The Runaway

A teenage boy, maybe 15, comes in the door

wearing a red sweatshirt.

Hood up, sleeves down.

He has a companion – older – maybe 24.

Hood up, sleeves down.

They've already eaten at the tables outide,

so they sit at a table in the back and stare

at the glowing tv on the wall.

Hood up, sleeves down.

They sit at adjacent tables.

Hood up, sleeves down.

They sit in an awkward silence for a moment.

Contemplating.

Neither gaze strays from the screen.

Hood up, sleeves down.

They lock eyes for a moment. Blue ones look away.

"Thank you," a voice is saying. "That was really good."

a quiet voice.

Hood up, sleeves down.

"Don't worry about it," the older man replies

in protest. "It's hard living alone on these streets."

The boy's eyes return to the t.v.

Hood up, sleeves down.

The companion leaves, and the boy stays. A waitress

comes by and asks to clear the companion's table.

"Yes, thank you." He smiles.

Hood up, sleeves down.

Blue eyes meet brown. Beneath their gaze

is exhaustion – complete exhaustion – and fear.

But still, his voice is polite. Less timid – less fearful –

than before.

Hood up, sleeves down.

Blue eyes return to the screen once more.

Pale skin marred by the black circles of

a week's worth of missing sleep.

Hood up, sleeves down.

The boy's eyes begin to droop, against

his will.

Hood up, sleeves down.

Soon he is fast asleep on top of

one arm, the other arm protecting his head.

A gesture of fear.

Hood up, sleeves down.

The people in the restaurant begin to talk.

"he's probably a runaway" they say.

"don't feel too much sympathy"

Hood up, sleeves down.

But the way he guards his head in sleep

makes room for wondering –

why did he run away?

Hood up, sleeves down.

Conversation moves to weight loss and still

the boy sleeps.

"It's hard to eat smaller amounts"

"I eat too much fast food".

Hood up, sleeves down.

Something about this seems wrong.

How strange it was, to talk of eating too

much, while someone else just yards away,

could likely starve!

Hood up, sleeves down.

"He's just a runaway," they say. "Pay him no mind."

"I need to lose weight"

"A large fry please"

"Another shake shall do"

"He's just a runaway, after all"

Hood up, sleeves down.

He has no home. But he chose it so.

Feel no compassion for this child.

The one who ran away.

Hood up, sleeves down.

The boy's hand twitches in sleep.

Even unconscious, he still appears tense.

Hood up, sleeves down.

No cares where he came from,

and no one cares why.

Obviously,

he had no good reason for leaving home.

Hood up, sleeves down.

Because he was just a runway.

Hood up, sleeves down.

And no one really cared.