Story of my fiction tale.

On the Run          

By Tara Watnaas

        This house is the last place I want to be. Foster homes filled with seven other kids, ages three months to eleven years old, tend to not be very homey. Especially when you honestly have no idea who they are. But then, at the same time, this is exactly where I want to be. My best friend lives here. She is the closest thing I have to a sister or to any family at all. The only thing I have left of any of my family is a picture of my mom and dad when they were in high school.
    I couldn’t imagine leaving Ricki all alone in this harsh world. She is kind of in the same place as me; She never knew her family and was placed in a foster home shortly after birth. She’s been to a few less homes than me, but that’s probably because she is only eight and I’m seventeen.
    In all of my previous foster homes I didn’t bond with anyone. Loneliness was my best friend. I’ve been in four homes just this past year. It’s not exactly the most ideal situation, but right now it’s all I have. When I came to my current foster home and I met Ricki, she immediately captured my heart.

Ricki is an eight-year-old girl with chocolate brown hair. Her eyes are the most beautiful shade of brown and her personality could make a murderer’s heart melt.  If her parents could see her now, they would very much regret ever giving her up for adoption.

        My dream is to be adopted and be part of  a family. A normal family. But in four months I will be eighteen and have to live on my own.

In foster homes after you turn twelve or thirteen not many people want to adopt you. They all want to adopt the babies or toddlers, which I guess is understandable. Ricki is eight, so she doesn't have many years left to get adopted. Although, she is an amazing little girl so I know that she will be adopted.

        Five families have come in the past month to visit Ricki. They all seem very interested too. If someone did adopt her, I don’t think I could bear living by myself again. I have no doubt in my mind that someone will take her, and soon.

It has, however, crossed my mind that when I get out of this sad excuse for a home, I could adopt her.  The only problem is that adoption costs a fortune and since I lived in a foster home all my life they probably won’t think I am the most stable person. Which leads me to my only option; I have to run away, but not just me. I have to take Ricki with me.

“Ricki!” I hollered down the stairs, “I need to talk to you!”

“I’m coming,” Ricki yelled back as she started making her way up the stairs. As she came up the staircase I grabbed her arm and yanked her into our room. “We need to leave,” I said sternly as I tightened my grip on her arm.

“Leave? Are we going on a bike ride?” Ricki questioned confused.

“I’ll put it this way, we are going on a bike ride, but we aren’t coming back,” I whispered making sure no one but Ricki was to hear. Silence came over the room.

“Where are we going to go then?”

“I’m not sure yet, but we will be fine. I promise,” I said as I looked into Ricki’s concerned eyes, “You don’t need to worry about anything.”

That night as I layed in my bed, all I could think about was how I had a small slot of time to make my get away. That was when all my effort, physically and mentally, went into planning.
I knew I had to be sneaky and somehow make sure no one would suspect that I was leaving. The hardest part would be trying to keep Ricki quiet. Eight-year-olds aren’t the best at keeping secrets. If she told, chances are I would be kicked out of this foster home for trying to run away. My plan has to work because if it doesn’t, Ricki and I will be separated forever.

My best chance at leaving would probably be at night, considering what I will have to carry with me. Everyone would be a little suspicious if they saw Ricki and I leaving with a couple of suit cases.  My foster mom, Karen, is usually asleep by eleven o’clock. My foster dad, Sean, gets home from work no later that twelve A.M., but sometimes does some work on his laptop until one A.M..  We were going to have to leave around three-thirty A.M. That way Sean would be done with his work and they would both be sound asleep.

My other dilemma would be the dog, Charlie. Charlie and I don’t get along too well. If I’m in the room he barks at me, expecting me to leave, but when I don’t, he leaves. Even if he doesn’t know who it is he barks if he hears any noise, whatsoever. Even if it is the slightest movement or sound. That’s why we got rid of the alarm system. Charlie is the best alarm anyone could have. I’m not sure how I’d deal with him, but some food will probably be involved.

Now, I have to figure out when. Saturday night would be most convenient because Sean doesn’t go to work on Sunday. That way he will sleep in and not notice Ricki and I are gone. That would give us the most time possible to get the most distance between us and the house.

Finally, I need a destination. I could go to another state, but that also would’ve come with new struggles. I could have tried to get to another country, but I would’ve needed a passport and money to get me and Ricki on a plane. So I came to the conclusion that at least for now I’d need to go down to boating docks and live in an abandon boat on the shore.

June 26, 2011 was the day I had planned for our freedom. As the date kept approaching, the more knots formed in my stomach. My heart was constantly racing and my brow was filled with sweat.

I would go lay in bed at night, but not be able to sleep. When I did fall asleep, it wasn’t for long. I would wake up crying from my dreams. The dreams I had consisted of  Ricki and I trying to run away, but it always failing. My dreams were semi-helpful to me, though. They would point out the flaws of my plans and all the things that could go wrong. It made me reanalyze every step of my plan. By June 24, two days before trying to leave, my plan was flawless. I was absolutely certain that everything would go as planned, until the fight.

Sean and Karen had a blowout fight and Sean ended up leaving. I thought this was an advantage, but on June 26, the night of my get-away, Sean walked in drunk at three o’clock A.M..

I heard the door slam while I was quickly finishing packing up my things. I heard Sean yell, “Honey! I’m home!”

The next thing I knew all the lights in the house were on. The babies were crying and Karen was downstairs trying to talk it out with Sean, in the living room, next to the door. That door was the only door in the house that had a regular lock on it. All of the other doors were locked much more securely so that none of the children could escape, which I guess now that I think about it, makes sense.

I peeked out my door every half an hour to see if they were gone, but they weren’t. They stayed in the living room until eventually falling asleep on the couches.

Morning came and I heard a loud “THUD”. I woke up to find myself laying next to the door making it unable to be opened. I quickly stood up and opened the door to find Sean with the largest grin I’d ever seen. “Hey Sam! There is someone here that would like to see you,” Sean said still smirking.

“Someone here? To see me?” I responded confused.

“Yep, and I’m pretty sure you will be happy to see them, too,”

“Okay, just let me get dressed. I’ll be down in like ten minutes,”

“Oh, trust me, they don’t care what you look like. Just come on!”

I had never seen Sean excited. He is usually very gloomy and depressed. So when Sean came to me so happy, I went downstairs to find a man and a woman who looked vaguely familiar, sitting on the couch. That's when it hit me. These were the people in the picture. This was my mom and dad.

I immediately burst towards them and threw my arms around them and whispered, “Can you please take me home?”   

That’s when I knew Ricki and I were going to be okay.