PACKING ALL MY CARES AND WOES

I was six years old and had had it. Life was becoming too much for me, Mom and Dad were on my case and big Sis was pushing all the wrong buttons, mainly mine.

I packed a small valise with all that was important to me, mainly my toy soldiers. I headed down the two flights of stairs from the third floor and landed on the street heading toward Rockaway Avenue. I would become a man of the world, my own man, boss of me and great decision maker.

As I looked up Hull Street, I could see my parents and sister looking from the bedroom window of our apartment, watching as I made good my promise. My Dad was waving goodbye to me. As I looked water suddenly flooded my eyes, and I couldn’t see.

I hate when water floods my eyes, and became very upset, upset to the point that I had to postpone my plans and return to the living hell of homework, chores and eating stew. let alone 1st grade and old Miss Langin.

There were smirks everywhere, on my Mother and Father’s faces, as I sat down to eat the cold stew that now sat in my plate, the green peas nauseatingly sliding down my throat and resting in the pit of my empty stomach. I would show them, first thing after school tomorrow, I would find a nickel (I know, I’ll go to my Grandmothers and borrow a nickel) hop a bus and go out to
Patchogue, and never ever return. They would find me dead under a big tree near the bus station, and when they find me feel bad for making me eat that stew and ruining my life.