Runaway

She carefully crawled along the dark hall, praying the wood planks wouldn’t creak and wake up her parents. – Nina O’Connell

Her full-to-bursting backpack heavy on her shoulders, Lisanne, breathed quietly and clutched her stuffed dolphin. Today had been the last time she’d get picked on at school, be blamed for waking the baby, and struggle through spelling homework. At ten years of age, she was pretty confident she could find a way to live on her own. At least until her parents came to their senses and realized she was gone. Lisanne fought sudden tears. Grammie would have understood. Grammie had understood everything. And now she was lost too.

She padded down the stairs and through the kitchen. Ten and no cell phone. This’ll teach them. Everyone else in my class has a phone. They can’t track me now, thought Lisanne as she turned the knob of the back door and tugged. It didn’t open. Momentarily flummoxed, she looked wildly around the dark kitchen lit only by the clocks on the microwave and stove. How could they lock her in? And then Lisanne remembered her fire drills. The deadlock key hung on the peg above the shoe cubby. She eyed it, gauging her chances of reaching it before deciding the step stool was a better idea. Her sneakers whispered on the linoleum as Lisanne crept into the pantry and snagged the plastic stool.

Key in hand at last, she eased open the door, listening for its telltale creak. Lisanne winced as the old hinges sang out in protest, but bolted through, eased the screen door with a click and finally lit out across the backyard. By the time she reached the old maple tree in the far back corner, her shoes and jeans were soaked through from the rain-wet grass. Lisanne hit the bottom rung of the rope ladder to the tree house. After a mad scramble that left her with splinters, she heaved herself onto the dusty floor and panted, exhausted. Running away was harder than she’d thought. Fortunately, Lisanne was stubborn. She pulled up the rope ladder and tucked it inside.

The treehouse was silent. Built by her dad and her uncles for Lisanne and her brother Robert, before new baby Ella appeared, it had been her haven for several summers. Robert was gone now, too. He’d left for the Navy just before school started. Lisanne was left with her dumb baby sister, the child her parents didn’t think they’d ever have, the miracle baby. She didn’t think Ella was all that special. Lisanne dragged her backpack over to the makeshift table made of pallet wood. She found the camp lantern in the storage box, but changed her mind. A light where there wasn’t supposed to be one wasn’t a good idea. There was a little moonlight peeking from behind the clouds so she could see enough to get the hammock hooked up. Lisanne pulled an old beach towel out of her backpack and bundled up in the hammock.

It seemed like hours of shivering and shifting as Lisanne tried to get comfortable and stay warm in the knotted cord hammock. The blankets were stored on the top shelf of the linen closet, and she figured a towel would be good enough. It wasn’t. Lisanne let silent tears trickle into the rough terry cloth. Not even her running away plan was working out. She hunched into a tighter ball of misery and sobbed her sorrows out into the night.

“Oh, mon chaton, what are you doing here?” sighed across the tiny room.

Lisanne hiccupped and then let the tears flow harder at the imagined sound of her Grammie’s voice.

“Now, now, how bad can it be for so much weeping?” floated over her head.

Lisanne stopped. Pinched her arm like you’re supposed to do when you’re dreaming. She squeaked. Evidently, she wasn’t dreaming. She peered over the edge of the hammock. In the racing moonlight, a figure sat on the old lawn chair in the corner.

“Ah, there you are,” and the blur sharpened into the elegant shape of her Grammie Émilie, shawl over her shoulders. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? Why so sad?” Grammie’s rich voice deepened.

Lisanne blinked and remembered to breathe. As far as ghosts went, at least it was her favorite person, which made it a bit less scary. “Grammie?” she whispered.

“Yes, dear. I heard your heartbreak.” The figure folded her hands on her crossed knee. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Lisanne hiccupped again and scrubbed her eyes. The ghost was still there. Well, she was sure Grammie would see how awful it all was and she poured out all the woes that had led to her trying to sleep in the treehouse.

