The Closest Thing To Barefoot: Chapter 1
I unpacked the last cardboard box and headed downstairs to get myself a glass of ice cold water, and to see what Mamma was up to. I always wondered what her secret was; I always wondered what we were running from. But she never told me. I guess she thought she couldn't trust me. Whatever. I didn't really care.
I ran down the stairs and found Mamma sitting at the counter, staring long and hard at our fake IDs and all of the paperwork. This time, we were the Millers. I was supposed to be Cindi Ann Miller. Whatever. Like I said before, I didn't really care.
Each time we picked up and moved, I became a different character. I became a different person. In my closet, there were too many outfits that you'd expect for someone like me to have. That's because each time we moved, I put on the façade of a different stereotype; a different cliché role. That way, I learned, I could blend better. Yeah, I knew the rules. But I also knew what came along with it. If you were a cheerleader, that's all you were. If you were a jock, that's all you were. If you were goth or punk, that was all you were, the depressed little goth chick. And if you were an outcast, a loner, then it was even better, because, for the most part, you could hide behind the shadows. It didn't always work that way, but most of the time, the rules were the rules. Simple.
I had even chose to be one of the populars, way back in the beginning, before I knew better…before I despised them. I have been a basketball offbeat tomboy, a swim-team girl-jock, a drama girl, even a goth girl. But most of the time, I just wore lose clothes with dark colors and didn't wear make-up and didn't say anything to anybody and they didn't say anything to me.
I didn't exactly like the life I lived, but, hey, it's the way the cards were dealt. And its cheating to try to make it work your way; to keep fishing until you got the hand you really wanted to have.
I guess Mamma saw that I was in a gloomy mood because she suggested I go running.
Running. In all of the characters I've played, that was the one thing that was constant. That was the one thing that was me, only me. And when I ran, I ran barefooted. Well….not quite. But, I ran the closest thing to barefooted. Mamma said they could track the DNA from my feet and find us, so Mamma made me wear socks. I hated socks, because my toes felt trapped and I felt so bound-in. Almost as trapped as my feet felt when I wore shoes. But oh well. That was just another pointless fact about the obvious that I had to get over.
But once I started running, I felt everything I always felt. I felt the exhilaration, the inhibition. My soul felt like it was on fire, raging with uncontrollable energy. I felt like I could do anything, be anything…even be myself. And when I ran, I forgot about the characters I played; I forgot about playing the part each day just to get by. To get by unnoticed. What a life that was.
But then I slapped myself on the head and got back to reality. Because this is my life, and complaining won't ever change it. So I simply say, "Sure Mom," and I run back upstairs to put on the only outfit that I wore every place we lived.
This time, Mamma had chosen a small town called Coconut Cove, Florida.
I looked down at the outfit. It was ragged and worn down from all the times I had worn it; there were even a couple holes in it….but I didn't care, because it was the only thing I had that was "me". It was an orange running Jersey with a big "#1" printed on the back with bold black ink. The shorts were long shorts, going almost down to my knees. They were bright orange, just like the shirt.
This was the one outfit that defined me.
I put it on, smiling. I ran down the stairs and yelled out, "Bye Mom. I'll try to be back before dark."
She simply said, "Okay, sweetie." Her voice was nonchalant and not all-there. But there was something else in her voice; something that was always there….her love for her daughter. No matter how vague and far away it sounded, I could always find it there. I could always hear it, that vague distant softness and that beautiful shimmer to her voice. No matter what happened, it was always there.
After all, there were some things that moving around couldn't change. There were some things that even the biggest of tragedies couldn't shake. I smiled, opening the door and running outside. It was January, but it was warm outside. After all, it was Florida.
I ran down the flat driveway and ran, at a fast pace. That was one thing I definitely was: fast. I could move like lightning, and I could dodge practically anything. Out of all the places I have lived, I have never found another person as fast as me. Let alone faster than me. No one was faster than me.
In Coconut Cove, Florida, no one would be faster than Cindi Ann Miller. Because that was who I was now.
