What She Ran Away From - Bonnie Smetts

At eight years old you can’t know that your momma’s not your only problem, her and the boyfriends. I’d figured out about staying away from them. I’d figured out that staying outside was better than staying inside. Because I never knew when one of them might take a swing at me or squeeze up next to me, pushing me into the wall.

I’ve taken to staying out, outside until the mosquitoes get too hungry for my arms. And then I go in.

“Rawling, get us some drinks from the frig, won’t you honey.” Momma has a way of saying that to make it seem so polite and nice in front of the new boyfriends. But I know it’s not nice. I know you shouldn’t be asking your kid to get the beer. But I can’t say get your own damn beer. So I get it. Which is why I stay out as much as I can so she can’t ask me to get the beer.

This week the rain’s been pouring down with a racket so loud I can’t hear momma ask for anything. Today it’s rained until past dark.

“Rawling, where are you?” Momma calls me from the living room, she’s been in there, laughing and giggling with some new man. “Rawling.” This time she’s yelling so I know I gotta go.

“Get us something to drink, will you Rawling?” Like I know what to get, but I open the frig and there’s one damn beer. I bring it.

“Why’d you bring just one?” Momma asks. When I tell her that’s all there is, she starts in. “You little brat, you’re doing this to make me get up. Now go get the beer.”

“There isn’t no other beer,” I say. But she grabs my arm when I turn to go. She’s lying on the couch looking as far as gone as she gets but she’s got a strength in her.

“Rawling, you do as I say.” And the boyfriend moves on the couch. “You do what you’re mother asks, get us the beer.” And that’s when I do what I do from time to time. I run outside. I know if I can stay out there long enough, they’re gonna forget, they’re gonna fall asleep, and with the rain, they’re not even coming out after me.

But I got a problem. Where am I gonna go until that happens, until they pass out again and leave me alone. The rain’s worse than the shower. The rain’s worse then a hose. The rain’s the only thing keeping me away from getting hurt inside so I squeeze myself up real close to the house, just enough so the tiny edge that makes the roof, it’s just that tiny bit there, keeps the rain from hitting me. I’m gonna have to stand up for a while tonight. And I hate the dark, in the rain or otherwise. I hate it. The rain covers up the sound of whoever might be sneaking up on me. But the shadows, they’re big, they move, rain or no. And the shadows are what I gotta look at until I can be sure it’s safe to sneak back inside.