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