1 - "Little Rebel on the Run"

My uncle foresaw my flight from his abode. I know this because he began threatening me about what might happen if I did. Instead of the usual warning about the bed bugs, his scratchy voice would whisper into my ear about the scary creatures in the woods.

As I curled up underneath my holey blue blanket, wishing my uncle would just let me go to sleep, he'd stand in the doorway to my room, a menacing shadow. "Wolves are out tonight," he'd say, looking into the distance as though he could sense their presence. Of course there were no wolves in the surrounding area, but I was a toddler. I almost believed him when he'd continue, "They're lookin' for a nice little girl like you, I'll betcha. Run into them, they'll take two bites and you'll be nothin' but a pile o' little girl bones."

Oddly enough, the only part of that raspy whisper that struck me as intriguing was the fact that he referred to me as a "nice little girl," instead of something pointlessly rude, like he usually did. "Nice little girl" was different from "little female dog," to be sure.

The spooky warnings continued for several nights. Every time, the story would change, hinting at a different creature in the woods that was on the lookout for a little girl like myself. After the threat about the wolves came one about snakes that could kill me with one bite. Then came the stories of bats and spiders, and one about the trees themselves (my uncle claimed they came to life at night and trapped anyone passing through with their branches).Then the threat about wolves evolved into one concerning werewolves; vampires, witches, ghosts, and zombies followed, their descriptions all somehow containing the phrase "looking for a little girl like you." The threats only continued to progress in ridiculousness. I'll admit that the descriptions of these creatures didn't completely bypass my thoughts. It wasn't fun going to sleep imagining yourself being cornered against a tree by a mangled living-dead entity. But even as a toddler, I knew that my uncle was trying all too hard to scare me out of running away.

Which was ironic, because to me, nothing was scarier than staying with my uncle.

It was strange to think that my uncle was trying to keep me from running off in the first place. He'd never shown any sort of care for me. He'd provided me with the bare necessities, but I was a toddler… meaning any complaint I made about my circumstances wouldn't have had much effect even if my uncle did listen to me. I mean, how many times have people heard little kids say the craziest things, and just brushed them off?

How about too many times to count?

In any case, I eventually came to the conclusion that my uncle didn't care whether I lived or died so long as it was under his roof.

When I turned four, I was the only one to acknowledge it.

Well… to be completely honest, I'm not sure on what day I turned four, exactly. My uncle hadn't known when my birthday was, nor would he have cared in the first place. And of course, I was too young to have known when it was before coming into my uncle's home. So I had to invent my own date of birth so I could keep track of how "big" I was getting, to put it into toddler's terms.

In any case, turning four was somewhat of a new beginning in my eyes. I had decided a few months ago that when I turned another year old, I would be "big" enough to leave my uncle's house for good. And now, the time had come.

The morning of September twenty-seventh – my chosen date of birth – came at last, after what felt like much too long. I solemnly folded my tattered blanket and placed it at the end of my mattress, as though to bid farewell to the fraying objects. I pulled on a black T-shirt with a Nirvana emblem on it. It was a drastically oversized garment for a child, being an "Adult Small" that my uncle just happened to have lying around his messy abode. However, it was the cleanest thing I had in regards to clothes at the time, and I had to look my best. I had to look grown up. I was striking out from my uncle's house. It was a big deal, and I had to dress for the occasion, I thought to myself. Nodding in self-affirmation, I yanked on my slightly torn jeans and socks, and my lone pair of sneakers – secondhand Chuck Taylors. Only one size too big for me, they were the only existing evidence that my uncle might have cared for me at one point, given to me when I was a little older than three. Then again, he'd probably only bought them to stop me from complaining about being unable to "have no shoes forever." Now I stuffed the laces down alongside my feet, not yet knowing how to tie them.

I stood up straight, looking around my dimly lit room for the last time. Nodding to the room as though bidding it goodbye, I turned on my heel and sought out my uncle.

