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Running Away on The Miss Betty Mae

By Damsel

I rose at dawn. The moment the light began to peer through the curtains, my eyes opened and I knew that it was time.

Leaving my bed unmade, my sheets rumpled, I threw on the nearest clothes that I could find. I stuffed a few more into an old, faded rucksack. Today was the day. Only partially pre-planned, I knew that today I would leave.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and quietly persuaded the door open. Quietly, quietly. Don’t wake up. Avoiding the trouble spots; loose floorboards and creaky hinges, I navigated my way through the house, out into the front yard and onto my bicycle, an old rusty red affair, affectionately christened The Miss Betty Mae.

Betty and I felt our way across the gravel driveway and launched ourselves like a champagne covered ship into the vast watery escape of the ocean. Our ocean had no waves, no water on this fine day. Our ocean consisted of asphalt and painted directions. Arrows to freedom, arrows to air. Directions for an easier life. The road told me to slow down, to stop. To smell the roses, but there would be time for that later. First things first. I am leaving here.

I rode steadily, watching the street beneath my wheels. My only direction was away. How would I know when I got there? Betty and I sailed through the streets for hours. We were no longer in the city and yet not quite in the country. I stopped. The day was warm. The smooth surface of a recently re-paved road called to me, so I stopped. Betty lay on the road and I walked away from her. I bent double and touched the road. Warm? Yes. It felt warm against my cheek, against my body as I lay stretched out, face down on the road. I could sleep like this.

The road was covered in lines. Lines to direct, lines to warn, lines to- I found some chalk and made my own lines. Six foot letters typing a message to the gods, a message to the road. LOVE ME LET ME FLY. Heaven would cry away my letters but not before the road could read them.

A man stopped his car. He wound down the window, but didn’t approach me in case I was crazy. “Miss? Are you alright? Do you need some help?”

I stood up. I smiled. “Do you have any paint?”

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Running Away on The Miss Betty Mae

Created: Feb 11, 2010

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