Cookie Tin

He's home and I flip open my phone and see it's 2am. I pretend to be asleep. The woman in the living room is painting her toe nails. He slams into the couch to kiss her shoulder, but she just yells about the paint job he ruined. I can hear glass crashing into the wall. She giggles and plays it off, begging for a smile. He starts yelling for the first time in years and his denial breaks into boiling hatred. With every breath my mind screams "Go!" The windows in the house are all barred except the kitchen window. That window is my only chance.

I head to my closet, it's filled with barfly hand-me-downs and my old toddler pageant dresses. I hide a packed duffel bag in a cardboard box. In it I have: some of my good clothes, old magazines, a photograph of me winning a pageant crown that she pawned, stolen eye liner, lip glosses, a jar of peanut butter, beef jerky, a box of crackers, packets of instant oatmeal and a doll hairbrush.

My timing has to be flawless. I'm sure if they catch me again, they'll kill me. The walls muffle his screams. She yells over him, wishing for a better man. All I can hear are the creaks in the floor while I stuff my bag with underwear and a fancy bottle of perfume I stole from her stash under the dresser. I slip on thick socks to quiet my foot steps, and put my rain boots in my bag. Crouching and softly stepping into the hallway, looking towards the kitchen. My duffel bag is hanging over my left shoulder. It slides forward out of my hand and smacks the floor. I freeze and look towards the living room. Their argument goes on without missing a beat and I stop to take a breath. I pull my bag tightly to my chest, and look over my shoulder to the front of the house again. He starts yelling about the time she visited her cousin in Jacksonville and came back with a hickey and a tattoo on her ankle. The buzzing voices from the TV set hide the sound of my steps on the cracked linoleum, and her sobbing.

Blinded by the flickering kitchen light, I squint to see an old clock over the sink. My curiosity pulls me closer, I can finally see what the clock hides. Maybe it was a memory or a dream, but it's stuck with me. It was long ago, when she was 'Brandy the Tawnydale pageant queen' for three years in a row. She used to kiss my dad goodbye at the door everyday. But when his car was gone, she quickly pushed me into my room and got all dressed up. She was ready and waiting for one of her paying visitors. One day after a visit, she ran back to the dresser where she hid her money. Even though she thought I was just a dumb little kid. I peered through my door and watched her closely. She sneaked to the kitchen with an old cookie tin spilling with cash. She took off the kitchen clock and hid the tin in a small scraggly hole in the wall. After putting the clock back in it's place, she turned around and stared at me. I tried to close my door but she ran and threw it open. After that all I remember is her sickening laugh.

I quietly climb on the kitchen counter and lift the clock. It's 2:18 am. the clock has a sport team sticker on it. It still works but the glass is broken and it covers a hole in the wall. I look inside and place my hand in the dark wall opening. I feel a cold round object and pull it out. I can't beleive she never moved it somewhere else. It is exactly the same as the one in my memory. A yellow 1950's cookie tin with two children holding hands on the lid. I lift the tight lid open as softly as possible. The tin lid pops open, it's packed tight with dirty crumpled fifty and hundred dollar bills. I spent eleven years staring at this clock wondering if the cookie tin was real or not and whether it still was there.

They still haven't noticed me, just keep yelling and screaming. I crawl on the counter and sit in front of the kitchen window. I pull out my note. I have been planning my exit for three years. I know that they won't track me down to find the money if I convinced them that I'm not alive. When I started high school I met a group of depressed kids that hated their family life. I became part of their group and over time convinced my parents into thinking I am deeply depressed. I've felt depressed for a long time but they never believed me until now. I had to exaggerate, I wouldn't go out anymore just lie in my bedroom floor. I wouldn't eat as much anymore. My dad got worried and took me to a doctor and I started taking medications. But its helped me to realize, I needed to leave.

