The First Time I Ran Away

I owned a bike. But, I only rode it when I was with my dad and we went to the park. Otherwise I was not permitted to ride it. I was eight at the time. My brother, as long as I could remember, had always been allowed to ride his bike to 7-11 with his friends to get slurpies. His best friend lived three blocks away and he went over to his friends house every weekend. They would often watch scary movies. Another thing I was not allowed to do.

One day, my best friend and I were riding our bikes at the elementary school, one block away from my house. We wanted slurpies, but my mom had already said no.

The 7-11 was one block away from the school.

It was like a jail break. Before we knew it, we were crossing the heavily trafficked boulevard. And rushing back as fast as we could to the house. Hearts beating and mouths stained dark red and bright blue.

In my minds’ memory, I don’t remember being so young. All I knew was that there were things my brother could do, at my age, that I wasn’t allowed to do. And I knew it was because I was a girl. My parents had explained it to me quite simply. I was more likely to be prayed upon, kidnapped, raped, killed, therefore I was to not allowed to go anywhere on my own.

Much of my view of the world and myself was shaped by this simple fact. I was a girl. And my existence, as a girl, was dangerous.