Prologue

She's Leaving Home

Rita leaned up against the inside of the door, panting from her run home. The list had gone up at precisely 3 o'clock and, as she looked at the clock next to the coat rack, she had made it home in 17 minutes. Despite wanting to pass out from lack of oxygen, (running in Mary Janes was no easy task after all,) Rita was unable resist squealing from excitement. "Dad!" She called upstairs as she slipped off her shoes and stepped into the kitchen. Her mother turned around from the stove and raised an eyebrow. "Good Lord, Rita. What's the matter with you?"

Rita grinned. "Nothing! Actually, everything's completely perfect, Mum!" "Rita? How'd you get home so fast? You're usually not home for another fifteen minutes. Did school let out early?" Her dad entered and sat down at the table, looking at her quizzically. Noticing the sweat lining her forehead, he starting laughing. "Did you run home?" "Pretty much." She nodded and turned back to her mother, who turned off the oven and wiped her hands on the apron. "Okay, I know I didn't mention this to you before, but I couldn't get my hopes up."

"Spit it out already, Rita. The meatloaf is done." Her mother said. Rita fixed her wavy hair as best she could and motioned towards the opposite chair. "I know, Mum, but sit down! I want you to be sitting when I tell you." Her mother and father exchanged looks but she sat down, neatly crossing her legs. Rita paused then grinned. "I got it." "What?" Her dad asked. "The role. I got the lead. The list went up today and I got it. I mean, Susan Messenger always gets the lead but I beat her! You should have seen her face when the cast list went up! Priceless."

Her mother replied slowly and quietly. "What do you mean, Rita?" "I'm Juliet, Mum! Can you believe it? As in the other half of Romeo and Juliet!" She grinned but her face fell as she watched her parents look at each other. Her father's fists were clenched and her mother was biting her bottom lip. "What? I thought you'd be happy." Rita said in confusion. Her father looked out the window, "What about basketball?"

"Basketball!" Rita snorted. "Dad, you know I hate it." He stood up. "Why quit this year then?!" "Tom!" Her mother put her hand on his arm and eased him back into the chair. "Sweetie, you're a varsity player. You can't simply back out of a three year commitment." Rita crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. "Basketball? You're not happy I got the lead in a production cause' of basketball?!" Her father snorted. "It's not a 'production,' Rita. It's a school play."

Rita felt her throat tighten as he continued. "You're an athlete. Basketball is part of your future! We've been talking about this for years! I thought you and Megan Sweeney had dreamed about senior basketball for years?" Rita laughed bitterly. "Megan Sweeney? I haven't talked to her in two years. Way to be involved in my life." Her father rubbed his forehead. "That is besides the point, Rita. We've been planning for you to play college ball for years! Why would you have us waste out money!?" He struggled to remain composed. "What's this 'we' thing, Dad? Last time I checked you're the one obsessed with this basketball shit." Rita snorted.

Her mother gasped. "I will not tolerate that sort of language in my house, is that clear!" Her father roared and Rita stared back in fury. "It's time you grew up, Rita. Yeah, it was cute at first, the acting. I mean, we all thought it was great you were taking up a new hobby. But, the hobby became something like an obsession. "Dad, I'm not," She interrupted but he continued.

"You need to realize what is going to get you ahead in life!" "Yeah, and I know it's not basketball!" Rita's lip trembled and she prepared to shout again, but took a moment to compose herself. After a brief second she look themed both straight in the eye and said quietly. "Dad, Mum, I hate it. I've always hated basketball. Can't you see this is what I want?" Against her will, she felt a tear slide down her cheek. Rita felt as though her heart was actually breaking; she had been so proud of her accomplishment and how stupid she was to think that her parents would understand.

Her father looked away once more. "Rita," "No, Dad," She bit her lip and continued on in a stronger voice. "I want this more than anything. And I'm good, too! If I wasn't, why would I get the lead in one of Shakespeare's greatest plays? I can sing, too. You just haven't heard me." "Rita!" Her father cut in. "You need to face the facts. You are not…made for the screen." "What does that mean? Dad, I know I can make it big, I know I can. I'm not going to end up a starving," "You're not Audrey Hepburn!" He roared and turned to face her.

"What?" Rita whispered. "You're not…like that. You're not Elizabeth Taylor or Marilyn Monroe." The tears slid freely down her face as his true meaning hit her like a brick. "Rita, I'm only telling you this because I don't want you to get hurt. But, if this is what it takes for you to wake up out of you little fantasy, I'll gladly do it." He looked away from her. "You're not beautiful, sweetie." Rita clutched the end of the sink in a death grip as she began to tremble. "That's not to say we don't love you!" Her mother quickly added. "It's just that…we don't want to see you hurt." Her mother touched her shoulder gently but Rita recoiled. "Don't touch me." She shook her head and walked out of the kitchen.