It wasn't hard to find him. He lay sprawled on the old couch in what you might call the living room of the house, but what I'd come to think of as the junk drawer of the house. Aluminum cans with soda and beer labels on them were scattered around the musty carpet, dented or crushed. My uncle's brown shoes, reeking like usual, had been carelessly kicked across the room. Fast food bags and wrappers littered the squashy armchair in the corner. The only tidy thing in the room was my stack of newspapers, which I'd taught myself to read so as to keep track of the passing days. Organized into a perfect rectangular prism, they sat tranquilly near the fake fireplace not too far from the smelly shoes.

After drifting around the messy room, my gaze rested distastefully on my uncle, the hung-over creature that was supposed to be my guardian. He hadn't shaven in days, and a grayish-brown layer of whiskers covered his face from the tip of his chin to the sides of his ears. His arms, with their whiskers of the same color, drooped around his snoozing form, one of them dangling off of the side of the couch. As I watched, one of his fingers twitched. Staring at his bony, hairy hand, I wondered whether I should just leave him be. Let him sleep and then experience the surprise of me not being in his home anymore.

I smirked at the thought. No. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of having such a pleasant surprise. I would tell him now, regardless of whether it registered in his hollow skull or not.

I cleared my throat decidedly. "Uncle," I said clearly, straightening my back once again.

The finger twitched in response, but I wasn't quite satisfied. "Uncle," I repeated.

Now it was his nose that twitched as he stirred slightly, one of his hands coming up as though to rub at his eyes. He didn't do so, however. He merely opened one eye just barely, and then let his hand flop back down to hanging off of the couch. He sighed, sounding more like he was growling than anything. "What…?" he grumbled, the T sound stretching into a hissing S.

Yet again, I straightened up importantly. "I'm grown-up enough now," I declared. "I'm leaving."

Now both of my uncle's eyes opened, staring at me blankly for a moment before shutting again. He gave a short, raspy laugh. "Are you really."

It was said as more of a statement than a question, but I answered him regardless. "Yes, I am," I said with a sharp nod of my head.

"Hmph… didn't I tell yeh there was monsters out there?"

I lifted my chin confidently. "I don't believe you."

"Mmm…" My uncle rolled onto his side, his eyes opening a little to look at me. "Y'know," he said, his voice dripping with the effects of alcohol, "there's one thing I didn't tell yeh."

I wasn't exactly sure how to respond to this. I hadn't planned on him actually wanting to talk to me, let alone fully waking up to acknowledge my departure.

Well… then again, he wasn't fully awake, to be truthful. But he was as awake as his hangover would allow him to be.

"Out there," he began with a hiccup, "there's a big tall man… Got no face. Called the Slender Man. Grabs people up. Kidnaps li'l kids and does scary things with 'em. Real scary…"

I was starting to ignore my uncle already. This was just another tale he was trying to use to scare me out of running away. But why he even bothered was a mystery to me.

"If he gets yeh," he continued, "you won't be able to come runnin' back to me… You'll have no legs to run with. He'll rip 'em right off, 'n eat you then 'n there."

That was not a pretty image. But I brushed it out of my mind quickly, jumping to the conclusion that my uncle was once again trying to freak out the innocent little girl. But I wasn't a little girl, not from my own perspective. I was four years old – big enough to get out of my uncle's house, and stay out for good if I could help it.

"I don't believe you," I said again. "You just want to scare me."

His glazed-over brown eyes looked straight into mine. "Say what you want," he drawled. "But you can't say I didn't warn you."

And with that, his eyes shut and his form went entirely limp again. He drifted off to Drunken-Dreamland and there was no getting him back. Not now, anyway.

I thought on his words for a mere moment before shrugging away any worry I might have had. I wasn't afraid of anything, I thought to myself. I was a big girl now. Fearless!

With that, I picked up my baggy, navy-blue windbreaker from the ground beside the door. Slipping it on, I took a deep breath, and then exhaled decidedly. Here we go, I thought.

My small hand twisted the dented doorknob, pulling the squeaky door open. Stepping into the cool autumn air, I turned around to give the interior of the house one last look. But there wasn't any sentimentality keeping me from leaving this place. I gave a disdained sniff at the messy room, then shut the door firmly.

This was it.

I was officially out, and on my own.

