The door slammed behind me and I ran, I ran all the way to the highway. Barefoot, my feet sore from the rough gravel. My fists clenched, fingernails digging into my palms. Tears streaming down my face. Grinding my teeth in anger. Ready to scream. Turned north and walked, then I broke into a sprint, pulling my headphone out of my pocket. Tugging off my sweater and cranking up the radio. Music streaming into my ears. Angry music, hateful music. Music that made me keep going. I walked and jobbed and ran all the way to Winnipeg. Barefoot. Many times people stopped me and asked if I wanted a ride. Most of them guys. I probably looked wasted. I got to Peg city, barefoot. Took me forever to find the corner of Chelsea Avenue and Watt Street. Walked up to the door, rang the doorbell over and over. For almost an hour. I gave up and stumbled away barefoot. Heart bleeding. Feet bleeding. Wandered aimlessly. Found myself in the north, in the middle of the night barefoot. My music wasn’t playing anymore. Battery died. Street sounds all around me. No one paying attention to me, no one chasing me. A thought flashes through my head – my parents didn’t follow me. Realizing this I start to cry, fists clenched all over again. A lady comes up to me and asks if I’m okay. I ignore her and keep walking. Stumble through an alley, barefoot, garbage3 on either side of me. Look ahead and see a Union Gospel Mission. I walk inside. And listen to a skit done by kids my age. Looking closer through my tears I see that it’s my friends, my youth group, my parents! I stand and walk out. Barefoot. No one tries to stop me, no one call out. I get outside and keep walking. Then I run and run and run till I fall over in the middle of a deserted street. On my knees, I raise my head; fists clenched once again and scream. I scream long and loud and hard. Over and over. I collapse. Exhausted. I blink, the sky is bright, orange and pink. I get to my feet. Barefoot. Look around, I see that I’m on the intersection of Chelsea and Watt. I go to the door again and ring the doorbell. Barefoot. Not caring about the time of morning. The door open and she’s standing there not saying anything. Tears streaming down both of our faces. I step forward and let myself get swallowed up in her embrace. Minutes later I’m sitting at the table breakfast being made. Smell of bacon and eggs in the air I tell the story, from beginning to end. Then she tells me that my parents called her and said I ran off barefoot after a fight with only my MP3. They were so worried, she said. I swallowed my food and called my parents. No one was home. I left a message – I’m okay. Don’t worry. Then I looked out the kitchen window. Barefoot.
March 28, 2012