The Day I Ran Away

I was a sad little girl. I lived in my head most of the time. I was a shy loner. At my non uniform primary school I can still remember the unused doorway tucked into the corner of some buildings far away from the play ground and playing field.

It was there I would hurry to stand during play breaks, listening to the distance shouts and squeals of the other children. I don`t remember ever being seen more than once or twice by another child and on being questioned as to why I was there I replied I was waiting for a friend and that we were playing a game and so I was left alone again. I always felt safer alone. I daydreamed a lot about another life. There was always the feeling I was unwanted and unwelcome at home, a burden whose care was begrudged. It occurred to me many times that perhaps I did not belong to my parents, I could never come up with tangible proof that this was true and yet given their constant lack of empathy for me, the fact I was viewed as either a naughty nuisance, a disappointment and wanting in most departments and my only worth seemed to be in my housekeeping services and errand running, it seemed extremely plausible. I coped with my life at home as best I could because I had no choice. Once, when things were particularly unbearable I told my Aunt Iris about some of the things that went on at home, she seemed quite shocked and when I described some of my Mothers antics, such as her orchestrating my finding condoms under my Fathers pillow, she exclaimed she was a silly bugger. She then must of challenged my Mother about some of the things I had told her and of course My Mother, no doubt backed up ferociously by my enabling Father, twisted everything I had said until I was painted as telling lies. One example being that I was truanting and they had trouble getting me to go to school, in response to my telling my Aunt about my days kept off school to do the washing or to go grocery shopping with my Mother to help carry the bags. My Aunt had fallen into the habit of calling me some evenings when they were out at bingo and I enjoyed our chats, that is until after speaking out, I answered the phone to her one evening and my stomach flipped as I heard a stark change in her tone of voice. She told me sternly, in no uncertain terms, that she was not going to be made a fool of.

And so things were never quite the same between us after that and the evening chats were no more. My Mother always won. One time I was in such silent despair and desperation that I thought about running away. There had been the usual terrible row and I was waiting for my Father to get home and give my yet another good hiding. On a whim I decided to take our dog for a walk. I walked and walked alongside the duel carriage way we lived next to. It went all the way to Birmingham, miles and miles. I few tears rolled down my face as I walked. I felt utterly alone and the thought of endless days being at the mercy of her mood swings and rages, of his temper or detachment, well it just about broke my young spirit. The lorries thundered past and I recall noticing how very high their wheels were, roughly the same height as me. My heartbeat fast and I contemplated running into the road, it was very tempting and seemed more enticing than having to go home. I walked and walked and it began to grow dark. But I just could not pluck up the courage to go into the traffic, I worried about our dog too as I would have to let go of the lead and remembered what happened to Prince.

When I came to a phone-box I went in to get out of the cold and there was the Childline number there. I had some change in my pocket and I called the number. Trouble was I didn`t know what to say or how to explain it. I knew it was my word against my parents and whoever would believe me ? They were both foreboding, frightening figures in my life and if I caused trouble and was sent back to them God knows what they would do to me, for a moment the lorry wheels seemed a possible alternative again. Looking back I can wonder how I carried on, as an adult I know how it was difficult to get across how things were with them when she was in full actress mode and he was being a mild mannered gentleman, what chance did a child have, it was always my word against theirs and they put on such a polished performance of concerned though struggling parents, struggling with this wilful girl, me. I stuttered and muttered and eventually rang off and faced the long, cold walk home, our dog no longer pulling on the lead but plodding along looking sorry for himself and drinking at an occasional puddle. I felt guilty about him and so more tears rolled down my cheeks. 
 When I at last tuned away from the busy, dark road and went through the little gap in the railings into our cul-de-sac I saw my Mother hanging out of the window bellowing..."Where av YOU been AMANDA" she was livid. I glanced back at the traffic whizzing by and for a fleeting moment I thought about running towards it but again I could not find the courage. I don`t remember going in the house, I do remember them making a huge fuss of the dog though, saying how exhausted he looked and that he was panting, they gave him water and fed him, he wolfed it down while they preached what a wicked cruel girl I was keeping him out walking for so long.

I was not once asked if anything bad had happened to me or if I was alright, not even by the burly, rosy cheeked, red curly haired policeman who turned up shortly afterwards. He sat at our kitchen table, he was a huge man and barely fit on the chair. My Mother sat opposite and relished relaying a long list of my wilfulness, her eyes blazing with delight while my father stood nearby struggling to get a murmur of agreement heard. I know I said I had been walking but I don`t remember daring to say I was trying to run away. The policeman soon showed signs of being ready to leave, no doubt sensing he would be captive to my Mothers never ending sermon on naughty girls and the trials of parenting them if he didn`t. He did at one point though ask why I had walked so far and been gone so long but I faltered and Mother cut in with something about how she was sure I wouldn`t do it again and my Father began thanking him and apologising for calling him out. I sensed that they wanted to shut the episode down in case my tongue got loosened and he may just of been inclined to give me the benefit of the doubt. 
There was no good hiding afterwards, it was very quiet and I felt like I was being watched with suspicion. Clearly they knew deep down that their parenting was poor, neglectful, emotionally and physically abusive as they were always eager to paint the very opposite picture of how things truly were to the outside world. My Father I am sure understood that my Mother was unstable but also realised he was her willing accomplice. They were conspiratorial and there seemed an atmosphere of them and me more than ever before. 
 No one ever seems inclined to believe a child against two adults, in fact people generally tend to question any suggestion parents are anything less than well meaning. We used to have an elderly widowed neighbour. We were friendly and often chatted. She was telling me stories of her childhood one time, many stories of her and her siblings and the things they got up to. I commented how miserable my own childhood had been and without thinking said my parents had been quite wicked. Without knowing any details, despite us being close and my never having ever said anything that seemed unlikely to be true before, she immediately said "Oh I`m sure they weren`t that bad", so dismissively. It stung so much. Even though I felt I had her respect she still never stopped for a moment to think it may be true. Is it any wonder children struggle to tell someone when they are being abused.
  I also once tried to tell my English teacher how unhappy I was at home, I felt I could trust him as he seemed to have a soft spot for me as I was his star pupil English being my best subject. He listened to me but didn`t offer any real help other than to say he did hope I wouldn`t go out and deliberately get myself pregnant to secure a flat and get away from them. Oh the 1970`s !