Age Is But a Number

Charlotte Reynolds had had enough. She grabbed the edges of the coffee table loaded with crank, like it usually is, and tossed it over. Not only that, but when she walked into her small, messy house not too long ago she had found her dad about to hit her mother. Again.

“Get your hands off of her!” Charlotte shouted, and that is when she knocked the coffee table over, spilling the crank.

Her mom uses the deadly drug. Dad is too high-and-mighty for that, so he takes heroin, speed, and glass, and sells the glass to those disgusting “friends” of his who usually stare at Charlotte whenever they come to re-fill their stocks of glass.

And Charlotte wanted out. For good.

After escaping the wrath of her dad, barely making it out of that room unscathed, she went up to her room and started packing immediately, but secretively. If her dad knew . . . she shuttered at the thought. Well, she knew he was going to find out once he found her gone, but she wasn’t going to think of that until she was out of this terrible place.

She finished packing the last of her bathroom necessities and her CDs, grabbed her cell phone and every so quietly crept down the hall to the front door, two suitcases in her hand, and a softball bag. She didn’t have much, but these were small suitcases, and it was all she had.

She heard something move and she froze, looking around in the living room. Nothing. Nothing but her mom curled up on the couch, sleeping, dreaming. Tears welled up in Charlotte’s eyes and she tip-toed over to her mom who, despite everything, she still loved.

“Love you, Mom,” she whispered, and then kissed her forehead lightly.

As she opened the door she looked back at her mom once more, saying a mental prayer for her mother while she was gone. Then, with a final good-riddance, she quietly closed the door behind her.

That is when she decided to run. She couldn’t take a car and go anywhere; she was fifteen-years-old, therefore, unable to drive - not even old enough to get her permit yet. Walking was her only alternative, which was fine for her. As long as she was running away from that hell-hole of a place she once called home.

But where was she running to? Where is she going to go that her dad won’t find her and drag her back to that horrible place? She had a place in mind, but, for now, she decided to go to one place she always felt happy - other than the place she was planning on running to - despite everything: a baseball diamond.

She had decided not to go to her safe haven first because she needed time to think, and hitting a few softballs around would help her with that. She pulled up to the old baseball diamond, set her suitcases down on the bottom step of the rusty bleachers, and wiped away tears that had fallen on her way here. Of course she was upset, angry, conflicted, and a bit scared.

“You had to leave, Charlie,” she said to herself. She sighed. “You couldn‘t stay.”

She grabbed the softball bag and pulled out her bat and a few softballs. She went to home plate, swung a few times to get herself warmed up, her heart already beating fast to get enough oxygen to pump blood. She threw a softball up and hit it with a lot of force. She watched as it went far out in the left-center field. She has been told by her school team that she was good - excellent, even. If she kept on playing, her coach said she’ll definitely get a free scholarship to any college she’d want. She did not think much of college now, being only a Freshman in high school. Well, almost a sophomore. It’s summer, a few weeks into it to be exact.

Her pocket vibrated for a short moment and she put the bat down after hitting another ball towards right field. She had received a text message from her best friend, Caitlyn, who should really be her sister. Charlotte had sent her a text earlier, when she was halfway to the baseball diamond.

My mom just parked. Where is it again? Past the old, abandoned, wooden house or somewhere over to the left? it read, and Charlotte laughed at Caitlyn. Caitlyn was never good with remembering directions.

Past the old, creepy house, sweetie, Charlotte text back.

Charlotte picked the bat back up, grabbed the ball, threw it up and hit it as hard as she could. Her homerun hit. It went way out into left field, becoming a little light green dot in the dirt as it rolled farther and farther away. She is a lefty, so when she usually hits, it goes into left field. She smiled, thinking of the homerun she made the last game of the last season that won the game for her and her team.

“Charlotte!” she heard someone called, and she recognized the voice. She turned around, saw Caitlyn standing there. She dropped the bat and ran to her, tackling her with a huge hug.

“Whoa, hey,” Caitlyn laughed. “I missed you too. A whole twenty-four hours is a long time.” Charlotte started to cry into Caitlyn’s shoulder. “Charlie? Did I say something wrong? I‘m sorry, but -” Caitlyn saw the suitcases sitting on the rusty bleachers. She didn’t know the reason why Charlotte had asked her to come here for, but she just figured it out.

“You - you really did it?” Caitlyn asked Charlotte. “You really ran away?”

Charlotte sniffed and nodded. “They had that deadly poison decked out on the coffee table and Harold was about to hit her for whatever reason. I stopped him, but, I almost got hit again. Enough is enough, Cady.”

“It is. I‘m glad you left that horrific place,” Caitlyn said, putting a hand on Charlotte’s arm. “Where are you going?”

“I - I was hoping I could live with you. . . .,” Charlotte answered, her voice low.