Unfortunately, getting out the door was as far as I had planned.

I mean, come on! That's the most exciting part, right? Finally escaping from the nightmarish home of my early childhood, a bold little girl out on the adventure of a lifetime… It sent a rush of energy through me, even as I took the first few steps away from my uncle's house. Striding out onto the dry grass that was my uncle's front lawn, I inhaled the cool autumn air – a refreshing scent after the stench of the unkempt house.

But now, as I looked around myself, my determination faded a little. I was four, and my uncle had rarely taken me anywhere with him, let alone let me out the door. Only now was I realizing how much of a disadvantage that gave me. I didn't know where I was in relation to anything else. I had no idea where a certain sidewalk or road would take me.

I was only a number of yards from my uncle's house, and I was, in essence, lost.

My eyes were wide in realization as I just stood there, the wind blowing my hair into my face, the feeling of defeat seeming to seep into me. Where was I supposed to go? The only thing I knew for a fact was that I was not giving in. I was not going to turn around and head back into that musty old house. …But where would I go?

I shook my head violently, as though to rattle any helplessness out of my brain. Did it really matter where I went? I thought. Nearly anybody else in this world would be friendlier than my uncle. If they saw me, the little girl without an accompanying adult, maybe they'd do something about it.

I nodded to myself. That was good. Now all I had to do was go someplace where adults were usually present.

Which was pretty much anywhere!

Stepping onto the nearby sidewalk, I started walking east of my uncle's house. I didn't know where it led to, but I knew it had to go somewhere that other people were. Otherwise, why would there be a sidewalk, if there was nobody to walk on it? I smiled to myself optimistically. Someone would see me, I thought to myself, nodding again. Someone will help me out!

My walk became a confident stride when I realized I was approaching a small town. I didn't recognize it, but it seemed to be the perfect place to find adults! I stuck out my chin, swinging my arms as I strode on into the town. I imagined people staring at me with their mouths open, whispering, "Look at her. How grown-up she is."

(Don't judge. I was four! Of course I'd want them to say something like that.)

I started looking into the windows of the buildings as I passed. First came a restaurant with two big windows on either side of the entrance, and tables right near the windows. I jumped at the first pane of glass, pressing my hands against it and peering through. There wasn't anyone at the table nearest the window, but I could see people at a bar towards the back of the restaurant. Two men and a woman sat on tall stools, gawking at a football game on a television while a waitress served drinks from behind the bar. Hoping she might notice me without any effort on my part, I kept my hands on the glass for a minute or so. But she took no notice of me, as she was busy chatting it up with the female customer she was serving.

In order to get her attention, I rapped my knuckles lightly on the window. The waitress didn't notice, so I rapped a little harder. She still didn't look my way. Finally I slapped the palms of my hands against the glass.

All three customers and the waitress looked in my direction, all of them wearing the same expression – one that I like to call "weirded-out." I pulled my hands from the window a little sheepishly, and my face flushed with color. The waitress had her head tipped to the side as she looked at me, and I saw the female customer say something to her. She gave the customer a response, and then walked around the bar, coming towards the entrance.

I scooted from my place to the door, which opened to reveal the thin, middle-aged waitress, wearing a puzzled expression. Her red hair was frizzy, tied back in a ponytail, and her blue eyes looked me over, her brow furrowing. "Is there something I can help you with, honey?" she asked, her voice sounding uncertain but friendly.

My hopes were already too high. She seemed really nice. She called me 'honey.' Maybe…

I opened my mouth to respond, and then realized that saying "I need a new place to live" would probably not be a good thing to say. It was my turn to furrow my brow, as I emitted a quiet, "Um…"

The waitress looked at me patiently, waiting for me to answer. I, however, wasn't sure how to describe my situation in a light fashion. My little brain whirled, searching for a response, but I couldn't find one that'd be proper to say to a complete stranger.

I shuffled one of my feet and looked up at the waitress innocently. All that came out of my mouth was another "Um…"

The waitress tilted her head to the side again, shaking it back and forth, making her frizzy red ponytail swing on the back of her head. "Honey," she said, dimples showing as she smiled, "you ought to go find your mommy. You shouldn't be here on your own."

