Outlaws
Famous Last Words
We ended up each taking a tooth brush, towel, jacket, tee-shirt, pants, pens, a plain notebook, our song notebook, sleeping bags, flashlights, batteries, a map of New Jersey, as much food as we could fit in our bags, and all the money that we could find in the house, not that we had time to count it. Yes, our parents had credit cards, but by taking them, people could have tracked our location. Everything was set, all we had to do was walk out the front door. But it was more than that, like once we did and our mother noticed our abscence, the relaxation in her voice and the wrinkles that were once etched permanently onto her face that would appear again after such a time, there was a physical force denying us entry into what used to be our home.
"All set?" he said gravely.
"No", I admitted honestly. "I don't think I ever will be."
"You read my mind."
It was our inside joke, from the time we were five. We stared at the note on the kitchen table, reading the lyrics from our song "Famous Last Words". After all, it was fitting for the occasion. Tears welled in my eyes. I tried to remember a fond memory spent with my parents, but nothing came to my mind, nothing at all. I held them back. If we were going to live our lives on the streets, we needed to be strong.
We opened the door, took one last look around, and set off to find our new home.
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Being in New Jersey, there wasn't many places to look. New Jersey was the most densely populated state, counting by how many people per square mile. It would be hard to find a place to stay, not that we could register for an apartment or sneek in a basement. And it wasn't likely a homeless shelter would comfort us long before calling "Missing and Exploited Adolscents". But there was no way we were ever going back. Yeah, it was nice, with the house being clean and silent, nothing like the world that lay just beyond the window we often snuck out of.
(Author's Note: Begin flashback)
However, it was dangerous for a period of time. Our mother usually prepared dinner. One typical day Gerard and I casually were walking down the steps when we noticed a shocking site in the reflection of the glass door. Purple pills were being secretly (or so she thought) dissolved into our pasta sauce. With superior acting to our parents' senses, we pleaded stomach viruses and that we couldn't bare to even look at the medicated food. That night Gerard and I waited until three, not that we were'nt used to staying up that late, since we both had sleeping problems. In the mean time, we discussed in hushed voices what the pills were.
"Our own parents, trying to drug us! What were they even for?", I asked in a shaky voice, partly because of the situation and partly because we opened the window when our parents were still awake so there wouldn't be panic if it woke them.
"Who knows? They could be anti-depressants, they could be anti-anxiety shit, sleeping pills, anything, and none of it would surprise me." Gerard's throat caught and he looked at the floor. He paced back and forth, letting off steam. It felt like a blue-tinted flame, heat from anger, but tinted blue from a miniscule sadness.
"How are we going to avoid them? We can't fake viruses everyday."
Gerard put on his contemplative look.
"We could tell her we want to start making our own food. Although, she might "insist" on doing it herself."
My stomach moaned and I was reminded of it's emptiness. The clock read five of three.
"I can't wait any longer, it's only five minutes anyway. Lets go."
Gerard opened the door to the closet for our return scene incase our parents came to check up on us, for whatever paranoid reason. My lanky figure proved a slight problem, but I managed to get through. Gerard, being a bit larger than me had to take precautious measures. From here, we headed into the dirty Jersey streets, me inhaling the polluted but comforting night air like our sterile house air when I asthmatically breath from my hemoptysis. Twenty dollars stabbed against my leg as Gerard ran and I briskly walked out of sight.
"All set?" he said gravely.
"No", I admitted honestly. "I don't think I ever will be."
"You read my mind."
It was our inside joke, from the time we were five. We stared at the note on the kitchen table, reading the lyrics from our song "Famous Last Words". After all, it was fitting for the occasion. Tears welled in my eyes. I tried to remember a fond memory spent with my parents, but nothing came to my mind, nothing at all. I held them back. If we were going to live our lives on the streets, we needed to be strong.
We opened the door, took one last look around, and set off to find our new home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Being in New Jersey, there wasn't many places to look. New Jersey was the most densely populated state, counting by how many people per square mile. It would be hard to find a place to stay, not that we could register for an apartment or sneek in a basement. And it wasn't likely a homeless shelter would comfort us long before calling "Missing and Exploited Adolscents". But there was no way we were ever going back. Yeah, it was nice, with the house being clean and silent, nothing like the world that lay just beyond the window we often snuck out of.
(Author's Note: Begin flashback)
However, it was dangerous for a period of time. Our mother usually prepared dinner. One typical day Gerard and I casually were walking down the steps when we noticed a shocking site in the reflection of the glass door. Purple pills were being secretly (or so she thought) dissolved into our pasta sauce. With superior acting to our parents' senses, we pleaded stomach viruses and that we couldn't bare to even look at the medicated food. That night Gerard and I waited until three, not that we were'nt used to staying up that late, since we both had sleeping problems. In the mean time, we discussed in hushed voices what the pills were.
"Our own parents, trying to drug us! What were they even for?", I asked in a shaky voice, partly because of the situation and partly because we opened the window when our parents were still awake so there wouldn't be panic if it woke them.
"Who knows? They could be anti-depressants, they could be anti-anxiety shit, sleeping pills, anything, and none of it would surprise me." Gerard's throat caught and he looked at the floor. He paced back and forth, letting off steam. It felt like a blue-tinted flame, heat from anger, but tinted blue from a miniscule sadness.
"How are we going to avoid them? We can't fake viruses everyday."
Gerard put on his contemplative look.
"We could tell her we want to start making our own food. Although, she might "insist" on doing it herself."
My stomach moaned and I was reminded of it's emptiness. The clock read five of three.
"I can't wait any longer, it's only five minutes anyway. Lets go."
Gerard opened the door to the closet for our return scene incase our parents came to check up on us, for whatever paranoid reason. My lanky figure proved a slight problem, but I managed to get through. Gerard, being a bit larger than me had to take precautious measures. From here, we headed into the dirty Jersey streets, me inhaling the polluted but comforting night air like our sterile house air when I asthmatically breath from my hemoptysis. Twenty dollars stabbed against my leg as Gerard ran and I briskly walked out of sight.