Lil’ Runaway

When I was in the 2nd grade, I told my parents that I wanted to move in with my best friend at the time, a girl named Ann.

She had the coolest house. Her stepmother had a brown velvet chaise lounge.

They asked me if I was sure and I said yes, I was sure. I already spent so much time over there anyway, so why not make it official? I would visit often, of course. Plus, I’d be saving them shitloads of money on Kool-Aid.

So, I packed a bag that consisted of some clothes, fresh underwear, my favorite Barbie dolls and a couple of my stuffed animals. If I needed anything else in the future, I only lived 5 blocks away, so I wasn’t all that concerned with leaving my belongings behind.

My dad drove to drop me off. I gave him a kiss and a hug, then got out of the car to stand with my friend on the sidewalk, while her own father watched this childish drama unfolding nearby.

“Are you sure?” my dad asked me again.

“Um…yes,” I replied. I nodded bravely.

“Okay,” my dad said, then slowly started to drive away.

He didn’t get more than 200 feet down the perfectly paved street before I started crying, running to catch up to our orange and brown station wagon.


You see, my parents knew that I was full of bullshit. Instead of telling me hell no, you crazy fucking kid, they let me play out my little fantasy of the “grass is greener on the other side.” They wanted me to see for myself that leaving home wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.

A sweet chaise lounge couldn’t make up for my own comfy bed and loving family.

But, that was many years ago. (I’m 43 now, so do the math. I’ll wait.)

Honestly, I’ve always had this intense desire to leave Northeast Ohio. I live less than 15 miles from my hometown of Lakewood, which is one of the largest suburban cities on Cleveland’s westside. I grew up within walking distance of Lake Erie, many beautiful parks, fast food restaurants galore and my sheltered Catholic school.

Wanderlust, maybe? I don’t know. But, I have yet to ever get up enough lady balls to pack all of my possessions and hit the dusty trail for places unknown. I keep telling myself that I will someday, once my mom passes away. (I can’t write about my beloved mom and her ailing health on KOBAF because she reads my blog.)

Not that I want her to die! Holy fuck, trust me when I say that when the day comes…and it will…I’m going to be a hot mess for a long time.

I tell myself that someday I’ll move out west, where the milder weather might help with my chronic pain. When my 20-year-old daughter finishes college and can afford her own place. She lives at home and commutes to Cleveland State.

I own a condo that hasn’t been updated since 1987, in a quaint little neighborhood, voted the 2nd safest place to live in my region, with a highly desirable school system. That was one of the reasons why we moved here, so my kid could have a killer education.

A few months ago, my husband put an ad up (complete with dick pics) looking for someone to shag. One of the ladies that he was pursuing somehow found out about me and sent me the info on Facebook.


We’re “working it out.”

But, his cheating heart has sent me reeling back to my longtime dream of running away from home, so I can start over from scratch in a new environment. I’m not as spontaneous as I was when I was 9, thankfully, but it’s a recurring daydream of mine.

“It was a beautiful day, the sun beat down
I had the radio on, I was drivin’
Trees flew by, me and Del were singin’ little Runaway
I was flyin'”

RIP Tom Petty

24 thoughts on “Lil’ Runaway

  1. Oh Mer, such a powerful share. My wishes for you to find the peace and happiness you seek, at home or on the way out as is necessary. Sometimes it takes an entire lifetime for some to learn what you did at the age of 9: the grass ain’t always greener on the other side. In fact, it rarely is.

    It turns out, green grass requires a great deal of care and attention and someone who lets it die on one side of the fence is the same person that will let it die on the other.

    Many blessings to you from this day forth!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I feel like I am trying harder than he is and I’m wondering if I’m just wasting my time. I’m three different shades of confused right now and have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do.
      Thank you for your kindness and support.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. So beautifully written. And I love your parents for their selfless approach. I think like most would let their ego decide their reaction. Instead, they empowered you by giving you a choice and the permission to decide for yourself and learn your lessons on your own terrms.

    That aside, this post, your writing, has so many layers, all presented in a compelling yet buoyant way that reveal the whole gamut of emotions you have and are going through. It seems to always come back to love, doesn’t it…from others, for others, and ultimately for yourself. I look forward to reading more.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you, Brooke. That’s my daughter’s name, by the way. 🙂
      My parents had a way of letting my baby brother and I discover the world without too much interference, but they were always there to keep us safe.
      And without love, what is the purpose of being alive?
      Cookies, maybe? No, love it is. LOL

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I’d seriously think about spending some time with the first pic and don’t even bother with the second. I’m sorry that happened and if I can help at all, Paul knows how to reach me.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I ran away once, my brother helped me pack a little red wagon. He jabbered on about pizza in the oven and the tv show Emergency! (that old show I loved as a child) was going to start soon… I had DintyMoore stew and a can opener with me… let’s just say pizza and Emergency! sounded better. But I did run away when I was 28, kinda, packed everything I owned into my car (sold everything else) and drove to Seattle, no job, apartment rented unseen… (my roommate at the time did the same exact thing so we drove in tandem, talking on walkie-talkies. It was good for the spirit! But 5 years later ended up back in MN, with fibro, too ill to care for myself. At least I took a shot! Oh-well. I bet you will too one day, even if its only for a few days, run away, stay at a motel for a few days, you can always come back home.~Kim

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I know–my mother reads mine too, and it’s not like I would say anything negative about her, but sometimes I’d like to say, “Hey, I’m kind of depressed right now” but I know that would worry her.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Exactly! I’ve been afraid to say much about her health because then she’d call me and say, “Don’t bury me before I’m even dead!” or something snarky like that.
        And then with the addition of my husband being a douche…well, I know that I’ll be posting more about THAT here on Paul’s blog.

        Liked by 1 person

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