I perked up a little. She had noticed I was alone! That was step one.

"But I don't have a mommy," I said, without thinking very much.

The woman's facial expression returned to one of confusion. "Well then, what about your daddy?"

"I don't have a daddy," I said, my voice losing its tone a little. Duh, my parents were dead, I thought to myself. Didn't everyone know that?

"Well…" The waitress cleared her throat, clearly feeling a little awkward. "Ah…how did a little girl like you get here?"

"I walked," I said simply. "From my uncle's house."

"Well, then, you should probably head back," she said cheerfully. "Your uncle's probably worried."

"No, he isn't," I said, sounding indignant.

"Why ever wouldn't he be?" the waitress asked.

"I don't know," I said. "But my uncle doesn't care about me."

The waitress smiled cheekily. "Oh," she said, "I'm sure your uncle cares about you. It may not seem like it, but I'm sure he does. You should head on back, now. He's probably worried sick."

"He's not worried," I insisted. "He doesn't care—"

But this time, the waitress cut me off. "Honey, you need to head on home now. This isn't the place for you to be alone." She paused, looking a little resentful. "I'm sorry your uncle doesn't seem to care about you, but I'm sure he actually does. Now run along, hon."

"But…"

The word came out in almost a whisper as the waitress shut the door of the restaurant, presumably returning to her place behind the bar to keep a candid conversation with her three customers. No doubt she'd tell them some silly little girl came to the door without anyone to accompany her, I figured.

Momentarily, I felt put out, but I decided to keep walking through the town and checking out the other buildings. No doubt there'd be someone who'd see a lone little girl and want to help her out, I thought as I approached the next building, which turned out to be a small miscellaneous clothing store. Looking through the glass door, I saw an acne-ridden teenage boy standing behind a counter. I couldn't help giving him a funny look. He didn't look like someone who could help me, I thought, but there was no harm in trying.

I decided to go into the shop myself this time. A bell tinkled as I pulled out the door, which required a lot of strength on my part. I had to hold the handle with both hands and throw all of my weight backwards, and then dash through the doorway, just in time to enter the store without having the door shut on me –

Well, except for my foot. That got caught between the door and its frame. I gasped, turning to shove the door off of my foot. Panting a little, I turned back towards the interior of the store and its sole employee. Evidently bored, he had his elbows resting on the counter, and he watched me with an expressionless stare. I huffed a little, frustrated that he hadn't tried to help me out – or something. Just then, another worker came through a door at the back of the store. He appeared to be no older than the first, and he glanced at me. I stared him down unabashedly, wondering if he was as passive as his coworker.

He ran a hand over his spiky brown hair and stood with his back against the counter. "Hey," he said to me. "Why're you here on your own?"

This again? I wanted to sigh in exasperation, but even at such a young age, I knew I was in no position to do so. "I…uh," I began hesitantly. "I… ran away from my uncle's house." Might as well just say it, I figured, since they probably wouldn't care anyway.

Their reactions only proved my prediction to be true. "Oh-ho," the first worker said with a smirk. He stood up from bending over the counter and flipped his black bangs across his forehead. "A little rebel on the run." He slapped his hands down on the counter in amusement.

The spiky-haired employee snickered along with the first. "Looks like," he remarked. Turning to me, he said, "Kid, you'd better just go back. It's not so easy striking out on your own."

"I'm not going back," I said plainly, but I was scowling nonetheless.

The first employee covered his mouth, laughing. His coworker shrugged. "Whatever," he said. "Can't say I didn't warn you."

I stared at him momentarily. Can't say I didn't warn you. The same words my uncle had left me with before dozing off again…

The teen looked back at me amusedly, raising an eyebrow, before turning around to face the counter. I frowned at him; I couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were trembling with laughter.

I turned on my heel, went to the door, and flung all of my weight against it to force it open. I heard the worker with long bangs scoff at me from behind this time, and I refrained from turning back to glare at him. Instead, I just shoved my way out of the store, and headed down the sidewalk once again.

