The Great Escape

I ran away over 13 years ago.  I was four years old and my older brother and I were tired of bowing to the demands of our youngest brother, being forced to eat broccoli, and being asked to make our beds.  Sick of the choking injustice, we hatched a plan to leave and never come back.  I packed up my Barbies, Wood-Kin paper dolls, Jelllies sandals, and blanket into my kindergarten backpack and met Adam at the front door.  Clutching his pillowcase full of Hot Wheels, he fearlessly led the way off the porch and down the sidewalk.  We made it to the end of the driveway before our grand escapade was halted due to the spying eyes of our younger brother.  My mom called us back inside and sentenced us to the horror of Windex-ing the bathroom mirrors. 

Since our compromised mission, I have often contemplated running away.  I even packed a bag of t-shirts but decided to stay because my mom made brownies.  

One time, I declared out of rage, “I’m running away!” To which my mother coolly replied, “Go on, there’s the door.”  With that challenge in mind, I grew up slowly realizing that emptying the dishwasher was not a prison sentence and David, though the baby of the family was not the designated favorite child.  My parents were not monsters, and taking out the trash required little to no effort at all.  Turning 16 and receiving a car should have reignited my desire for escape, but I realized I had homework to do and a dog to feed.  But the most peculiar thing is that when I wanted so desperately to leave, time had held me captive.  But with college on the horizon, time has set me free. As it even pushes me forward, my mother’s voice echoes in my head.  “Go on, there’s the door.”