I have to admit that what I am about to begin divulging to you is a long and painful story, that few have heard, and fewer know the whole truth about. I actually have kept putting off writing about this because of the sheer fact that I don't want to remember all the truths about the events that transpired during the week of April 8th 2011. It is intensely traumatic for me to recall the sordid details, however, there is a chance that somewhere, someone out there will recognize themselves in this tale and realize that they are not alone.
I was sitting on the couch with my family watching the original Tron movie on my Dad's old big screen television. Our neighbor had just had bunion surgery and was on bed rest with pain medication, and needed someone to keep an eye on her in case something happened, or in case her dogs needed taking care of. I had taken care of her during the day, and I offered to spend the night with her so she wouldn't be alone. I knew when I did this that this might be my final and only opportunity to escape; I couldn't pass it up. Trembling, I raced around my room packing a black bag with white tank tops, a couple of soft bras, a pair of orange booty shorts, underwear, and a bunch of my papers, love beads, and my wallet. I snuck around downstairs taking all the money I could find, and then told my parents I was headed next door. My mother came to see me off. I debated whether I should wear my brown flip flops or my hiking shoes. Then I hugged her and and told her, "Don't worry Mummy, everything is going to be alright." I turned around and walked out of the garage.
After arriving at my neighbor's house, I helped her find something appetizing to eat; the marshmallows out of the lucky charm's box worked like magic. I began planning how I would get out, and I told her that I might go outside for some fresh air, or something stupid like that, if she heard the door. After a few hours, I got ancy. I looked around for money, but there was none. I looked for a phone to call a taxi on so there would be no trail on my cell, but her cell phone was with her. I looked in the spare room and found a black, Disney logo suitcase. I began packing my things into it, and found a boatload of toiletries to pack as well. Razors, pads, soap, shampoo, and I found a blanket and Disney fanny pack that I decided to take as well. I packed all my stuff, and made my way outside. I waited by a palm tree and called the taxi service. I gave the address, and picked a new name for myself.
Harper Bryson.
Even now, that name still means pain to me. It still means tears, and lies, and a shattered soul and a broken heart.
Harper Bryson got in that taxi, and told the driver to drive her to the Greyhound Bus Station. When asked about the end destination, she gave a false reply to throw off anyone who might ask questions. Tallahassee. But 'she' was really going to Miami.
This taxi ride felt less ominous; more like deja vu than anything else. But dressed in a jacket, braless white tank top and orange booty shorts, this strange me, venturing out into the unknown, didn't know what to expect from people, or from the world.
I had very little knowledge of how society, good or bad, actually worked. I was barely allowed to see PG-13 movies if they were too sexual, violent, or 'inappropriate'. Whatever that meant at the moment. And if movies don't even depict reality correctly, and I didn't experience reality, it is no wonder I was, and still can be at times, completely naíve.
I may have ranaway, but once I got into that taxi cab, I would fight against acknowledging myself, in favor of keeping 'Harper Bryson' alive. But with Harper alive, I was dead inside.
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