I wiggle the window lock and quietly lift the glass pane. I glance behind me at the kitchen entrance just to make sure. I feel around my cargo pants pockets for my steel nail file. I pull it out and gently slide it in the space between the screen fame and the window sill. The screen frame slowly pops out. Before it falls and makes a sound I grab it with my other hand. As softly as possible I place the screen on top of the kitchen sink to my right. My note is next to the toaster and my empty bottle is on my nightstand. When they notice I'm gone they will go to my room and see it and notebooks full of sad journal entries and dark thoughts, my flip phone and all the clothes I own are still there. I even left my piggy bank with fifty seven dollars inside. Every clue will point to someone who suffered at the hand of their parents'. The cops might even blame my parents.

My mother cries out and pushes the blame on him for not providing a better home. This blows up into a full screaming match, both throwing petty arguments at each other. I can hear them clearer from the living room windows, now that I'm half way outside. My heart beat climbs, its the rhythm to their fight. I hang my right leg out and grab on to the window ledge and pull my self out and land on the yellowing grass. It's wet and cold, but I can breathe again.I grab my rain boots from my bag and put them on. I'm almost done now, I need to get away from the house without waking up anyone.

With large steps I walk away. The purple sky and dark pink clouds fill my view. All the matchbox houses are so small in the landscape, sitting on rolling hills and tall grass. Only the odd silo and barn in the distance break the pattern of houses. My pace gets faster and faster the closer I get to the street corner. I turn left and my walk changes into a run then a jumping sprint. My cheeks pull and my smile widens but I have to wait. I can laugh and celebrate when I get to me destination. Far off I see street lights hanging on wires and closed shops with lights on. The breeze becomes a strong wind that whips my raincoat back and forth. The wet grass and mud on the side of the road splashes under my boots. And light rain drops cool my face.

I stop for a second to catch my breath my lungs sound like whistles. My hands and knees tremble. My thoughts won't stop "Go, go!" I take one long breath and start off again. I've reached the hanging street lights and turn right I run through the streets holding my duffel bag trying not to make any noise. I don't want to act suspiciously, so I slow down and act calmly. After walking four blocks I see a sign for Mayfair street and make a left. I see the old-fashion clock tower above the small and broken down train station. The stone clock tower reads 2:43 am. I took longer than I had planned, but there is another train going to the city at 3 am. I'm tired of running so I slump over to the window and ask for a ticket. Paying twenty dollars for a ticket to Ashley Heights and a cup of coffee.

A homeless man who always slept on the only bench at the station Garry Sweeney. He looks at me and sits up patting the bench. I'm too tired to stand so I sit and I thank him. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?" I look over to the lady in the window. He says yes, I stand up but its hard to move, my legs feel like cold iron bars. I waddle over to the window and buy another coffee and hand it over. Gary thanks me and we sip our coffee. I try to stay calm and rub my hands to stay warm. But I keep glancing over to the clock inside the ticket window. It's 2:55am, I get startled when I hear a police siren far off. My heartbeat gets louder and my thoughts race. 'What if they stopped fighting and went to check on me.' 'What if the fight got violent, someone called the police and they realize I'm missing!' 'What if...!'

I chugged the last bit of my coffee and walked over to the lady at the window. "Are you sure the train to Ashley Heights comes in at 3 am? do you know if its going to be early?" I stutter in the cold air. She turns around in her chair and walks over to a schedule on the wall and brings it over. "yes the train should arrive at 3 o'clock, but it might be here at 3:15 am at the latest." she said to my utter shock. I forgot that could happen, I'm dead for sure. But the far off siren sounded further and further away. I sat back down again, all I can do is wait. 'What other choices do I have? Maybe I can hide in the bushes behind the station until the train comes.' I threw around ideas while I sat on the bench in front of the station. 'Anyone can see me here, I need to move.'

Just then a loud click from above was followed by a quiet chime. I stood up and looked at the clock tower and glanced at the one in the ticket window. Its 3 O'clock and its not here! I ask to the lady again "Do you know if something is wrong with the train or it got stuck somewhere?" She sighs, looks over to her messages and shrugs. "Thank you for helping, sorry I keep bugging you. Can I buy you a coffee? she laughs and fills up her paper cup and mine. I take my cup and look at the tracks side to side. On the left I can see a small light in the fog. I turn around and smile at the woman and she nods back. the clock reads 3:04 am.