Runaway - InkSpot.Com

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Runaway

I stumped through the snowy woods hauling my backpack. Winter's a hard time to be a homeless guy, but I'd been through five of them already. The cold didn't bother me much. I liked being alone, untethered by others. The hardest part was finding a safe place to unroll my sleeping bag each night. I had just packed up everything from spending the night in a patch of woodsy brush the city called a park. I headed downtown, where the local soup kitchen would be serving breakfast.

As I rounded a bend in the path I was startled to see a little girl sitting on a log with her chin in her hands as if she were waiting for someone. When she saw me her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet.

"Good morning, sir," she said.

I stopped in my tracks and stared. She couldn't have been more than five or six years old, with platinum blonde ringlets spilling out of her fur-trimmed hood, and big blue eyes sizing me up with a sort of cautious innocence.

"Uh, hello." I mumbled hesitantly. "Are you okay? Where are your parents?"

"I was living with my mommy and my granny. But then Mommy died, and they sent me to live with a foster family 'cause they said Granny was too old. But I didn't like the foster parents. So I ran away. I'm going back to stay with my granny."

"Good grief." Don't involve me in your drama, please. "So, what's your name?"

"Alice. What's yours?"

"Call me Joey."

"Where are you headed, Joey?"

"Just fetching some charity grub. I'm homeless. Ain't got a place to call my own."

"That's too bad," Alice looked me over. "Do you have a granny you can live with?"

I laughed gruffly.

"Nope. Ain't got no family. Just myself, and I don't amount to a hill of beans."

I didn't tell her about the girlfriend I used to have. Or the baby I would have had if Sarah hadn't left me. No use whining to a kid.

There was only one path and one way out of the thicket, so when I started walking again she walked alongside me.

"Can I go eat with you?"

"What? Listen, the soup kitchen's no place for a nice little girl like you. Lots of ruffians hanging out around there."

"But I'm hungry," she protested. "You'll protect me, won't you?"

"I'm not your dad…" I trailed off as it occurred to me that the baby Sarah took with her would be just about Alice's age by now. I exhaled and watched the frosty cloud drift away. "Whatever. I'll take you to get breakfast, and then we'll go to your granny's house and drop you off safe and sound."

"Yay! A plan!" Alice chirped, skipping along.

I wondered how far she'd had to travel to get here and what she'd been through to make her run away. Hopefully her grandma would be able to take her off my hands. I wasn't about to have a little runaway girl tagging along with me for any length of time. The cops would accuse me of kidnapping her. And besides, the homeless life isn't for kids.

"Winter's my favorite time of year," she declared, pointing to a cardinal darting through the brush. "The world looks just like Frozen, and everyone's happy 'cause of Christmas."

"I'm more of the Bah Humbug type myself," I grumbled. "Hard to cultivate that Christmas spirit when I'm camping out in the snow."

"God takes care of us…"

"I'm afraid God's got more important things to do than look after an old scruff like me."

"He cares for all of us, even the little birdies. He can handle it."

She spoke with such simple confidence, I didn't have the heart to argue. But life had soured me like old milk. If there was a God at all, He didn't seem very approachable.

We got out of the woods at last and headed down the sidewalk towards the town square. We must've been a peculiar sight: me with my scraggly beard, backpack, bedroll and walking stick, Alice looking like a little snow angel in her pale blue hooded puffer.

A jumbled, rag-tag crowd of people awaited the opening bell at the church kitchen, where they served two meals three times a week for those less fortunate. I elbowed past several big oafs and got us a spot close to the entrance so we'd have as little waiting as possible.

"Hey Joey!"

I groaned at the familiar voice as someone shouldered a beeline our way. It was Amy, a big, bustling woman who brought trouble with her wherever she went like it was her service dog.

"So, who's your little friend here?"

Loud enough for the whole town to hear. Several people turned and stared as she sized us up, hands on her hips.

"Don't blame me," I grunted. "She latched onto me at the park. I'm just dropping her off at her granny's place."

"Oh indeed," Amy smirked.

She got down on one knee and started pelting Alice with investigatory questions. After a few minutes she stood up, hopefully satisfied that I wasn't up to no good. Before Amy could open her big mouth again, the bell rang, and everyone made a mad dash for the doors.

Inside, the hot smell of greasy fried ham hit me like a tsunami. The church's food was less than five stars, but you had to give them credit for trying.

Amy seated herself at our table. I didn't mind too much, because that meant less room for the guys I'd rather not have around Alice. Like Martin, a weaselly fellow with a mile-long rap sheet, a potty mouth and an opioid problem. He managed to plop down between me and Amy. I sat Alice on the other side of me and leaned over to cut the ham on her plate into nice bite-size pieces.

"Whose kid is that?" Martin demanded, mouth full of food. "What you gonna do, sell her on the street corner?"

Amy jabbed her elbow into his side.

