Chapter Eight
posted in Novel |
I’m finally getting caught up with all the things which were let go for the week we were away. It’s amazing how quickly things pile up in only a week’s time. Fortunately the grass isn’t growing fast but the leaves are sure piling up.
Here’s the next Chapter of Lost and Found. I’ll be back the first of the week for the next installment. Have a great weekend. —
Oh, and don’t forget to ask people you know to drop by and read Lost and Found.
Be well — be in peace,
Ron Rink
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For the next two days I did pretty much the same thing—worked at the track in the mornings and early afternoon—hid in my little hay-filled hide-a-way until it started to get dark—then rode my bike over to the bowling alley neighborhood and stayed hidden around the back until it was almost closing time. Everything was going along smoothly except I was getting really hungry just eating peanut butter and bologna. I had some of my mother’s canned stuff like green beans, peas and jam. The beans and peas didn’t taste good cold, plus they made my stomach upset. I did use some of the jam on my peanut butter bread and that tasted great. I also stole some carrots from a victory garden one night. They were wonderful—so fresh and crunchy.
I was getting really dirty from being around horses, hay and stables all day, plus I was sleeping on a dirty floor all night. I did manage to wash my face and I brushed my teeth with my finger in the bathroom at the bowling alley (I forgot to bring a toothbrush). But I had no way to take a bath. I was starting to itch all the time so I stole a towel from under the counter to try and clean under my arms and my butt. I thought about asking Billy if maybe I could take a bath at his house, but I was afraid to go into the bowling alley during the day. I knew if I wanted to connect with Billy I had to be around when he got off work.
On the next night while I was riding my bike to the bowling alley from the race track a police car went by me. I had just crossed Eight Mile Road and was in Detroit. I only had a couple of blocks to go before I got to the bowling alley. I noticed after the cop car went by me it was starting to slow down. My stomach went into knots. I could feel my hands start to shake and the sweat break out all over my body. I panicked. I just knew they were looking for me and would be making me go home. There was no place for me to go. I wished I knew how to disappear.
They turned around and came back to where I was and pulled over.
I put my head down and started peddling as fast as I could.
They made another U-turn and came up along side me.
“Hey kid,” one of the cops called out to me. “Where are you going so fast? Stop your bike, get off and stand by the side of the road.”
I really wanted to start crying, but I didn’t. I did stop peddling and got off my bike.
“What are you doing out here at night?” one of the cops yelled out of his window while the other one got out of the police car and come over to me shining his flashlight in my face.
I didn’t know what to say so I said, “I’m just out riding my bike.”
“Where do you live, son?” asked the cop.
I lied and said, “I live over by the bowling alley on Dequindre.”
Then he asked, “What’s your name, kid?”
When I didn’t answer he asked, “Is your name Roland and do you live over on Russell?”
I started to cry as the cop came over, put my bike into the trunk of their car, and put me into the back seat.
“You don’t have to cry, kid, we’re not going to hurt you. We just have to check you out and see if we can get in touch with your parents. Don’t worry. We’re going to go over to the station and give your parents a call. You don’t have to be scared—everything’s going to be okay.”
When we got there, they sat me down in a chair and showed me a picture of myself I had taken in school. “Is that you?” the cop asked with a smile. “It sure looks like you. How come you ran away from home?”
“Because my father is always beating me up,” I said still sobbing away. I was really scared. I didn’t want these guys to make me go back home.
“I don’t want to go back there,” I pleaded. “I’m learning how to take care of myself and if you make me go back there he’ll just start beating me up again!”
“I don’t think you’re doing a very good job of taking care of yourself, Roland. Look how dirty you are and you smell pretty bad too! What we’re going to do is call your parents and tell them you’re here. We’ll talk to them about beating you up and maybe they’ll stop doing it, okay?”
They put me in a small room with a table and chairs. I was feeling extremely sad. Going back home was not what I wanted to do, and I was starting to really enjoy the sense of freedom that was mine when I was out on my own. The police gave me a cheese sandwich with some milk and told me to eat my sandwich and wait.
A little while later my parents both came to the police station and were just as sweet and nice as could be. They still had their very stern faces but didn’t act like they were upset about anything. I know as the years went by and I’d relive that scene, I would wonder why my mother hadn’t been crying.
When we got in the car to drive home, neither of them said a word to me. Once we were in the house my mother said, “You need to take a good bath and get to bed. We’ll talk about all this in the morning.”
My father never said a word.
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