This is the story of a street rat. A street rat that lived through everything possible for a teenage of thirteen to go through. I ran away from home at the age of thirteen…I hitch-hiked to Tallahassee, stopping in motels for sleep. I had no money, no phone, and no safety; just a switch-blade and a backpack. Once in Tallahassee, I got a ride from a family going to Dallas. I stayed in Dallas for two days with them. They fed me and bought me some new clothes. I’m still in touch with their daughter. After those two days the family went to Austin and I had no where to go. This man was leaving for LA so I asked him for a ride. He said yes if I would lie in the bed of his truck and act as though I didn’t exist. He bought me McDonald’s when we stopped just outside of Texas. He was kind and let me off outside a Laundromat. My clothes were pretty dirty and I didn’t smell too great.
I met a man (not mentioning his name) who gave me a job of taking photos for and being in photos for his store. He owned a store that sold leather clothing items and other things. It was called The Fetish Factory. Back then, I didn’t know what it was, really. Now I do. He was kind to me; he paid me not only in cash but he also let me live in his apartment with him; I became his ward. My room was on the other side of the apartment and I cooked for him. He woke up at noon and I tried not to wake him before then. There was one bathroom so we had to share. I didn’t mind; I’d been sharing with my brother all these years after all. I was living with him for two years and loved it there. My parents apparently never gave up the search because he was watching the news and saw my face. He wasn’t happy that I was being looked for. He helped me out though, and I miss him.
When I was in LA, I got caught up in the LA scene. I started pot and smoking and I drank a little. I know that’s horrible for thirteen year old, but I was fourteen. Still bad, I know. When I did drugs, I was happy. I felt at one with the world and I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live so I could feel what I felt again. It was amazing. Since I was this man’s ward, he made sure nothing bad happened to me, I love him and think of him as a father. A real father. Three days before the police found me, he had a heart attack. We had come up with an identity if and when the time came that I would need one. I was Ellismira A. Johnson, his daughter. I called 911 and had them come to the apartment. When they asked who I was, I gave them my “identity”. When they pulled up his file at the police station, there was no kin listed. They knew who I was…they took me home. Before they took me home, they told me he hadn’t made it. I really wish he had. I wanted to die. I loved LA, I love my “father” and I loved my friends there. I miss everybody and I want everyone who reads this to know: running away hurts those who care for you even if you don’t care for them. I lost someone special to me and I don’t know why…all I know is that I did. I loved him and now I can never see him again. I’m not allowed out of my parents eyes and I’m now seventeen. All because I wanted to be free. Don’t do what I did. I became a street rat because I acted like one. I worked hard more the money I mad and my parents took it away from me. I even lost the phone he had given me.
I love him.