I stopped at every door I passed, peering through windows of all sorts – clear, tinted, and once, mirrored. There was also a building with its windows completely blackened, whether by a cloth on the inside or a color in the panes themselves; I decided that if the people in there didn't want to see out their windows, then I didn't want to see in.

I tapped on windows, pressed my forehead against it, even breathed a cloud of fog onto one of them and drew a zigzag in it. Some store employees didn't even notice me, while some came to the door with patient confusion. I got called a number of names, ranging in levels of kindness from "sweetie" to "nuisance." Sometimes I was given things: an older woman in a card shop gave me a cookie, and a middle-aged man in a toy store gave me a tiny flashlight on a keychain. I was surprised he'd give me such an object, but he wagged his finger at me, winking.

"If you're still wandering around by the time it gets dark out," he said, "you might need it. Who knows?"

Mentally, I questioned how slow of a walker he thought I was. It had only taken me roughly a quarter of an hour to get here from my uncle's home. Nonetheless, I took the trinket from his large, rough hand, and offered a smile in return. I decided that he must have given it to me in an attempt to show sympathy… even if it was in a very cheap fashion.

But no matter who I talked to – male or female, mature or pubescent, seemingly kind or seemingly unkind – I got the same response: "Go back to where you came from."

I paid a visit to every restaurant and store in town that I could access, and by the time I was done, I was thoroughly worn out. It couldn't have been much later than around three in the afternoon. I was becoming hungry, and my legs were sore from walking around so much. Trudging on through the town, I eventually stopped entering the stores. My hopes were only being crushed as it was. Nobody seemed to understand that I could never again call my uncle's house my true home.

Eventually, I passed the last few buildings, stepping onto a path that was no longer made of concrete, but of gravel. A grassy expanse to the right of the path led slightly downhill. Disappointed and absentminded, I let my gaze follow the angle of the land, drifting off past the bottom of the slope. Across the grassy openness, I noticed what looked like a playground, with a couple tiny figures running around it. A small smile formed on my face. Well, I thought, even if I couldn't find anything in the town… a park was always worth the chance.

I headed straight down the grassy hill, towards the play equipment some several hundred yards away. My mind wandered as I walked, touching depressing subjects such as where I was going to sleep tonight, where I'd find something to eat, how I'd get more clothes for myself. My lowly trudge became more like dragging myself on with every unanswered question. My eyes welled up with tears, but I refused to let them fall. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I looked forward towards the playground.

I was only about a hundred yards away now, and as I came closer I could see the equipment clearly. The playground was any child's dream, a three-story castle of metal pillars and rubber-coated platforms surrounded by mulch. A fireman's pole, a few different climbing ladders, and three different slides were built onto the sides. A plastic steering wheel and a two-way, metal "telephone" system were attached to the metal supports.

I gazed at the structure for a minute or so, standing in amazement not too far from its black plastic borderline. The smile that formed on my face was involuntary, but I wouldn't have prevented it anyway. Looking at this miniature wonderland of amusement was enough to make any kid happier, and it brightened my mood, if just a little.

Suddenly, a young boy tore around the corner of a bottom platform, kicking up wood chips as he zoomed around the play equipment. I jumped at his unexpected and speedy arrival, watching him sprint off, and nearly got a wad of mulch on my shirt as another child, a girl, followed suit. They circled the whole playground a few times, the boy taunting his playmate. I heard chuckling, and past the structure I could see two women sitting on a bench – presumably, the two kids' mothers. I felt a pang of jealousy for a moment, but the loud voice of the boy startled me out of my sorrow.

" Nyah nyah! Nyah nyah!" he yelled, dashing up the platforms to the tallest level. He stopped on a rubber-coated bridge, sticking his tongue out at the girl. "Can't catch me!"

She paused for a mere moment to giggle, and then clambered up the structure right after him. He gave a short yell, and slipped down the nearby spiral slide, hollering all the way to the ground.

He came out facing me, laughing, his eyes crinkling shut with glee. I was grinning by now. Seeing such joy on the faces of other kids had put me in the mood as well. I began laughing too, something I hadn't done in quite a while, and the boy heard me. His laughter faded, and he gawked at me with his head cocked a little.

