if you can go to the
bathroom by yourself or brush your own teeth." So I went to my room
until dinnertime, untying and retying my shoes, sometimes taking them
off but mostly leaving them on my feet. I got the bows even.

The next day, Johnny Quest and his friends get lost. A bunch of men
chase them through the jungle with guns. At the end of the show, Johnny
says, "If you ever need me, I'm just up the street." That was for me.
I'm not afraid of running into men with guns, at least not like the men
on the show, who don't move anything except their mouths. Those men
sound a lot like Johnny's father, but I know this can't be true.
Johnny's father is clean, and blond like Johnny. His shirt is always
tucked in. I like him, too, but in a different way. He's there but not
there, showing up in his clean shirt and nice hair. He doesn't
yell.

I am afraid of the dogs that sneak around my neighborhood. They will
chase you into a tree, or bite at your ankles. My father says, "Don't
let them know you're scared. Let them know who's boss." But I know
who's boss - the dogs. I think my father knows this, too, but won't let
on.

I want to be like Johnny. He is just up the street - that's what he
said - so he is waiting for me in my own neighborhood. He might be at
the city pool, or maybe in one of those houses around the basketball
courts and picnic tables. I believe him. If he says he's there, it must
be true, because he said it on the television. That's the law.

Into my sister's flowery suitcase I put a flashlight with no
batteries, two button up shirts I haven't worn yet, a pair of socks
that are already dirty from walking on the grass, and a book about a
prince. The prince and his treasure chest pop up whenever you turn the
page. When I look down into the suitcase it's mostly empty, so I throw
in a towel and my swimming suit. The towel fills up the suitcase. I zip
it up and put it by my window.

This window doesn't really work. It's hard to get open and then it
won't stay all the way up. It has a screen with little bits of bug
parts and spider web stuck into the wire. I lift the window, and stick
a clothes hanger in to hold it while I run my finger along the screen
edge. The screen is tucked into slots around the window. It doesn't
move, like it's been in the window forever. I could cut it out, but
that would mean getting the scissors that I'm not supposed to use. I
have other scissors - "baby scissors," my sister calls them - but they
won't work. I could get a knife. My father has knives in the kitchen
that are sharp enough to cut through fence wire. They also work on
magnets, like the ones that hold the refrigerator shut.

But the kitchen is where my father is. Right now he is sitting there,
drinking his medicine and smoking a cigarette while the television runs
with no sound. That's what he usually does, anyway. I know there is no
way he's going to let me leave the kitchen with one of his
knives.

All of the windows in the house have these screens, so I think about
another way out of the house. Soon, I think, my father will be yelling
for my sister and me to outside and play. He'll say, "It'll be dark in
a few hours, damn it. Go get something done." If I'm careful I might be
able to sneak out with the suitcase. It's small but bright. My father
might stop me and want to look inside.

I pick up the suitcase and walk out of my room. I look around the
corner and into the living room. My father is sitting at the kitchen
table. He looks like he might be sleeping. His eyes are closed, but the
cigarette in his hand is still sending up smoke. Maybe he is taking a
nap. I have seen my father sleep for real in his chair in front of the
television, sitting straight up with growling noises coming out of his
mouth. I have spit on his lit cigarettes and watched them sizzle. I
decide to sneak past him.

It's not a long walk through the living room and to the front door.
Except for my sister's suitcase, I am just walking, going outside. If
my father opens his eyes, he'll see me doing what I do all the time,
only I'm holding a suitcase and wearing shoes. My shoes are tied. The
bows match. They look like they match, anyway.

I move fast, putting myself between the suitcase and my father. It
takes a long time to reach the front hallway, open the door, and walk
outside. But I am outside.

I hear laughing from inside the house, and I run down the driveway,
the suitcase hitting my leg as I cut across the neighbor's lawn. I
don't mean to do this, because if the neighbor saw me on his lawn he
would be out on his porch, not saying a word but looking at me like he
has reached the end of his rope. That's what he used to say - "I have
reached the end of my rope with you kids" - until my father caught him
yelling at us one day and walked right onto the neighbor's grass while
we stood on the sidewalk. My father just watched until the neighbor
went back into his own house.

I get to the street and slow down, looking over my shoulder at our
porch. It's empty except for some plastic crates and a tall stick my
sister found in the bayou and is trying to dry out. The stick is up
against the bricks on the wall, next to my bedroom window.

I left the window open. I can see the hanger that's holding it up. I
turn all the way around, walking backwards while looking at my open
window. The window shouldn't be like that, letting the air into the
house. Letting the cool air outside and frigerating the whole outdoors.
It should be closed, and locked, maybe with the curtains pulled
shut.