Coming Home

Ten

I turned eighteen just two days after my high school graduation, which may have been part of the reason my father didn't send the police out looking for me when I suddenly disappeared. I'm sure the biggest reason, though, was that he simply didn't care anymore. In fact, he was probably over the moon to finally be rid of me at that point. That morning of graduation, I emptied my bank account containing the meager savings I'd had from the few months I worked at the diner, packed what I could into my backpack, and headed to the ceremony as if it were just another day.

As soon as the ceremony was over, and before the overly crowded gym could empty, I was out of there. I wove my way through the throngs of happy families congratulating their teenagers on their achievements with my head down, trying my best to flee the scene before anyone noticed me. I breathed a sigh of relief when I managed to make it out the doors of the school, one step closer to my goal of getting far away from everything left in that town. With nothing but my backpack full of clothes and the wad of cash in my pocket, I walked to the nearest bus station and bought a one-way ticket for the last stop on the first bus. A profound combination of relief and hope washed over me when we finally rolled out of the station.

I was finally free.

I had finally escaped that miserable town, and no one even knew yet; I hadn't told anyone I was going, didn't even bother to leave so much as a note. Not that anyone would really care, anyway.

I spent the bus ride staring out the dirty window, watching as the life I hated so much was left in the dust. The farther away I got from my hometown, the more relaxed I felt; I just hoped my dad wouldn't find some reason to come after me. As that small worry kept circling through my mind, I decided it would be best to change my name. Surely, anyone who tried to find me would be searching for "Alexis Miller;" changing at least my first name could prove helpful. Unable to expend the time or money necessary to have my name legally changed, it seemed easier to go by my middle name instead. Besides, I didn't have the first clue how to go about getting something like that done, and it would likely cost more than I could afford at the time.

My first night away from home was spent on a bench at another bus station when I finally reached the end of the line. It was two o'clock in the morning when we arrived at the last stop, and the next bus didn't leave until seven, so I didn't have much choice. With my money securely stashed in my bra for safekeeping, I curled up on the bench and used my stuffed backpack as a pillow, drifting off for a little bit of restless sleep.

I was startled awake a mere few hours later by an apparently angry bus station attendant; evidently, it was against the rules for homeless people to spend the night on their benches. Homeless. That's basically what I was now. Shoving that thought aside, I embarrassedly stuttered out an explanation that I was simply waiting for the next bus and fell asleep, hastily extracting my cash from its hiding place to pay for a ticket in order to appease the fuming man. As quickly as possible, I boarded the next bus and made my escape from yet another uncomfortable situation.

Once again, I rode until the last stop, eager to put as much distance between myself and my past as possible. Unfortunately for my plans, the last stop of the second bus was a small town in the middle of nowhere; it was not exactly somewhere I wanted to be at the time. I had dreams of living in a big city; besides, it would be infinitely easier for a poor, homeless teenager to blend in at a more crowded place. I slept in a small gazebo that night, secluded in the town's only park, and remained undisturbed. Either no one had noticed me, or no one really cared that I was alone and sleeping in a public place; either way, it was nice to not be bothered.

The following day, I wandered around until I stumbled upon a truck stop, excited to find a place where I could get both food and a warm shower. The majority of the morning of my eighteenth birthday was spent unsuccessfully trying to convince the truck stop employees to allow me to use the facilities. Apparently, it was against the rules or something; the showers were only to be used by actual truckers, not homeless kids. Just when I'd given up hope of convincing them, a large man walked up behind me and offered to pay for my shower and food. He must have been a regular there because the employees not only seemed to know him but were happy to see him and quickly agreed to allow me what I'd previously been denied.

After I was finally clean, the man and I sat down for breakfast together. I knew I should be wary of strangers, but he'd shown me more kindness already in such a short time than my own family had in the last year, so I decided that sharing a meal together would be harmless. It couldn't possibly be worse than everything else I'd experienced, anyway. As we sat in the truck stop diner, scarfing down pancakes like starving persons, the burly man asked me, "So what's your name, young lady?"

I hesitated before answering, taking a moment to figure out whether I should give my name to a complete stranger. After everything he'd done for me that morning, though, I realized that I at least owed him that much. "It's Kate," I eventually answered. It was the first time I went by my new name, and I had to admit that it made me feel less like the broken girl who left her hometown and more like the girl I so desperately wanted to be.

"Kate," the man repeated, nodding his head. "I'm Clarence." After a short pause, he continued, "I won't ask you where you're from, as I can guess you're running away from something. I won't ask what that is, either; sometimes, the past is better left exactly there. So, where are you headed?"

I spent a few seconds just looking at the man, wondering how he so easily figured me out. Not that it really mattered. "I don't really know," I replied honestly, shrugging my shoulders. "Just... far away, I guess."

Clarence nodded again in response, chewing thoughtfully on his pancakes. "I'm leaving for New York after breakfast; you can ride along if you want," he offered casually.

That's how I ended up in New York. I took the risk, which was probably an entirely foolish idea, and hitched a ride with a kind stranger to an unfamiliar city and had absolutely no regrets. As soon as we entered New York, I knew it was exactly where I needed to be.

It felt like I was home.