It's been so long since I wrote last. Well, long for me. It's been two weeks, actually. I will not tell you how I feel right now, not until I finish telling you what happened. And I must say, not even I could have known what would have happened.

I woke up the next day, exhilarated beyond reason, apprehension in my gut. It was 6:30 in the morning and I was ready to begin the day. Today was the day, THE DAY! Tonight near seven, Joe would graduate and him and me would be on the first plane out of this god forsaken pit of doom. I was scared, nervous, and plotting a parting kick to my parents, but I was ready to make whatever I could from my worthless life and give Joe a new one.

I got out of bed and practically leapt into the shower. I stood there for a long time, just letting the hot water run over me, a million thoughts in my head. I was still trying to figure out where we would go. It's not like I could have gotten plane tickets beforehand, since someone might call for confirmation or last minute seating changes, or my dad might get suspicious with Joe's graduation drawing nearer and nearer. I just couldn't have risked it. We were doing this by wing.

I was thinking Mexico. I'm sure you know the drill; the convicts or bank robbers escape and head for Mexico. Well, they did it for a reason. I know from experience that if you get lost in Mexico, no one, and I mean no one will find you. That is, if you play your cards right. They'd expect us to go to Canada, it being so close and all, and we would have to disappoint them.

Then a horrifying thought struck me; what if they apprehended us? What if they figured we were smart enough to head for Mexico, not Canada? We'd be found, maybe arrested, dragged back in cuffs, and he'd-

It came to me then, the comprehension of what I'd just thought. He. This wasn't about running from the police (well, it was, but not as much). It was about running from my father. He'd always been the authority figure, the looming threat. This wasn't about leaving the police in the dust, it was about beating my father. It was about showing him that we are not action figures stuck in boxes that you can stick on a shelf and open for viewing.

Right now we were like dolls in a Barbie mansion, seemingly normal but with emotional complexes more deep and real than anything else. Suddenly my dad was the symbol of all my aggression, and suddenly playing with dolls was no longer a kids game.

I got out of the shower and dressed carefully. Good sturdy jeans, dark T-shirt, and a light sweater, not suspicious but not entirely normal. You never know when you might need to run, I reasoned. I stuck my wallet in my back pocket and as an afterthought, added two hundred dollars right next to my credit card. I might need it later.

I went downstairs and glanced at our very expensive clock hanging by the stairs, it probably cost more than most people's cars. 7:15. I sat down at the table on my father's right hand side, with my bowl of Cornflakes. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, to see if he was looking at me suspiciously. I was in a state of paranoia, where everything had the potential to send me into a heart attack. Luckily, he was hiding behind his newspaper, a good sign.

A few moments later Joe came down, yawning and running a hand through his hair, but underneath it all he was tense. I'd learn to read my baby brother, and I knew without a doubt if he was wondering if today was the day. I'd not let him in on my plans entirely, because I had the sneaking suspicion our rooms were bugged. But he did know that I was planning, and he did know that if it happened it would have to be around his graduation, before our father enrolled us in college and began to tie us down to Bayport, to him.

I would have to find a way to give him a message. I don't know how I'll do it, passing a paper would be suspicious and if we both sat there during the ceremony with big idiot grins on our faces we might not make it. I came to a hard decision. He would not know about it until the very last moment.

I don't know how the hell I got through breakfast, but I believe both Joe and I breathed a huge sigh of relief when my dad left to go to 'work'. Then I got up and kissed my mom good bye and left under the pretense that I had go do some errands (I later whispered into her ear, "I need to get Joe a graduation gift.") and she gave me a knowing look, but nodded her consent.

I didn't go get Joe a present since our escape could easily be considered one helluva present. I went straight to the library and got on one of their computers immediately and began to look up all the flights out of New York, not going on anymore pages than I did on any other. I planned to delete the history on the computer, but if they pulled it from the hard drive I was not going to make this any easier for them.

I headed home after an hour at the library and spent the day anxiously trying not to appear anxious. I felt the pounding of my heart, my lightheadedness, and my adrenaline flowing through my veins. I felt so scared, but I think that that was the strongest moment in my life. I was scared yes, I was terrified of what would happen if we were hauled home, but overriding that was simple knowledge that I had to do this. That I had to give Joe his chance. That if I walked away I would leave behind my one and only chance to have a happy life, free of a false sense of duty, nagging friends, the media, and most of all my father.