Grammie nodded and made encouraging noises as Lisanne catalogued her ten-year-old troubles in the wind-whispering dark. Finally, Lisanne ran down and ended with a sniffle.

“That’s quite a list, mon chaton. I’m so sorry that I cannot be there for you. It is very difficult when it feels like no one will listen or care,” her grandmother observed.

“Well, they sort of listen. But it doesn’t change how they drop everything for the baby,” replied Lisanne. She swung her legs over the side of the hammock, warmed by the retelling of her grievances. “I mean, they tell me they love me and all that, but…”

“Did you tell your mother and father how you truly felt?” asked Grammie.

“Well, noooo,” started Lianne. “They are always busy.”

“I see. Well, then I suppose running away will fix it all? A new life, yes?” Lisanne nodded in the dark. “And you have somewhere to go and a way for food, clothes, all those things?”

“Well, sort of,” admitted Lisanne. She wasn’t sure how far twenty-two dollars would get her, but at least halfway across the country, she was sure.

“All right, mon chaton, here are my thoughts. I heard your heartbreak. It calls to your Grammie.” The figure raised a hand. “Yet, I do not think you have fully considered the heartbreak you yourself will cause.” She paused, listening. Lisanne waited and considered. “The angels tell me that I have been granted one chance. If you are truly in trouble and there is no way out, I am granted leave to help.” Grammie let the shadows of the branches dance in the moonlight for a few minutes. Lisanne tried to remember to breathe. It was her Grammie, and yet it was all so strange. “I do not think tonight merits such a gift, my little love,” the ghost said at length. “Do you?”

Lisanne thought hard. If she was going to be very honest, it was a stacking up of small, petty things and what felt like no way to express her frustration and anger. Maybe she could video chat with Robert. Maybe if she sat her parents down and really tried to talk to them. Her teacher was pretty nice, too. “Maybe…” she started. Grammie tilted her head, folded her hands, and waited. Lisanne sniffed and coughed. “I guess there’s still some things I can try,” she said in a small voice.

“I thought that might be the case,” replied Grammie. “Are you comfortable here? It won’t be a bad thing to spend the night in the treehouse now and again. It might be a good little sanctuary. Or would you rather crawl into your own quilts and blankets?”

Lisanne tugged the old beach towel tighter and considered. She raised her head and looked around at the thick layer of dust and listened to the quickening wind. Perhaps her warm bed might be nicer, especially with the constellation night light. Yet, with a little work, this could be a good place to get away to when the baby got too much. Maybe. She’d have to talk to Daddy. Lisanne hopped to the floor and picked up her backpack.

“Grammie?” she asked to the fading apparition in the old lawn chair. “You won’t forget that chance? The chance to run away?”

“Oh, no, precious girl, I will be watching over you,” and she faded into a wisp of mist and was gone.

***

Ten years later Lisanne huddled in the closet, clutching her phone and her purse that held all the cash she’d taken out from her credit cards before she shredded them. She listened, hardly breathing as her boyfriend Randall banged around the apartment, roaring for her. He’d never found the niche in the back of the closet where she now squeezed herself behind the winter coats. The bruises ached as she tried not to move and willed herself invisible. Lisanne had made sure there were two extra bottles of vodka on the kitchen counter. He was nearly through the first. It shouldn’t be long until he passed out. She hoped. She prayed. Something shattered and she winced. This was the night. Lisanne was leaving. She had to before something worse happened. She prayed with everything she had as something else smashed and Randall’s roaring got louder. Suddenly, the closet door flew open and banged against the wall, a hinge went flying. Incoherent with rage at not finding her, Randall ripped clothes off hangers. He would discover her, and she was too scared to think of the consequences beyond sickening pain. In moments, he’d tear the coats away and see her. Suddenly, Lisanne felt a tap on her shoulder and nearly shrieked. “Now, mon chaton. Let’s run away,” whispered Grammie Émilie’s voice in her ear. Lisanne gave the barest nods and in a breath all that was left in the niche was a fading scent of French perfume.