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Her Name is a Secret

Runaway Diaries

By LittleTree OppyPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 4 min read
1
Signals

The cabinet door squeaked a long high pitch wail that echoed out of the bathroom, down the hall, and out the kitchen window, alerting her in the driveway. She glanced back towards the house, she would be caught if she did not leave now, right now. Her hand lingered on the gate, heart aching to bring her dog, but there was just no way. Unlatching the gate, hoping the rusty hinges won’t give her away, she quietly sprinted into the ally, rushing towards freedom. Anywhere was better than here with him and his dirty oil-stained hands, cracking nails, and sour breath.

As she made her way through the ally towards the train yard, she did not doubt what she was about to do. The trains would take her far from this place, never to return, safe from those who “love” her. The rails were her ticket to freedom, and luckily they didn’t cost a thing. If you learn how to hop on the boxcar and settle in before the security wanders by, your ride is free. Her father left the same way about fourteen years ago when she was just learning to walk.

She instantly regretted leaving the only picture of her with her dad together. The one with her cute toddler self tightly holding onto his index finger while he helped her walk around the yard. Her house looked cute in the background with cut grass and flowers. He had a huge grin on his face, his eyes crinkled at the corners from smiling so much. A moment froze on paper, proof that her home wasn’t always run down and falling apart. She was loved, safe, wanted, there once was joy.

She had no grand illusions of finding him, she just wanted to get away, fleeing from hell at home. She hoped her mother saw the connection of her daughter leaving her by rail, on the same track her ex-husband had before. She hoped it stung and lingered for the decades to come, for not beliving. They would never find her, no one would ever know her real name.

The railway yard was creepy this early in the morning, a light foggy mist lingered about four feet above the ground, making the air moist and sticky in her face. The gravel crunched under her Chucks as she crept along the line of boxcars, looking for one that was open and hopefully, unoccupied. Water had seeped through her socks already and the dawn was approaching, threatening to expose her desperate escape, risking capture. At last, she slipped into a car and tucked herself between two plastic-covered pallets, and prayed she would not be found.

Lulled to sleep by the back and forth sway of the boxcar, she had no idea how many hours or minutes had passed on her third day. She did not like this new boxcar, it was rusted and musty-smelling. The air was hot and thick, like a furnace burning her lungs with each breath. She cracked the door open no more than a few feet. She wasn’t afraid of falling out, but the tree branches were another story. She gently fingered the scratch across her cheek from that lesson, she hoped it didn’t scar.

Days lingered, and boredom started to grow stronger than fear. How much longer should she travel, better question, where would she go once she left the safety of the lines?

She was waiting for the flash of green so she could gather her few belongings and prepare for the great descent. The Universe heard her thoughts, the next railroad signal had a green light and the train shifted from high speed to medium, signaling they would slow down soon. She looked ahead watching for the yellow signal and saw a mighty river stretching around the bend just right of the rails. A few blocks rushed by quicker than her courage, the train slowed just enough for her to jump off, mustering the last ounce of bravery she had, and lept.

The air was fresh with a slight scent of wet mossy mold, wildflowers were everywhere, and the trees are taller than where she was from. She sat on the bank of the river watching the logs flow by. Peering across to the other shore she could see a little river town bustling on the shore. Long barges and cute little tug boats worked steadily in the mighty current. She was swept away by its quiet beauty and unparalleled power.

Gently, a red bird with a little orange beak, black beard, and black eyeshadow perched in a tree above her singing little chirps, so dainty and perfect. She fell in love with life for the first time that moment on the banks of the Mississippi. She felt safe here like life was worth living. This was going to be her new home, she felt it deep in her soul.

Adventure
1

About the Creator

LittleTree Oppy

Strong Educated Independent Woman. Mom, Wife, Sister, Aunt, Neice, Tree Hugging Hippy, Animal Lover, Environmental Activist, Gardener, Artist, Writer, Spreader of Joy.

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