Immediately, I felt embarrassed. Of course, I remembered, I was a complete stranger to this boy. And, no doubt, I must have looked like quite a piece of work. My baggy, roughed-up clothes basically hung on my skinny body, my hair was a tangled mess, and now to top it all off I was blushing madly. It probably did appear strange that I'd be laughing for seemingly no reason, I reasoned. I ducked my head sheepishly, almost feeling obliged to apologize.

Much to my surprise, though, I heard the boy hop down from the end of the slide and approach me. I was looking embarrassedly at the ground when I saw his black and blue Sketchers come into view. Slowly, I looked up at the boy, the temperature of my face rising significantly, and met his gaze.

I was surprised, but somewhat pleased to find that the boy's face bore a friendly smile. He had blue eyes with long lashes, and light brown eyebrows that matched his unkempt, longish hair. He wore a brown, zip-up hooded sweatshirt that seemed to fit him perfectly, in contrast with my adult-size shirt and baggy windbreaker. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and tipped his head to the side.

"Hi," he said. "Wanna play tag?"

My mouth fell open a little. This was my first interaction with anybody relatively close to my age, and already I was being invited to play with someone. It was a big deal. A wide grin spread on my face, the rosiness in my cheeks fading as I nodded vigorously.

Just then, the girl he'd been playing with ran up behind him and tapped him on the back. "Tag!" she cried triumphantly. "You're it!"

With that, the game resumed – and I became a part of it.

It took a few rounds about the playground for the girl to notice that there was a new participant in the game, but she didn't object to my presence. Rather, she was the first to make me "it," tapping my shoulder just as I turned a corner. She laughed and dashed away, with me right on her heels in pursuit. She got away from me by climbing up the equipment, but I saw the boy had just landed at the bottom of a slide. Running up alongside him, I hit him lightly on his arm.

"Tag!" It was the first word I said to either of the other kids, and it came out as more of a declaration than anything else. I grinned at him for a moment, and only just saw him return the smile before I turned on my heel, charging off around the play set.

The three of us chased each other for about two hours straight, but it seemed so much shorter than that. I hadn't really run around before, and to me, the activity was thoroughly exhilarating. On top of that, it turned out that for a scrawny 4-year-old, I was pretty fast.

We paused for a break on a second-story playground platform to catch our breath. Leaning our heads against the cool metal supports, we sat in a triangle. We didn't talk, save for a few giggles – just panted and grinned at each other. Exhaling contentedly, I closed my eyes temporarily. It seemed I had run so fast, all of my worries had flown out of my head and into the autumn breeze. And for all I cared at this moment, they were better off riding the winds than rattling around in my skull.

Just as I opened my eyes again, I heard one of the women calling from down below: "Sweetie, it's time to go now!"

The girl gave a parting glance at both me and the boy, rising to her feet. She brushed off her fleecy purple sweater and exhaled, tired but happy. "Bye," she said, giving a little wave with one hand as she climbed down a metal ladder to join her mother on the ground.

The boy and I waved back at her, echoing her farewell. "Bye!"

I watched the girl walk over to her mother and take her hand as the woman stood from her seat on the bench. She bade what had to be the boy's mother farewell, and went to a nearby compact car with her daughter. Soon, I could hear gravel crackling underneath the tires of the car as it turned from its rough parking space onto the smooth road, and disappeared past the multitude of trees near the corner.

So now, only the boy and I remained on the rubbery platform, leaning against the pillars of the play set, sitting directly across from each other. Our legs lay straight out in front of us, our shoes not far from touching one another's. We still didn't talk. All that existed between us for what seemed like several minutes, was silence and a mutual stare.

After a little while, I began to feel a little self-conscious. My face grew warm, and I ducked my head as I had earlier, rocking my feet from side to side on their heels. Across from me, I heard the boy chuckle under his breath, and when I looked up again I saw that he was rocking his feet too, perfectly in sync with mine. I giggled too, rocking my feet a little farther to the sides. He mimicked me, his black and blue Sketchers mirroring my Chuck Taylors. We grinned at each other foolishly, and the foot-rocking continued until I noticed the sun was beginning to set.

