Chapter 7
Mum finally got Brandon out of the basement, but only to make him clean the house like a slave. She hasn't hit him yet, but he told me that the day she does will be the day that he will beat the shit out of her. Brandon doesn't want to be treated like an animal.
I stare at the cold leftover spaghetti that must have been her meal. At least mum left me a bottle of water. I gobble up the food hungrily, only to see my brother looking in. "Hey, I saw her emptying the trash bins for that, so don't treat that crap like a feast." Then he continues sweeping the stairs to the basement.
I continue thinking about the recent idea to run away. I have no one to go to, no one to run to for help. I cannot look to Tom or Samantha for help as I don't want to put them to more trouble. Brandon told me that you could get arrested for boarding a runaway,as this could be a case of abduction. I cannot go back to school to face Cato and his bullies, nor stay at home to stand with the wrath of mum. I don't know how's dad's doing, but chances are he's gambling and drinking away as happy as ever. But Brandon figures that he would go broke and end up arrested for debt anytime.
I can't see myself going anyway now. I have heard lots of stories of kids running away, getting into drugs, becoming pregnant (for girls, that is) and ending up stone dead after a gang fight, or starved on the streets, nourished only by weed. Judging by the condition of my family, I am find myself becoming one of those abandoned kids, disgraced and scorn by the people who were supposed to protect and take care of them. Most of the motherly instinct, the parental feelings that all mother's should have have been wiped out from my mum. These days mum keeps me under lock and key while Brandon is treated like a maid. The most motherly thing she does now is to feed us leftovers, cold soggy chow fit for a rodent, other than cursing us or leaving us to contemplate on our uncertain futures.
I'm surprised that the authorities haven't sent cops and welfare officers to break into the house yet, but I know that the day they do, I'm as good as dead. Most likely we'll be put in some youth hall like the place Brandon was sent to for his crimes or shipped off to some unwilling foster family who will treat us worse than apes. Believe me, I've heard a lot of those stories at school. No matter the outcome, it's not going to be good.
As days go by, Brandon is beginning to lose his grip on the situation. I can see his hands shake as he sweeps the floor when mum's shadow falls on him, his eyes glow and his face reddens with what I can only call anger. It scares me and I tremble every time it happens. It is as if my brother had been transformed from a teen into a time bomb, bidding its time to cause mass destruction. I can understand that nearly full grown teenagers would start to question and reason, and when they are threatened, they will definitely begin to rebel and fight against the tyranny of their parents and teachers. That is why we have so much problems in society with drugs, teenage pregnancy, gangster wars and alcoholics. If my brother is correct, it is a matter of time when he will raise his fist against mum. So I can't help him, as I'm in no position to do so, despite the fact that I'm his brother and that I know him. Brandon has more humanity than mum, but if you try his patience and understanding, he'll rebel.
It strikes me that I have to run away, escape from all this mess. I cannot survive under such extreme circumstances. Here, there is no hope. No hope for freedom, no hope for a better family, no hope for a good plan to chart out my future. A pastor once said that you are stuck in the family that you are born in, so live with it and be happy. If that is the case, then I'm screwed. I've to get out of here before mum loses it and Brandon too. And maybe they'll fight, with the way things are going on. I don't want to be there to witness that kind of violence when my brother finally rises up to rebel against this injustice. I had better plan my exit before things get rough.
It will be better for them if I were gone anyway, even though they don't fight. My friends would be protected too, for that matter. With my absence, they could forget about it and just move on. Cato and his goons would just laugh about it and forget it after downing lots of booze. Tom will to eventually even though he's a decent guy. But Samantha, I don't know...
After a lot of thinking and consideration, I put down Plan A and Plan B. Plan A is basically living in the streets, as an anonymous student looking for a part time job and a cheap flat unit. I may have to look to soup kitchens and the generosity of passersby for food. Maybe I may have to bug out and sleep out in the open, like the homeless people if no opportunities pass my way. Given the chances that mobsters or drug dealers are always prowling the streets especially in big cities, I may have to learn some self-defence skills or get a knife, a stun gun. Stun guns are expensive, so a knife or a pepper spray would be the cheaper alternative. But if I can get a small room to stay in, and a part time job like a shop assistant or dishwasher once I get away as far as possible, I will be less detectable and the odds of building a better life would be greatly increased. Many start small, don't they?
Plan B is escaping to the wild, living on greens and meat of animals. That ensure that you won't be caught easily. But you'll need to be like Bear Gryllis, being an expert in making woody shelters and surviving out in the open, where the elements of nature like rain and wild beasts are harsher than gangsters. Not much of a life to eke out, but if you don't want to be found and treated like a loser, it's the last option. Things like a knife, matches, rope and so much more are so useful. There's lots of woods and things like that, the wilderness is the US and dry deserts in Mexico, that is if I even get that far. But we'll worry about that when it comes to Plan B.
I know the risks involved in running away, living without the supervision and protection of a home and all that. But the way I see things is this: if you stay here, there's no getting good grades and heading to college for the promise of a good job. You'll be stuck in a home where mum curses you for a living and treats you like her personal maid. But if you go out there, you could make your own decisions in life and hopefully, you can do things that you never thought you could do, no matter how unpredictable things may seem. If my attempt fails, and I'm caught by a cop, if I'm not trashed or raped by gays yet, I know where I will go. To some youth hall or rehab, the equivalent of prison. And in prison, you get worse instead of better because you will be surrounded by people who only want to kill, rape and rob. And your future's lost. The moment you enter jail, or a correctional facility for that matter, it's game over.
So I can't get caught. It's foolproof. That is why Plan B is focused on survival outside the boundaries of civilisation, so that I can hide and be forgotten, so that I can plan anew on what to do with my life. But I have to plan things out carefully and not screw up in the first place, so that I will make it when I am out there.