But I can’t stay here any longer. I have to leave her, even if it breaks my heart.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will leave. Tomorrow, I will be free.
I barely slept. There was this tingling in my stomach all night, and more than once, I thought I had to throw up as I did like a child after I ate the poisonous berries from the potatoes in our garden. But I knew it was the excitement. What I’m about to do is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done, and it will probably change my life.
As soon as my mother leaves, I relax a little. It was exhausting to hide my nervousness from her, but she seemed so immersed in her preparations that she didn’t notice the shaking of my hands and my glances toward the window.
To keep myself occupied, I fulfill my duties before going to my room, where I stop in the middle and look around. What does one take when planning to run away from their mother and the only life they’ve ever known? I don’t have any personal belongings. There’s only a hairbrush on the dresser beside the bed, and next to it is a tray with a few hair ties and bows. For a second, I consider taking the book I’m currently reading with me, but it would be too difficult to hide it from my mother at the dinner table while keeping it close enough to reach.
Indecisively, I look at the clothes I’m wearing. The loose trousers made of dark-blue linen and the gray sweater are functional and not particularly pretty, but my wardrobe doesn’t offer much more choice, so I’ll leave it at that. As there’s nothing for me to do or take here, I leave the room for good, head to the kitchen, and start preparing dinner.
While slicing the potatoes and carrots, my gaze keeps darting through the window to the intersection with the useless traffic light. My heart flutters nervously in my chest because the pickup should show up in about an hour if the driver sticks to their schedule.
I wonder who will be sitting in it. Will they even take me with them? And what will my mother do when she realizes I’m gone?
A dagger pierces my heart at the last thought, but I shake the feeling off. I can’t stay any longer. I have to know what life is really like. I have to see for myself if people are truly as corrupt and cruel as my mother says. And I have to find out what it’s like to be free.
The minutes pass agonizingly slowly, yet time runs out as I sit across from my mother at the table.
"You’re not even eating." She scrutinizes me while I poke around in my stew.
I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat and try not to focus too much on the way the blood rushes in my ears. "I’m not hungry."
She examines me for another second before finishing the last bite of bread and putting her spoon down on her now empty plate.
"I’ll eat it later," I say, hoping it will keep her from giving me a long sermon about how I should honor God’s gifts instead of scorning them.
The pickup will show up in a few minutes.
When I stand to clear the table, I suddenly become very calm. The trembling of my hands has stopped, and though I can feel my heart beat in my chest, it’s no longer racing like it was an hour ago.
I glance at the clock and then look out the window while putting the dirty dishes in the sink.
In a moment. It’s almost time.
The scraping of the chair’s legs is unnaturally loud as my mother stands and pushes the chair back under the table. "It looks like it’s going to rain. I’ll go unload the car."
My heart stops for a moment at her words. She won’t be in the bathroom when the pickup appears. She’ll be outside and see how I’m about to run away. But Ican’tdeviate from my plan. I have to try it, so I put the dish brush back down, turn off the faucet, and dry my hands. "I’ll help you."
The sky’s almost pitch black. Could this be a bad omen, pointing out I’m about to do something foolish? I don’t know, but I won’t think about it either. The pickup will appear at any moment, so I rush to my mother’s car and open the door to hand her the first box, hoping she’ll take it inside.
Just as her fingers brush mine to take it from my hands, I hear the low hum of an approaching engine. I take a deep breath and turn back to my mother’s car and the road as she walks back into the house. Only a few seconds later, the black pickup comes into view and stops at the traffic light.
Now. I have to goright nowbefore my mother comes back and stops me.
I make the first step and feel the adrenaline that suddenly rushes through my veins. A second step. The third is faster. I run down the dirt driveway that leads to the road. It’s not far anymore.
What if the driver won’t drive off, and my mother pulls me out of the vehicle?
I’m sprinting now.
The doors could be locked so I can’t even get in.
My whole body tingles as my heart races again.
The driver could be a bad person.
I hear the squeaking of the screen door being pushed open behind me.