"Shut your trap and be respectful," she ordered.

"I ain't doing nothing," Martin whined. "Just asking."

"You're asking the wrong questions, buddy."

"Why don't you get a job?" He continued. "Then you wouldn't have to eat here and pester us."

"I'm a certified nursing assistant. But I ruined my back lifting people and now I can't work. I'm trying to get on disability…"

"Well, you can sure talk a blue streak pretending to be a doctor around here."

"I don't practice medicine without a license, you dummy!"

I rolled my eyes. This was not how my solitary mornings usually went. The faster things settled down, the better. Alice looked nervous, surrounded by so many loud and unruly characters, but her eyes brightened when she noticed the shiny red apple on her tray.

"I love apples!"

"You know what they say about an apple a day," I reminded her with a smile.

When the meal was over, we cleaned up after ourselves and headed to the trash cans to empty our trays. Alice saw a big fat slob about to send an untouched apple sliding into the trash.

"No, don't waste that!"

She reached up on tiptoes and grabbed the fruit away from him, stashing it in her hoodie pocket. He stared down at her in shock.

"Apples are good for you," she informed him. "Maybe if you ate your apples you wouldn't be so fat."

The room erupted in laughter. I reached for Alice's hand and led her out of there before she could claim anyone else's uneaten apples. Amy followed us.

"Ok, where does your granny live?" I asked when we were safely across the street in front of a respectable gift shop.

"613 Live Oak Lane."

I felt my knees buckle and reached for something to hold onto. Annoyingly, the closest thing was Amy.

"What's the matter?"

"That's my ex-girlfriend's mother's address!"

"Meaning…?" Amy probed.

I swallowed hard and stared into Alice's beautiful blue eyes. Now I was beginning to see someone I once knew in those eyes.

"This feels like a soap opera…" I said. "I think—Alice, what was your mommy's name?"

"Sarah."

"Oh no, it's true… Alice, you're my daughter." A wave of emotion washed through me.

"I thought you seemed like a nice guy," she said matter-of-factly. "Now we can both go live with Granny. Come on, what are we waiting for?"

"Hold on!" I exclaimed, waving my hands. "It's not that simple. I don't think your grandma wants to see the likes of me darkening her door."

"Why not?" She looked up at me.

Oh, the awkwardness. Between Alice's sweet innocence and Amy's nosy presence, I felt like running away, back into the woods with my sleeping bag, and letting Amy, somebody, anybody but me, deal with the situation. Especially knowing Sarah was gone forever. But I got down on my knees to talk to my daughter.

"Your mommy and I didn't get along and separated before you were born," I said. "I never got to meet you. And you can see what a bum I've turned into. You wouldn't really want a scruffy bum like me for a daddy, would you?"

She studied me carefully.

"I think you need a bath and a haircut and some clean clothes. Then you can be my daddy."

Amy poked me in the shoulder.

"Looks like you've got yourself some family to take care of. Better clean up and get a job. The clinic I used to work at is hiring a janitor."

I groaned.

"I'm not ready for this."

"I always asked you why you were homeless in the first place. You're young and strong and healthy. What's holding you back?"

"I'm an antisocial pessimist."

"Wow, is that contagious?" Alice asked.

We started laughing.

"No, it just means I'm tired of dealing with people. I want to be alone."

"That's ridiculous," Amy scoffed. "The world's not such a rotten place that you have to curl up and hide in the woods like a baby."

How'd she know that's exactly what I had in mind? Hearing it from someone else did sound rather ridiculous. Maybe it was time to man up, get my life together. If I was going to show up on Sarah's mother's doorstep with her granddaughter, I'd better be presentable.

"Don't worry, I know a truck stop where you can buy a shower and do laundry." Amy seemed to be good at mind reading. "Hop in my van, it still runs well enough to get us around."

*****

We sat in front of Grandma's fireplace. The logs snapped and crackled, releasing a warm woodsy scent that filled the living room. It was a modest home, but well-kept. A tree decorated with antique ornaments stood in the corner.

"It's a Christmas miracle!" Alice declared. "Now I have a granny and a daddy! And an auntie, too."

I hadn't wanted Amy tagging along with us. But she'd put in a good word for me while I was explaining myself, and even promised to be a reference when I applied for a job. I greatly appreciated that.

"God brought all of you together for me," Alice's grandma said. "After Sarah died and they put Alice in foster care, I didn't know how I would get through Christmas all alone."

"I'm happy to help you out around the house," Amy said. "Being a CNA means I'm qualified to offer home health care. And Joey will be working and paying rent and learning how to be a Dad…"

I cringed, wondering if I could handle the responsibility after years of being a loner. But then I hugged Alice a little tighter and reminded myself why I was doing this. I looked out at the frosty blue woods in the distance. Maybe Alice was right about God taking care of all of us. Even the scruffy ones.

Author's Notes: ▼

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