I say that day is my strongest, and that day I hated my father as though he was the devil himself. I hated him as the Jews hated Hitler. I hated him as the convict hates the cop, as the livestock hates the butcher, as the packhorse hates the driver. I felt the most intense hate of my life all in the space of an hour.

It died down eventually, as all things do, and as it died it dimmed into an overwhelming sadness and into the plaintive cry of a hurt soul. He was my father. He was supposed to love and protect us. He was supposed to take us camping, and fishing. He was supposed to talk to us about girls and becoming a man and puberty. He was supposed to show up at our football games without news crews and cameras. He was supposed to get angry at us, but remind us that he did it because he cared for us, not because we're trying to ruin him.

He never did any of that and when he did, it was false, for the cameras, to keep us happy until he got us home and howled that we were trying to ruin him on national television.

I used to wonder what was wrong with me; what I'd ever done to make him not love me anymore. Now I know that there is nothing wrong with me. He should have loved me. But he didn't, and I think there might have been something wrong with him. And now I know what it was. Greed.

But there was one thing I couldn't escape, no matter how hard I tried to bury it or deny it, no matter how hard I explained it away, it always came back with it's pure truth. I still loved him. As much as I hated him, despised him and wanted to ruin him, underneath it all was still that little spark of love that refused to be trampled.

We went to the graduation at five and Joe was as nervous as a politician hooked up to a lie detector. He kept shooting glances at me, and I returned them with the calm stoic look of someone who keeps missing the glances and of someone who is drugged beyond comprehension with something soothing.

We sat down and during the ceremony while they were calling the names of the students, I nearly broke down and cried. With stress, terror, and intense happiness I sat there in my seat willing my tear ducts to dry and give me the ability to fool the world; that I was just a happy brother, glad that his baby brother had graduated.

When Joe's name was called and he received his diploma I think I cheered the loudest, though it was hard to hear over the deafening roar. After all he was popular, had lots of friends, and he was the football star who was graduating a year early (but then again, so had I). Oh, and did I mention that he's Fenton Hardy's boy?

When the ceremony was over and all his friends and family rushed over to see him, I hang back, willing my emotions to calm, to give me the happy proud look of a big brother. When I got to Joe I hugged him and whispered in a tone so low I could have sworn that only dogs could hear it, "It's tonight."

And he gave me a look of such joy that I could not but help smile in return. He grinned and said aloud, "Thanks, Frank." Everyone assumed that I had whispered a compliment or told him how proud I was of him. If only they knew, I would relish the looks on their faces forever.

But now, looking back, I didn't hate Chet, Biff, Tony, and Phil so much. They all had important parents and had probably been pushed into friendship as much as Joe and I had. I thought about how if they hadn't been obligated, maybe they'd still be my friends or maybe they'd just be the kids you knew by sight but not by name. Maybe they'd have been mutual acquaintances whose names you could never seem to remember, and never cared if you did.

I was walking back to the car as everyone around me started to make celebration plans about partying and dinner, when my father pulled me aside. I was surprised but I fell behind a bit before turning to him. He had this intense look on his face and for a moment my heart leapt into my throat and I was scared that I'd throw up all over him and that he'd lock me up and throw away the key. I was certain that he knew my plans, that he knew my very thoughts and was preparing a counter attack and I was terrified that I'd break out into hysterics there in the parking lot.

"Frank," he began smoothly, showing no hint of stress, only of a burning knowledge that he could intimidate me. "Tonight was a good night. Joe graduated without any problems." He seemed to pause for a moment, and I could see him decide to skip the persuasive speech. I was obviously not worth it. I was only his son, not some colleague or politician in need of support. "Joe and you will be starting college soon, going out into the world of criminal justice." He pinned me with his cold brown eyes, the ones that reminded me dark quicksand. "Let's see that those plans stay right on track, eh son?"

I just stared at him, knowing that if I spoke my voice would crack, eventually I managed to squeeze out a "Yes, sir."

He stared at me for a long moment, then appeared to see what he wanted to see. He relaxed and began to walk towards the others, content in the knowledge that he could intimidate me.

I had to admit that he was right, that my intimidation was sincere. But that did not override my burning desire to be free of him. And so I would be.