Dwelling of a Shadow

• Short story
• Non-Fiction

								
When I was a kid I ran away a lot. Never too far from home, but just enough for me to know I couldn’t be found. I still don’t know if I craved to be chased, could be that I wanted to know that in some way I was wanted, or maybe I truly needed to get away. All I do know is that I hated being at home, there was no privacy to linger in the thoughts of not being good enough. But, there wasn't enough company to drown the noises of the vibrant thoughts. When I ran away I prepared, I told myself every time I was never going back. I stole change from my mothers piggy bank and dressed in extra layers, then I ran to ‘my spot’. 
	My spot was on the top of a small hill, where I sat hidden behind a group of dark green trees. The trees casted a rich black shadow that provided a mean contrast between the fluorescent lights coming from the gas station. My spot was both loud and quiet.
	Despite the busiest road with countless cars crossing directly in front of me, I felt alone in my silence. This was the spot I felt most human, the place where my vulnerability could only be taken for granted by the brisk cold air. But it was also the place where I could be my unapologetic self. The place where judgement is left behind and isolation becomes safety. The dark shadow surrounded my body and hugged the parts of me I couldn’t love, and the lights made it so I was never alone in my darkest moments. 
	I remember running to my spot after every broken word said to me by my family. They were not welcome at my spot. Probably because none of them cared where I ran away to and if they noticed, they were just happy I wasn’t home. 
	The broken words were spoken in my house like a family tradition of anger. My father killed himself, everyone had a right to be angry. I was a baby when it happened so I was lied to about his death. I found out because my mother held anger like bottles in her hand, while she vented to her friends; “it was his choice”. Suddenly, a heat rushed over my body, laying tightly on my chest and my fist held together with the same grip as my mother’s on the bottle. No one knew I figured it out. Invisibility is my superpower. 
	I sprinted to my spot, this time without my preparations, as I couldn’t risk my mother knowing I was leaving. She’s clingy when drunk. The only thing I had was the clothes on my back and the fit of tears falling down my face. I sat at my spot in the comfort of the shadows trying to make sense of the things I was too young to understand. I sat there for 6 hours. Watching people go by, listening to the cars travel in a hurry and the sun slowly setting, until the only light was the fluorescent ‘Gas’ sign hitting my face. I wasn’t ready to go back to the house. I wanted to stay home, sitting at my spot. I couldn’t stay. I had to grow up. I couldn’t run from my problems anymore, so I exchanged running to freedom, for the shackles of familial anger, while spitting broken words at the rest of the world. 
	That was the last time I sat at my spot. I now drive past the spot as a countless car, exchanging glances like star crossed lovers, but I can’t bring myself to sit alone in the childlike freedom I once had. 
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