Dec 18 2008
The Great Escape to New York City [1]
*FLASHBACK*
At home she stares at me as though I am the source of her misery. Maybe I am. She says I’m too quiet, too thin, too carefree, too sneaky…she says I think I am better than her but I don’t even know who I am. My youth is despised while at the same time my approaching manhood reminds her of past tribulation…past abuse. I feel alone. Actually, I don’t mind it and it won’t last for long. New York City is calling my name and I am about to run into it’s flaming arms…
Next comes my acting role in a tragic comedy titled The Boy who Takes Out the Trash. I run to the huge dumpster out front with a half empty garbage bag in tow. I drop the bag when I am halfway there and run to the back where my suitcases are waiting. Suddenly, the back door tears open and she is standing there. Her nostrils are flared in anger, the shape of a triangle. One of my suitcases is instantly pulled from my grasp. I back up, a little. “You should have told me,” she says. “I would have helped you pack!” Then I run…
The pace of my great escape quickens when I notice the time. At an ally’s home I wait impatiently for a cab. The cab never shows but I am driven, metaphorically and literally. When I arrive at the Greyhound station I collect the waiting ticket…one-way to the Port Authority Bus Station in Manhattan. When the coach pulls away a feeling of elation overcomes me. Naive satisfaction. “Finally,” I whisper.
To Be Continued…