I ran, thinking about what my pseudonym was going to be this time. I have short, light alabaster hair…well, short for a girl. But it wasn't your normal hair-cut. It was a little bit messy, a little bit wild, but it looked like it was supposed to be that way. It looked like I just came out of a muddy swamp and shook her head and mud flew all over my pale, pallid, ghostly white face. If it wasn't for the few, scattered light brown freckles, people probably could have mistaken me from a ghost. But don't get me wrong, I like the pasty look; the soft pastels barely visible. I liked everything about me: my unbelievably skinny and coordinated and quick body, my light hair and my pale complexion. I liked my green eyes. Emerald, like my fathers' were, before he died. Most people tell me my eyes look like they are blue. They don't bother to look any closer; they don't bother to see that green is not blue. Because from the far away everybody else sees me from, I'm not really all that surprised that people mistake them for blue. They probably look blue, from a distance. But not to me.
And amazingly, I could transform the exact same image to bee seen differently each time. Physically, nothing changed, except for maybe the style of clothes I wore. It was all a trick of the eye; a trick of illusion….and attitude and subtle behavior were the key. I could be whoever…whatever…I wanted to be. I could change personas so quickly, that, usually, I was confused about who I was. You can't have a strong sense of identity when you're always on the run.
Except for when I'm running, for no reason at all. Then, and only then, I know exactly who I am. I know exactly who I'll always be, no matter where we move, no matter who or what is after us.
As I was running, I soon realized that I had lost track of time. It was getting dark. I was starting to feel the dim moonlight surround me. But that wasn't the only thing that was surrounding me. I realized that I had run straight into a forest. Great.
Well, I decided that I might as well look around. What harm would it do? I still had time to get back before Mamma would start worrying. In the past, I had returned from a run no earlier than midnight. And no one else could tell you as well as I could how beautiful it was when you were running in the blackest black of the night, surrounded by a swirling abyss of lightless stars, a lone crusader in the middle of the night. I loved the feeling that gave me. And it wasn't anywhere close to midnight, even. So there. I had nothing to worry about.
After exploring the misty, dark woods for a while, I heard a noise. By the time I realized someone was sneaking up behind me, it was too late to run. I felt myself being knocked down and blindfolded. But whoever it was, I wasn't gonna let them be more powerful then me. So I turned around and kicked my attacker hard in the back. Even though I couldn't see (I was blindfolded, remember?), my senses were un-inhibited. The thrill of running wasn't gone; I still had that powerful, rabid energy.
And it wasn't about to fade, because I wasn't gonna die tonight. If I ever did die, actually, it would be my choice, not the choice of some attacker about my height and probably about my age. That would be pathetic. That would be so pathetic.
"Who are you? And what are you doing here?" my attacker asked roughly.
"That's none of your business," I said with a burst of anger. For a second I wondered if this had anything to do with the people who were after my Mamma. But then I figured that, no, it couldn't be. He was just a kid, no older than me. I ripped off the blindfold and got a good look at him
He had some twisted combination between tan and pale skin. It was so weird; it was something I had never seen before. He had a slim, wiry, muscular body and wild, dirty blond hair. He had scary blue eyes, and was wearing an old, dirty white T-shirt, a ripped pair of shorts similar to mine, and he was bare-footed.
"You better not tell anybody that I'm here," he said harshly, "And you better not come back, because," he said, kicking over a bag and letting poisonous snakes crawl out, "You'll find one of these in your bed if you do."
"Ha," I said, laughing. "You don't even know where I live. I'm not too frightened. Besides, I'm not afraid of snakes. In fact, nature boy, or whoever you are, I don't do fear. And I'll come back any darn time I like. Got that clear?"
I smiled because I liked the fact that I was being strong and assertive.
The boy simply said, "You'd better watch your step, then," and ran off, fading quickly into the night forest.
I stood there for a second, frozen in amazement in what I had discovered.
And I knew I definitely was gonna come back. Because in the woods; in the wild….I was released of my inhibitions. In the wild, I wasn't Cindi Ann Miller. I was myself. I had no name, and therefore I was free.
I smiled, and turned around and ran home. Not everything in my life was perfect, but at least it wouldn't be boring this time. I knew one thing for sure; it was going to be sure-fire fun hating wacko-nature boy.
Yeah, that's for sure.