The First Step

With a groan that could only mirror the sound of the Eiffel Tower collapsing, Betty let out one last, labored breath before coming to a stop. She was done for. In a better place. No longer here. Poof! She was gone. Where's Betty? I don't know. You don't know. She's super dead.

If such a thing were possible for inanimate objects.

Of course, fate decided it would be in the middle of nowhere. In the woods. All alone.

Leaving me, her only friend and constant supporter, stranded. With only a heater, a pack of cigarettes that I wouldn't be using anytime soon, a watch, and lastly seven dollars and twenty-six cents to my name.

That, of course, might have been a little bit of a lie. Could you blame me? I have been known to be dramatic. By who? I really cannot say.

What I can tell you, is that I also have a drivers license, a suitcase full of clothing, car keys, a jacket, a wallet, and an aggressive amount of encyclopedias in my trunk.

Though I can't say that those things were always mine, I have taken ownership now. Sadly, they don't have enough merit to be named Betty, unlike the 1974 Volkswagen Beetle I had bought off the son of Mrs. Farris when I was sixteen and a half.

Mrs. Farris, 65 , had just passed away and left her most prized possessions to her 'only family'. Her son — the 'only family' I just mentioned — absolutely dreaded the vehicle made for only the most hardcore grandmothers the world had ever known... or a teenager with saved up money.

Betty was under five hundred dollars, with blue paint that peeled off near the wheels and a beautiful, bulbous dent in her derrière. I had to buy her. In my mind, I thought I was making an investment. It was a crime that her price was ever so low in the first place, but that's how fate works. She became my car for the next few years.

Now nineteen and not any better at managing my money, she finally decided to give up on me. Or, maybe I should have checked where the closest gas station was before I started driving.

Whichever the reason, it is most likely my fault.

I say in the car in a comfortable silence for as long as my mind could stand, before deciding to face the morning air. The early sky was, of all things, cloudy and damp. I could feel it as soon as I opened the car door. I stepped out, my boots touching the ground carefully.

I had never hated the outdoors, not fully, anyway. Though it wasn't difficult to feel little worrisome about the grey clouds overhead.

I grabbed my car keys, stuffing them into my pocket and closing the car door with my hip. I headed over to the trunk, wretched it open, and got out the backpack. I looked over the small mess, hesitating, before grabbing an encyclopedia just to be sure.

Wether I found an old couple who could take me in or not, or hitched my way to another city, I'd need some form of protection. Though the chances of seeing cars were slim. I hadn't passed one in hours while going through here. With trees that seemed as tall as sky scrapers, I could see why.

If a tree falls in the middle of the forest, you could question wether it made a sound. Now imagine getting mauled by a rabid pack of bunnies with fangs. It's a little out there, yes, but not exactly impossible. I stayed hopeful, or at least curious. So much of the world was undiscovered, so I figured blood-sucking bunnies could exist.

I snapped out of the trance and began walking forward. With the bag slowly killing my posture and the large book in my hands, I looked like I was in high school again. With my hair sticking to my forehead from the untimely moisture, I was indistinguishable from my younger self.

Except my younger self wouldn't be caught in the middle of nowhere.

Speaking of nowhere, how exactly did I get here? Well, that's a rather unusual story. I've been on the road for... maybe six or eight weeks now.

I have my reasons, and like many others, I try to forget them. I've been doing well on this whole runaway thing, though.

With Betty, a remarkable amount of money saved from part-time jobs, and an inheritance I only learned of a couple months ago, I figured I was going to be steady in the money department for now.

I was running from something worse. Thankfully, I like to say I've succeeded by now. Still, I can't really be sure. New and old threats sometimes call for a heavy book, such as the one in my hands right now.

I focus on the rhythm of my footsteps as I continue my inevitable ten hour path. I try to refuse checking the old watch on my wrist, mostly because it's always an ordeal moving the book onto one arm, and just decide to let the minutes tick by. It drags on as painfully as a ten hour flight.

Yet, after a while, I look behind me and I can't see the sky-blue vodka color of my car anymore. It's too far away, and this path might be twisting and turning more than I realized.

I stand still, if only for a few seconds, before shaking my head and continuing. Walking was always a hobby, at least before work was. I loved being able to control where I went, even as a child. I found myself in fields on Saturday afternoons and at parks on Sunday mornings. Not particularly for nature, not particularly for any reason at all, actually.

Just, to be somewhere.

It entered in through early adulthood rather quickly. From making my own money, to taking care of myself, and finally making my own choices. I thought it would be easy. I had been doing it all my life, right? Choices, we make them every day. From getting up in the morning to sleeping at night. Most, and note that I say most, of those things are our choices. I thought it made me mature.

All grown up and responsible. I wasn't. I was sure I would be for awhile.

Still, there some things I was sure of.

My name was Colette, I was nineteen. I was carrying a heavy book. And I was definitely not expecting to see the house that was up ahead. Even more so, I was not prepared for the mess of a boy awaiting me.

And still, with all of it unknown to me, I walked.