the fly
Hot air blew into my face as I pulled up the escalator. The stench of grease and body odor tugged at the knot in my stomach. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and broke from the flow of the crowd, to a cop further down the wing, making conversation with one of the resident panhandlers.
“Do you know where the Amtrak station is?”
“Go up.”
“Which way?”
“Over there, to the left.”
I could feel the sweat building at my forehead, stinging my eyes. My heart was beating, lodged high in my throat. Penn Station was crowded that day; it was the beginning of of mid winter recess. Families crowded around the timetable, anxious not to miss their train to Niagara Falls. I took my place on a long line to get my tickets. With each step forward I felt my muscles give way. There were weights at my ankles, pulling me from the kiosk, while everyone around me seemed to move faster.
“Destination, please.” My knees buckled.
“Schenectady.”
“All right. May I see your ID?” I dug out a creased student ID. “..are you parents with you?”
“No.”
“Where are you going?”
“To my step dad’s house.”
The receptionist ate my lies, and I took the ticket. Most of my birthday money was gone now, and I figure I had enough left for some pizza and phone calls. I knew leaving home wouldn’t be cheap, but it wouldn’t have killed me to save up a little more. I wandered around the station, trying to pass the wait, but my anxiety was building.
-skipping-
I stepped out the apartment to the field out back.I sat in the dry grass, looking down to the foothills before laying back. The sun was hot, and the dusty wind dried up the sweat of the day. Exhaustion once again caught up with me, and I started to fall asleep, comforted by the truest sense of freedom I had ever felt.
