Leaving Home

In short story on July 31, 2008 at 10:41 pm

A Short Story by Tad Laury Graham

I am sitting on the steps out front thinking about the last time I tried this, and realizing that I failed because I’m weak.  I’m afraid.  I knew I had to do something, and the only thing that seemed “right” was to leave, but I wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t ready because I was only nine, but I think I’m ready now.


She was cold.  I never thought she wouldn’t even care.  “You want to leave?”  She said, matter-of-factly, “Here, let me help you,” going to the closet and taking down an old battered suitcase.

I should have left without telling her what I was doing.  That was my mistake.  But there she was, throwing all of my clothes into the suitcase, latching it up, and then going to the front door and setting it on the porch.  “Don’t write,” she said.  “I’ll be much too busy to have the time to write back.”

By now I’m crying because she doesn’t care and I’m committed to something I’m not ready for, so I go out on the porch and sit on the steps, and still crying I yell, “Don’t you think I won’t go because I will!”

My daddy comes out on the porch, looking a little confused, and says, “Where you going, Paddy?”

My mom says, “He’s leaving us, and not a moment too soon.  I was thinking of renting out his room, anyway.”

“Oh, hush,” Daddy says.

“I’m going,” I say, and I grab hold of the handle on the suitcase and start dragging it down the steps.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”  Daddy asks.

I’m angry, now.  So I say, “Yes,” still crying, and I start down the driveway, turn into the unpaved road up to the highway’s edge, and drag my suitcase about a block before I just can’t drag it any farther.  I sit down on the suitcase and try to fight back the tears just as my daddy drives up in the Nash and opens the door.

“Get in,” he says.

“I can’t,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Because Mama doesn’t want me anymore.”

“Your mama’s a bitch, Paddy.  I can’t change that … but I want you.  Now get in the car.”

I stop crying and get in the car, and my daddy backs the Nash up the whole distance I dragged the suitcase, right into our driveway.

“I know it’s going to take some courage, son.  But you square your shoulders and walk right in there and put your stuff away.  Don’t even listen to her.  She’s never going to be happy, no matter what either one of us does.  That’s just life.”

So here I am again.  Only this time I’m not crying.  Now that I’m twelve, I have some ideas about how this is done.  I can’t find the suitcase because I think Daddy threw it out after my last attempt, so I take two pillow cases from the laundry basket and I stuff them full with my clothes.  Then I follow the tracks heading down to the railroad yard, where I’ll hop a freight train to the coast of California.  I saw it in a movie, so I kind of know how it’s done.

It’s time, way overdue in fact.  It’s all well and good that my daddy understands my situation, but he’s never here and doesn’t have to put up with that bitch.  I was a bone fide hero, and she didn’t even say thank you, probably would have been happier with one less child.  Neither of them said thank you.  Come to think of it, Sean didn’t even say thank you and he was the one I pulled out of the river.


It’ll be dark soon, I need to get going.  I slowly swing the pillow cases over my shoulder and start off down the driveway and into the road, up to the end of the block where I had surrendered to the sergeant on my last attempt.  Pressing onward I realize I have passed a milestone, and I start to feel good about that.  I start thinking about how they will find out.  I didn’t leave a note.  Mom will be doing bed check, and she’ll see that I’m missing.  I don’t know where the Hell Dad is, probably at the base.

Looks like a great night for it, I think.  I never knew running away could be so exciting.  I start to whistle, which my brother Buck says I do whenever I have a secret that I can’t keep, but I think I do it more when I’m feeling happy.   It’s just that some secrets make me happy.

When I get to California, I’ll have to get a job.

Doing what?

I don’t know, but I have to make some money so I can eat.  I can always sleep out under the stars, but I have to eat.


Sleep under the stars.  It’s getting dark.  Should have brought a flash light … Moonlight helps, but not much.


I wonder what Buck will say when he hears I’m hopping freights.  He was always the one who was going to “ride the rails.”


You didn’t leave a note.  How will he know that you are riding the rails?  Probably thinks I’m dead … killed by a child molester.


Poor planning, I guess.  Half the fun is them knowing what I’m doing, but they don’t know … don’t know, don’t care.

This stuff is getting heavy.  Should have packed lighter.  I switch shoulders.  Never cared.  Never, ever, ever cared.  Not about me.  Wouldn’t care even if I died, which I almost did once ‘cause I thought it was chocolate.  She could have told me when she took it away and put it on top of the fridge.  But she went ahead and let me think it was chocolate.  So I climbed up on the counter, got it off the fridge, and ate the whole box of EXLAX.

Had to have my stomach pumped at the emergency room, which made me sick and on the way home I had to throw up, so they pull over near a railroad crossing and let me out of the car, and there I am heaving my guts, and she says, “Serves you right!  Maybe if you had died you would have learned something.”

Daddy says, “Oh, hush, Madge.  Let the boy alone.”

Man, this is heavy.  Got to do something.  I drop both stuffed pillow cases on the ground, sit down and rub my neck.  After a few minutes of sitting, wondering what to do, I start looking through each one and try to assess whether or not I really need everything I brought.  I really hate this pink and gray shirt I got for my birthday.  Only a sissy would wear pink.  Maybe I could just leave it here.

That’s all it took.  If I could leave one shirt behind, I could leave one whole bag behind.  So I resort my clothes into the two pillow cases:  one I hide under a bush, the other I swing back over my shoulder and renew my quest for the coast of California.

More like walking the rails than riding, I thought.  Can’t wait for the riding part, my feet are beginning to hurt, my neck still hurts and I’m getting hungry.


I wonder if I will see any hobos.  I hear they live around train yards in cardboard boxes, and they cook over open fires without even taking the food out of the can.  It must be a great life!

Getting cold out here.  Good thing I kept my jacket.  I stop to put it on.  That’s better.  It even lightens the load.  Should have put it on sooner.  Have to learn these things if I’m going to make it.


Was that a rain drop?  I can’t believe it’s going to rain.  I wonder how far I am from the train yard.  I stop and head for cover under a large, thick tree.  It isn’t a bad rain.  Should be over soon.  Then I can get on with it.

The rain continues for more than an hour.  I hunker down and try my best to stay dry, but soon realize I have no control over the elements and can only hope that it will end soon.  I doze on and off, withdrawing from the immediate reality of this stupid adventure and when it finally lets up, it’s nearly 9pm, and I wonder where the time has gone.  I’m soaked and shivering, frustrated with my inability to handle such problems, and I’m practically starving.

Maybe I should wait to run away until I have enough money, I’m thinking.  It takes money when you’re in a jam.  I should probably save up at least $40.  Maybe more.  Without conscious thought I start the long walk home, retracing my steps so I can find my other bag of clothes, but I never do because one bush looks like another and I had to be so clever to hide it without marking it.

I get home around midnight.  Nobody is waiting up for me, but the door is unlocked.  I sneak in and put away my remaining bag of clothes.  Wonder when they’ll figure out I lost the other half, I’m thinking.  Won’t be long because you can’t hide the fact a pink and gray birthday shirt is missing.  But if they knew, they never said, never even asked why I was out so late or where I had been … never really cared.

2007-0614 Once Upon A Time Copyright © 2008,2012 by Tad Laury Graham; Excerpted from my Novel, Leaving Home.


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