I looked towards the sunset, admiring the vibrant hues playing through the sky, dyeing the edges of fluffy white clouds that drifted lazily past. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and it was the first sunset I'd truly seen in my life. I smiled at the sun's artwork, and turned to look back at the boy, gasping ever so lightly as I did so.

He was facing the sunset, gazing at the display. What he didn't know was that in that single moment, his face was as beautiful as any masterpiece. The golden light of the lowering sun highlighted the side of his fair face, shining pleasantly on his light brown hair. But the most striking aspect of his appearance was his eyes. The light seemed to seep into them and light up his blue irises – it looked like they were glowing. They were marvelous, and my mouth hung slightly ajar in wonder.

It took me a moment to realize that the boy was looking back at me now. He met my gaze without objection, merely staring straight back at me. A faint smile played on his mouth; I blushed in spite of myself, but I returned the smile gladly, which only made his widen.

And then his mother called him.

"Come on, kiddo. It's time to go."

The boy sighed. I couldn't tell if it was out of tiredness, or reluctance to leave. He looked down at his mother and nodded, looking like he was about to get to his feet – but he didn't. He turned to me again, a questioning expression on his face.

"Where's your mom?" he asked.

"I – ah…" I stammered a little bit. After seeing this boy in such a state of beauty, I felt suddenly shy. Despite this, I looked at him, showing my palms as though to prove my honesty. "I don't… have a mom. Or a dad."

The boy looked puzzled. "You don't?"

I shook my head, and he scratched his. "Why not?" he asked.

"They…" I fell silent. I hadn't yet had to specify that my parents were dead. The seriousness of what I was about to say became a little more apparent in those few seconds. "They…died."

The boy's expression went through a series of changes – from confused, to surprised, to concerned. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking down for a moment. Soon after, though, he lifted his head again. "But then…who do you live with?"

"My uncle," I replied, but I quickly added, "or – no, I used to live with my uncle. I – I ran away."

"Why?"

"My uncle is… bad." It was the one word I knew could sum up his character easily.

"Oh." The boy looked down again. Concern was etched onto his face, and he opened his mouth to say something else, but his mother cut him off, calling him again.

"Honey? Are you coming?"

"Yes, Mom!" he yelled down. Turning to me, he gave me a sympathetic look, then stood, climbing down the metal ladder to join his mother. Impulsively, I decided to escort him, descending the ladder after he'd already landed and gone over to his mom's place at the bench.

Cautiously, I walked up to stand a little ways behind the boy, his mother just rising to her feet as I approached. Seeing me, she looked at her son, asking with a smile, "Did you make a new friend?"

He nodded, and that response on its own was enough to make my heart flutter for a few seconds. I was somebody's friend. I had a friend… Wow…

"…doesn't have a mom or a dad."

I snapped back into reality, acknowledging that the boy had just described part of my situation to his mother. This, too, came as a humbling surprise – seeing somebody show concern for me was something I'd never experienced, outside of being given the cookie and mini-flashlight earlier that day. But now, the boy's mother was looking at me questioningly.

"You don't have parents, sweetheart?" she asked me. Her face was lovely and fair, her eyes just as blue as her son's, and she had wonderfully blonde, straight hair that reached her shoulders; and now, this second lovely face was also giving me a look of deep concern.

I shook my head. In response to her tilting her head to the side in puzzlement, I said, "My parents are dead."

At this, the woman looked very sympathetic, and I felt so grateful to her just for talking to me like this. She stepped forward, bending at the waist, reaching out a perfectly manicured hand to touch me gently on the shoulder. "Oh, my dear, I'm sorry," she said, her voice quiet.

I offered a small smile in return, as though to show that I was alright.

The woman stood up again, adjusting a purse hanging from her shoulder. "Who do you live with, then?" she asked kindly.

This time, the boy answered for me. "She doesn't live with anyone," he said boldly.

"What?" The woman scanned her son's face in confusion, but he only nodded serenely, looking towards me. Her gaze followed his, and she said, "You don't live with anyone?"

