I jog out of the treeline framing the trailer house park and head towards the direction of our little shack. It's run down to say the least. The paint is peeling and a few of the vinyl siding boards are missing. The back patio roof is tilting precariously onto one side, and there's trash collecting in various piles on the dry, cracked dirt surrounding it. I never understood why someone keeps a broken wheel barrow or an old, bald tire. I glance around nervously and pull my hoodie down lower until I make my way inside my dad's house. It doesn't look like anyone is awake at this time, but I sneak around in the shadows anyways.
Once at the door, I knock once. Twice. C'mon don't be passed out drunk for once in your miserable life. Nothing. Ugh. Of course he's doing this to me right now.
I run around to the left side of the house to the small window high on the wall. It's a small and rectangular opening in the shower. Dad never considered that I might fit into this window so he never bothers to lock it. But I know all the others will be locked. I put an old chair against the wall and wrap my backpack strap around my ankle. I jump to grab hold of the window and shimmy up and through the window. I plop ungracefully into the bathtub and my backpack tumbles in after me, smacking me in the face. I pause and hold my breath in anticipation, listening to any movement. Doesn't seem like he heard me. I exhale in relief.
The sun is going to rise in a few hours, so I need to move fast. I tip toe to my room and see my dad passed out on his ratty, old armchair. He's made it his mission in life to live in that damn thing.
Once in my room, I add my few belongings into my backpack. A few changes of clothes and sweaters, a hairbrush, and my toothbrush. I ran out of toothpaste and deodorant, but I can pick some up in any of the thousand gas stations I plan to pass. I have the cash I need to do that now.
I make my way over to my desk. One of its legs is broken and propped up on a stack of old magazines and books. My dad kicked it until the wood splintered in half during one of his rage-filled, drunken outbursts. I get on my knees and carefully slide out the bottom book hiding in plain sight. It's an old Russian one my mother gifted me before she passed. She wanted me to learn Russian and taught me by reading this book with me every night. One lone tear escapes from the corner of my eye and I wipe at it furiously.
Get a grip. There's no time for this. It won't be long till they realize what happened and who's responsible. I grab the envelope taped to the bottom of the desk and open it. I pull out my fake ID that I just bought two days ago. It's as authentic as my real one, considering it was made at the DMV. I paid a lot of money for this thing but it's more than worth it. I finally have the key I need to disappear. Next, I pull out a thin gold chain with a Jade stone teardrop pendant: a parting gift from my mom.
I hurry and clip it around my neck before making my way to our empty, filthy kitchen. I slip outside through the back door and go on the run.