"Rita!" Her mother called but she paid no attention as she walked up the stairs, never looking back. "Sweetie, come back!" Her mother called again, but she closed the door of her room behind her and locked it. As the sounds of her mother and father arguing traveled up from the kitchen, Rita sat down on her bed and very quietly began to cry.

- - - - - - -

Rita held her suitcase in one hand and used to the other to open the door of her room as silently as possible. She bit her lip as she eased herself out of the doorway and put her hand on the doorknob to close it, but stopped for a moment. She asked herself if what she was doing was really worth it as she looked at her safe, secure room. Was it worth leaving this? After a few long seconds, Rita shut the door behind her and tiptoed down the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs she glanced up at the clock above the coat rack. By the light of the rising sun, she saw that it read 5 o'clock. Rita ran a hand through her hair and walked into the kitchen. She sat down at the kitchen table and looked around. The coffee pot that her dad had used for as long as should could remember was sitting next to the sink, her mother's favorite apron was hung up next to the stove. She would leave all this, she knew. All of the comfort that she had grown up with for 18 years; everything she had relied on would be taken away. But, it was going to be worth it. Her parents would never, could never really understand who she was. After all, who wants an ugly daughter?

As the tears began flowing down her face, Rita pulled the folded note out of the pocket of her jeans and spread it out before her carefully. As she looked over it, she released how short it really was. She looked up at the clock above the refrigerator and swore. Her father would be stepping into the shower soon and everything would fail if she was caught; there was no time to fix the letter. Rita rubbed her face and laid the note on the kitchen table were it was sure to be found.

She walked over to the pantry and opened the lowest drawer, sticking her hand as far back as she could. A couple of years ago, she had discovered her parent's emergency fund while searching for cookies and had made a mental note of it. Rita took $500 and carefully put it on her purse, along with the other $200 she had been saving for years. She didn't want to take all her parents money; she didn't want to rely on them even as she escaped them, she told herself as she put the envelope back in the pantry.

The clock now read 5:10. Rita grabbed her suitcase and shoved the purse inside of it. She made sure the note was in plain site and quickly put on her shoes, carefully listening for any signs of her parents waking early. Last night, her mother had begged her to listen and come out of her room, but Rita has simply turned the radio up louder. She smiled darkly as she remembered; you can't simply fix something as terrible as what they had said with a few hugs and a chat.

She then put on her favorite blue coat with the high collar and stopped after one arm was through. Her mother had gotten that after she had missed the opening night of her first play, Rita remembered. Her mother and father had promised to come, but had accepted a last minute dinner party invitation and had forgotten to pass along the news. The whole second act she had scanned the audience for them and after the play had had to walk home alone in the dark. And to make up for it, her mom gave her a coat. As she put on the rest of the coat, Rita realized that was how the majority of her life had been. Her parents had made up for missing the most important events of her life by showering her with gifts. She clutched the handle of the doorknob and was unable to believe that all these years she had mistaken it for love.

Rita stepped out into the morning and closed her eyes as she shut the door behind her. The sky glistened with shades of pink, gold and orange, clashing against the dark blues and violets that still hung with the moon. A gentle breeze stirred her hair and she smiled. Rita had always loved the morning, something about the silence and the sunrise stirred something inside of her. Eyes still closed and in bliss, she took the first step off of her front porch, feeling alive with the freedom she had previously been denied. Her parents never allowed her to step outside before 6:30; they had said only "strange types" were out and about at that hour. She had argued that things were different in Iowa then in Liverpool, but they had refused. So for as long as she could remember, she had watched the sunrise from her window, trapped behind the glass.

Rita took another step and clutched the suitcase even tighter. Then, caught up in the flood of emotions rushing through her, Rita burst into a sprint. The wind caused her hair to flow around her head and she breathed in the early morning air. She ran until she was out of breath and leaned against a stop sign, laughing. She looked back over her shoulder at her house, now barely visible. Rita wondered when, or if she would ever see it again. But, she had made up her mind the day before. It had to be done. With that thought, Rita Starkey turned around and began walking towards the train station.

- - - - -

Forty-five minutes later a call was made to the police from the home of 3438 Penny Lane. The local law enforcement arrived to find the girl's mother in hysterics on the kitchen floor, clutching a piece of paper in her hand. The father looked out the window, saying beneath his breath that they had given her all of their lives. However, by the time the train station was contacted, the girl was gone.