It was glaringly obvious that I had two choices. Stay or leave. And baby I left. I left hard. I jumped in my brother’s car and we booked it. Not before Dumbo discovered and he chased after us. It was comical, sort of sad. He had roused from his foggy, drugged out stupor and chased us. He leaned in the car window, “Babe, babe, what are you doing?” Slap, slap, slap, his shoes hit the pavement, out of breath, struggling to keep up with the car. For god’s sake.
It took nothing, nothing (!) to leave him in the dust. Randy hit the gas and that old beater took off. Dumbo was just a figure in the rear view mirror. Randy hollered out a Woo Hoo and we high fived. My heart was racing. I had just left the shittiest apartment in the worst neighborhood I had ever lived in, I was never going back. I knew it. This time was it. Third time’s the charm. In that moment I felt light. Shaky, but light.
Now I wasn’t sure that Dumbo might get in his car and try to find me in the usual places. Not exactly afraid, I just didn’t want any drama. No scenes. Not when I felt this great. I looked at Randy. He was just a kid, maybe 15 or 16 and he had come the minute his big sister called. “Thanks Randy.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Better not go to the house, Dumbo might show up.”
“You bet! I know exactly where to go.”