Run Away

February 28, 2012
By Anonymous

She frantically scrounges around her purse for her phone.
After removing empty tubes of lipstick and random crumpled receipts,
she finds it.

Unknown number.
She answers with a questioning hello.

I hear a sob.
"Please go back... I want to know you're safe..."
my mom pleads.
Why is she crying?
What's wrong?

She motions me quiet while continuing to wail into the phone.
Anger bursts through her tears.
"Go to the police! I need to know you're safe!"

Heart fluttering and stomach churning,
I begin to panic.
Her tears fall like hail.
"Drew. You can come home, just go back for now."
"I won't let them touch you. I'm on my way."

It been almost a day
since we received the news—
Drew had escaped rehab without a trace.

Left behind,
I am dropped off at my grandma's house,
and not a second later my parents drive.
10 o'clock at night,
6 hour trip,
and they drive.

The author's comments:
poem 8 of memoir

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