"Well, not anymore," I replied, shaking my head. "I used to live with my uncle. But I ran away today."

The boy's mother raised her eyebrows. "Well, that's very brave of you, I must say," she remarked. "But you have to stay someplace. I'd think your uncle's house would be better than nothing!"

I shook my head again, this time with more emphasis. "No," I insisted. "I can't live there. My uncle is bad. I can't live there."

The woman took on a reasoning tone. "Sweetheart, believe me. It would be much better for you to go back to your uncle's house now instead of running around on your own. It isn't safe to be alone out here."

"But it isn't safe at my uncle's house," I protested. "He's bad. He doesn't care about me." Looking back, I know that if I'd known how to express that he was a drunk, this woman might have understood my position a little better.

But she didn't. "Oh," she said with a sigh and a smile, "I'm sure your uncle cares about you more than you know. Maybe you should just give him another chance. He's probably worried about you, being off on your own like this. You should probably get back home right away, dear."

"No, he's – no…!" I was running out of words.

Meanwhile, the boy's mother was telling him they needed to get going. "Mom," he said, "can't we help her?"

Help me? Help me? That was music to my ears. Hope lit up my face.

"Honey…" She made a regretful look at her son. "The most I can do is drive her back to her uncle's house."

"But she can't go back if her uncle is bad," the boy cried indignantly. "She shouldn't go back there!"

My heart was swelling with gratitude, but the boy's mother dismissed his protest. "Do you know how to reach your uncle's home from here?" she asked me.

"I – I think so," I stammered. "B-but I'm not going back! I can't – I can't–!"

"Then I'm sorry," the boy's mother said. "I can't take you with me."

"Why not?!" her son yelled, his face rosy with indignation. His concern for me was flattering, but it was all for naught, so it seemed. The hope that had brightened my eyes only moments before, was fading fast. My eyes brimmed with tears, and this time, I couldn't prevent them from trickling down my cheeks.

"She's run away of her own initiative," the woman said, her face solemn. "I'm not going to honor that decision. She needs to go back to her uncle's house. Staying with us would do her no good."

"But she'd be safer with us, Mom," the boy insisted. "She wouldn't be safe with her uncle. We could help her—"

"Son, it won't help her if we reward a bad choice," she said resolutely. "I'm not going to take her in. I'm sorry, but I can't."

My head hung, weighted down by crushed hopes, dripping bitter tears. I heard the boy continue to protest his mother's choice, even as she took his hand, firmly guiding him to their minivan. Then, over his mother's attempts to quiet him, I heard him yell, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry…!"

Even in my sorrow I was impacted immensely. Someone cared about me… and it felt wonderful. Even if their ideas to help me didn't work. I smiled through my tears, shaking my tangled hair from my face as I lifted my head to watch the boy and his mother leave.

By now, they had boarded their car, and it was backing out of its place in the gravel to drive out of the park. Through the window of the backseat, I could see the boy gazing at me sorrowfully, his hands pressed against the window – much like mine had been against the windows of so many stores that day. He was mouthing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again. I offered him a sad smile, and waved feebly at him. He waved back, his face still etched with resentfulness; and just after he did so, the minivan moved forward, turning past the trees.

Of course, even if it hadn't disappeared from my line of sight, I still wouldn't have been able to see it anymore. My vision was blurred as I released anger, sadness, and confusion in a cascade of tears. I let myself wail; no one was there to hear me anyway, and it wasn't as though anyone would care at this point. I fell to my knees in the mulch, screaming at the ground, moistening the earthy wood chips with my tears. I cried for the carelessness of my uncle, sobbed for the refusal of the boy's mother, selfishly wept for my helpless, hopeless situation.

Eventually, my wave of wails subsided, but tears continued to flow as I climbed pitifully onto the playset, curling up on my side at the bottom of a short plastic slide. I pulled my windbreaker up around my face, and I was able to pull up my legs to fit them inside the baggy garment. Lying on the slide in fetal position, I felt my stomach rumble unpleasantly. I was hungry, and tired, and now I was reasonably dirty too… but I had nothing I could do about it.

I felt – no, I was… utterly pathetic.