I was six years old the first time I ran away from home. We lived in the middle of 80 acres of state forest property and there were fewer than five homes within a mile of where we lived.
I remember feeling as though anything had to be better than my home, my parents and my sister. So I got up early on a Saturday morning, got myself dressed and quietly as I could, walked out of the back door and walked down our rocky dirt road where I made a decision to go to the left and deep into the forest.
Time was inconsequential. I wandered slowly kicking at rocks, jumping over fallen trees and soon I found a creek. There was a log fallen across the creek which beckoned me to cross to the other side. Once there I follow the creek to the left and some time later I ended up at a beach with a giant concrete overpass.
I twirled around with my arms reaching for the sky happier than I had been before knowing I had finally found a place to be peaceful, quiet and alone!
Only a few minutes passed by when someone yelled out my name “What are you doing here?” she wanted to know. “Where are your parents?”
I did not answer my captures . . . heartbroken and tearful I was returned to my home.