Families logo

Hidden in the Trees

Tales of Leaving

By Jessica Powers Published 3 years ago 8 min read
1
Hidden in the Trees
Photo by Aditya Vyas on Unsplash

I was leaving home because the options didn’t seem to include staying in a toxic relationship with my mother. Things had been so bad for a while after they were so good. “The calm before the storm” I guess, and if you ask me to pinpoint the change, it would be so quiet to my senses that even a point seems large in comparison. Arguments started, hitting, and yelling and blaming. I couldn’t allow myself to be treated this way even if to some my reactions would seem disrespectful. She said, while we were sliding down a dirt road after the coats of snow and ice took over “why don’t you let me blame you and apologize later?”. Apologies shouldn’t be used in the manner Plan B can be used for those who know what they did was risky but are trying to make sure they do not have to be responsible for the consequences. What kind of heart is in an apology you planned to make later so you can choose the lower road in the moment?

Skip ahead several months and my cousin had moved in because she graduated high school early and wanted to get a new life perspective, but I don’t like the perspective she won. My mom didn’t change her ways and she kept fighting with me and paid no mind to her volatility as if fragility existed elsewhere. My cousin and I had gotten camp counseling jobs for the summer, but summer was not yet here so we waited. The blow up came, and I can’t even tell you what it was, how it happened or well anything except I woke up to go to school the next morning and my mom had left so early to be sure I couldn’t get a ride into town from the countryside orchard we lived. I missed school that day and thought I would outsmart the volcano that was my mother and get up extremely early the next day so I could go to school; no surprise she was already gone. This continued for weeks until finally I found a way to get to school and that I also cannot remember how, and I was able take the final exams. Only years later did I find out how bad I scored because I didn’t stick around for much longer to find out. The finale of my own was when my cousin and I had our first work meeting, and my mother was showing no signs of taking us, so I went up to her and apologized for I don’t know what and she said if you don’t know I don’t accept that. I begged her to at least take my cousin, who did nothing wrong. How could a woman who agreed to take responsibility for another persons' child choose spite for her own child instead of nurture for another. I had to get out of there and chose the small and old cemetery across the street. While sitting next to a gravestone I saw my mom leave in the car and knew then my decision to leave forever. I rushed over, but she had locked all the doors, so I broke in, packed a bag, and walked through the woods into the town. My cousin, in solidarity, joined. The forest was so thick in areas we had to go back out onto the dirt road and risk being seen at times. Every time a car was coming, I threw my bag and jumped back into the woods hoping to not be seen.I was gaining real bruises to add to the unseen emotional ones. Somehow, I thought anybody who would see me wouldn’t assume the basic, mundane activity of just walking to a friend’s house, no, of course they would look into the frantic pit of my eyes and know immediately my journey. So, avoiding this conversation of the eyes I continued to jump into the forest with any noise. We made it into town, scraped together some found change to get a fountain soda and walked until we saw cops at a scene and sat right down on the street corner to watch and drink. Somehow, that’s when we knew we were not equipped to meddle through our first night on the streets alone and without help. I ended up calling my friend Liz to pick us up and we didn’t know where to go, but then thought about the summer job starting in a few weeks and went there. I broke into the camp director house and found some food and laid on the couch while adding my tears to its history. I tried calling home and there was no answer, so I left a message pleading to make up. I even asked my cousin if she would find somewhere else to stay for the weekend to give my mom and I a chance to make up and try to get on better footing. That never happened; the next time I saw her she barged into the cabin I broke into after deciding the director’s house was too risky and yelled at me that I was being selfish by not taking responsibility for making sure the kid whom I watched didn’t need babysitting. Of course, I was supposed to be calling and checking my messages; excuse me I thought running away and living in the woods meant being free from obligation. I called them back anyhow because I needed money and had to come up with weird reasons why they needed to drive 30 minutes to pick me up and to drop me off to a pitch-black piece of land in a closed camp at the end of the night when as far as they knew I lived a minute away.

During this time, I coined the term “river snot” which is the snot/spit like substance a river produces and leaves on your clothes when you wash them in said river. I stole many a food item, found a weird spot in the forest we coined “The Passions Spot” where we entertained ourselves by acting out scenes from the weird as hell soap opera named Passions. We found a bird with an injured leg and named him Crip, nurtured him until he died, made a new pet on the floor made of the hair shorn from my head with a dull knife which just might have been the most pain I have ever experienced, and had the money we had been earning stolen. When your money is stolen from a place that is so secret you know that creepy movie has turned real, you know, the one where somebody is outside listening to you and plotting against you. The only way that money could have been found was to tear the whole camp cabin apart unless they were outside listening and watching when we hid the money. Luckily camp started soon so the creeper didn’t have a chance to do anything else. Just in case we practiced stabbing things and talked loudly about weapons we had so that if the creeper was still coming around, they would hear and hopefully stay away.

Life became a little easier because we were earning money every week and were fed twice a day and three times a day after overnight camp started. Smoking, acting out Passions, riding $15 bikes around the country and trying not to drown in freezing rivers became my life. Every now and then my friend Liz would pick us up and we would go into town or to her house for a while. Some people would take pity and let us shower for real and use a razor to fix my botched hair job. One day we were in the downtown parking lot where all the punks and raver kids hung out. Somebody asked if we wanted to smoke so I was like sure why not? Smoking and talking in God’s Alley about dental dams and full-on protective gear for sex was kind of a riot. We joined the large group after and I became so thirsty and made my rounds drinking every drink in sight and I started to feel weak, so I sat down until that felt too oppressive then I laid down until that felt too difficult and knew I needed to get out. Payphones were gifts from Fairy Godmothers, but the gift came with a price…. You needed to remember the number first. I had called Liz’s number hundred of times, but at this moment numbers were theoretical, and my brain was working on shaky, jello laden ground. Finally, I hit some seemingly random numbers that happened to belong to Liz. Flopping down into the back of her car and claiming it as my own. I still have no idea what was in that joint, but certainly wasn’t just pot. Lesson learned and I never again went back to the alley known as God’s Alley.

I cannot say when I stopped thinking about my mom. I am pretty sure it was after the full weekend of crying and leaving messages for her the she never returned that I turned off any small connection that might have still existed. The biggest emotions I felt were for feeling the burden and responsibility for my cousin, who took my journey on to support me, and I felt all my steps needed to be steps leading to her getting back to her family.

I wish I had a better ending, but this is only the beginning of the middle. Nobody ever promised a full story.

humanity
1

About the Creator

Jessica Powers

I was lost and now I am found, but working on getting lost again. This time though, being lost will be my idea and my way of learning and doing more.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.