The Runaway

I could stare at that image all day; a woman; a night swimmer barely making a splash as she quietly moves through the water of a hotel pool in LA.

Alone, moving through a sea of murky blue into the thrill of the darkness beyond.

I wonder what she is swimming from and what she is swimming to? I love it so much I am going to have it on my wall one day. At the end of a long hall. Giant, imposing. Knocking my bones when I need it.

She is me. I knew it from the first time I laid eyes on her. Floating.

How I long to take a run-up, followed by a flying leap.

To land within it when things get too much.

I did actually try running away from home once, I forget the reason why. I had convinced myself, though, I was better off without them all. I had spun up the stairs to my room and made plans to thumb it to Africa or Spain, the specific details would have to wait. I pushed several essential items into an old school bag, bursting at the seams and off I went. Head bursting at the seams too.

I made it to the end of our street, thoughts rolling, teeth chattering. Right on dusk before the coldness hit me like a million cold bricks. Under the street light flickering with Moths, shivering in unison with angry leaves on dark limbs of  trees. There must not have been too much actual despair forcing me along, as that was all it took for me to turn back around and run home.

I was gone for a whole 20 minutes.

No one had even noticed I had left.

I can still clearly remember that feeling. Hot tears, skin burning in anger. The most scared I had ever been in my life. I was about to step off a ledge...and not a hug of relief nor a kiss on the head to follow.

I think I even got asked to hurry up and fetch my school water bottle and lunch box so mum could get it ready for school the next day. There I was in the midst of a dire, soap opera drama at the age of 11 and no one had even raised an eyebrow. I feel like everything about me is all wrapped up in this one moment in time. Feeling too much, overly; and expecting too much, constantly.

Smallest of things spinning me downstairs and knocking my bones.

I get up, all the time. Believe me, I do. But sometimes I grow tired.

I always take notice of how pink the late afternoon sky is in September; how perfectly green the trees can be against a crisp October blue sky. I feel it all a million times over. Taking it all in and still, it does me no good.

Big things never working out. Being chewed up and always spat out. Tendons being knawed and cracked.

Building up dreams and ideas in my head, things I can never touch; only for it all to come crashing down every time.

I want to be her when things get tricky. To head towards a syrupy liquor of dark sea green.

To hit the water and swim my way to Africa or Spain. Maybe hitch a ride on a boat or big giant ship...the specific details though will have to wait.

Emma Kate xoxo

Emma BrookerComment