A safe dwelling. Some place they can’t find you. Maybe Madagascar. Could be Montreal. Hiding from past and present dangers. Looking for shelter.

No streetlights working. Walking down a road, no, an avenue, roundabouts filled with wild flowers and weeds; unattended. He picks up a rock and examines it. The stone has a flatness to it. Sharp edges. Could be used as a weapon. He puts it in his book bag along with Rilke and Camus. Always be prepared.

A train whistles as it goes through downtown. Off in the distance, the boy sees red flashing lights and hears a bell. Cars backed up. Stopped. Some people read their papers or books as they wait on the long train. Couples making out in front seats reclining back. A taxi cab driver steps outside and smokes a cigarette. The boy gets closer.

Always looking for adventure. The kid wipes his runny nose and chews on a piece of Wrigley’s. Mom and dad haven’t seen their son for days. They file a missing persons report. Announcements go out over the airwaves. A five foot ten, heavy set boy with brown hair has been reported as missing. His name is Tommy Peterson, and he is sixteen years old. Please contact police in your area if seen. Now here’s Mark with sports.

He sits by the now slowed down train and considers his next step.  Empty box cars. Tanks of fuel. Containers of seeds with the name Monsanto across the belly that bulges out.

The kid makes his move and jumps on the ladder at the end of the train. Wildly, he waves his book bag in the wind and yells in a high-pitched tone. And with a hundred dollars on him, he is free.

What will the neighbors say? Their boy has left them, and they don’t know why. The house is silent. Dad reads the morning paper, and mom butters toast. It’s been two years now.

Rumors emerge. Some say the old man killed him one night for no reason. Just felt compelled to. They tell a story of wild incest and crazy nights of drinking by the parents. Neighbors remark that their silence was a front. The family was a cult from California. One time, I dropped a pie off when they first moved in, Mrs. Graham said. They were burning incense. I knew something was strange about them.

Dad backs the car out of the driveway and heads to work. He drives to the parking lot and considers his options. Do I go into that place of hell today? Or do I just leave? He asks himself. Do I just leave?

Mom has packed a bag and takes money out of their bank account. She takes the bus downtown and gets off at the train station. The wife buys a ticket to Albuquerque. There is no round trip.