Another Runaway

Running away is a dream in everyone’s mind. A fleeting thought of leaving a town or a home. It’s common enough. For Tristan, it was a part of his life.

A dark green canvas bag was casually swung over his left shoulder. It was filled to the brim with clothes, snacks, and other items that would be useful for a few days a way from the neighborhood. He wiped his dark brown hair away from his eyes and tried to calm him self down.

This wasn’t the first time he had run away from home.  It wouldn’t be the last. Tristan knew that his mother wouldn’t notice he was missing for at least a day if not more. After that, it would take her at least three hours to call the cops.

He and his mother had fallen into a routine. Tristan would take off whenever she left for one of her double shifts at the hospital. His mother would not have time to check up on him. The cops in his neighborhood were incredibly slow to respond. Nothing bad ever really happened in the surrounding area and runaway teenagers weren’t particularly news worthy.

He could barely remember the first time he had run away. Tristan must have been nine, maybe ten. His mother had left the door unlocked and hidden away in her bedroom. After ten hours of no response from her he had simply walked out the door with no place in mind as to where he was going. For a child, he had been quite resourceful. Tristan had packed candy bars, an extra set of clothes, and a few water bottles for his adventure.

Sunshine had filled his neighborhood when he left. He took it as a good sign. A neighbor a few blocks down caught him before he got to any main roads. His mom never even knew. The neighbor returned him without even going up the stairs to check on his mother. 

And so began the first of many escapes for Tristan Moore.

The cops never understood why he would want to run away from home. There was no history of abuse. No reason to suspect any neglect. Other than the absence of a father figure, everything was normal about the Moore household.

All of Tristan’s mother’s friends loved to gossip about her runaway son.

“Karen’s son is strange. If my child did that, I’d lock him away for sure.”

“If the father had stuck around, maybe things would be different.”

“Whatever happened to her husband?”

“Who knows?”
 
Karen Moore refused to mention anything about her husband. Tristan didn’t know his first name. Or the first thing about him. If anyone would try to bring up the subject, his mother always seemed to find a way to turn it around.

There was also another thing of interest about her son.

People often puzzled at how a blond hair, blue-eyed woman could have given birth to Tristan. His hair was as dark to almost be black. His eyes followed suit. A lot of people thought he wore black contacts to give himself a more sinister look. He didn’t. Tristan was just as curious about his appearance as anyone else in town.

Tristan didn’t think an absent father figure was the reason he couldn’t stand to be in the house with his mother for long. If anyone has tried to ask him, he would say that it was because she was a ghost of a person.

Karen did the normal things a mother might do. She went to work. Pulled doubles at the hospital when money got tight. Occasionally fixed dinner when she wasn’t to busy. Hell, she had even packed his lunch in grammar school.

In the end, there was still something off about her. Sometimes, she would stare at Tristan for too long. He would try to get her attention, get her to say anything, do anything. Nothing would work. She got a far away look that let Tristan know that his mother was not in. Only her body was there.

Where her mind was, he could never tell.

Other than a mother who was absent in mind if not body, he had a normal life.

At school, he Tristan had plenty of friends. He was well-liked, charismatic. Being voted President of his class was an easy accomplishment. Nothing to it. Who didn’t like Tristan Moore?

None of them understood his impulses though. They did not understand why he felt the need to get away from such a great neighborhood. The crime rate was low, shopping was great, a skating park provided an allure for most of his classmates.

He could hang out with them. Pretend to like the things they liked and generally be one of the most beloved kids in the school. It all seemed too phony to him though. Why fit in if he didn’t feel like it? At most, all of the things the other kids liked were petty, trivial things that weren’t going to make any difference.

Thinking things like that made Tristan feel like some high and mighty do-gooder. But he didn’t feel like that was him either. He felt a calling. A calling to go different places. Sometimes it was just too strong, so he ran away.

Every time that he ran, he went somewhere different. It gave him comfort that no one would be able to form a pattern about where he would go next. Tristan was just as likely to end up in Maine as in one town over. Not having a pattern gave him an element of surprise and mystique that he enjoyed having.

Tristan had ran as far as California before and as short a distance of nearby woods. He kept a map with a pin placed on every place he had been. The dots covered a map of the United States pretty extensively. One day, he planned on going everywhere in Europe as well. Maybe even Africa. He didn’t see the point in going to only English speaking countries.

In fact, Tristan had a knack for languages.

In his sophomore year, all the students were required to sign up for a language course. Trying to be outlandish, he had signed up to learn how to speak Finnish.

About a month into the class, Tristan finished the language book.

Every week his teacher, Mr. Brown, would give an oral test.

When he got to Tristan, he asked, “Puhutko suomea? Or in other words, Do you speak Finnish Mr. Moore?”

The fact that Mr. Brown doubted whether or not his understood the language got a rise of out Tristran.

Tristan replied with perfect dialect, “Uskon, että voin puhua sen paremmin kuin te, herra Brown. Or if you didn’t know, I believe I speak it better than you do, Mr. Brown.”

This bought him a one way ticket to the principal’s office for “defiance of authority”. At least, that’s what was circled on his write up slip. Luckily, Mr. Hammol, the principal, thought it was funnier than trouble-making. He only gave him after school detention.

After that, Mr. Brown no longer asked Tristan any questions in class. He didn’t really look at him at all.

Tristan’s speedy learning of Finnish didn’t really come off as strange in his opinion. He had read the book and remembered everything he read. What was weird about that?

His friend Justin thought it was extremely freaky.

“Man, how did you read that whole thing? I can barely get through the first few chapters!”

“Ah, c’mon,” jested Tristan, “It’s not that hard. All you do is read it and remember it.”

“Not everything is that easy, dude.”

After his success with Finnish, Tristan read a French book then a Spanish book, and remembered everything in perfect detail. He didn’t tell anyone besides Justin. Tristan didn’t care for fitting in, but he definitely did not want to stand out.

With his frequent running away, it was hard to fit in at times. Even with his charismatic personality, it was hard to convince any girls that he was dating material.

“Why should I date you? You’re always running off.”

“How am I supposed to know what you are doing?”

“You’d probably just cheat on me anyway.”

Typically, the girls in his class always responded that way. He didn’t take it too personally. On the other hand, it got lonely at times. No girl on his arm. Even his friend Justin typically kept a girl for a few months. Double dating was out of the question.

~ ~ ~
This time Tristan had decided to go to a place a couple of towns over. He was running low on cash and didn’t want to wait until Friday to score some more from his mom.

Langford Central promised lakeside views and great weather. With the recent heat wave, Tristan figured that he could stand to go somewhere with a good lake. Maybe he’d even meet a cute girl or two. They wouldn’t have to know about his reputation.

As he slammed the front door, he wondered if his mom even cared when he left. It was almost too painful a thought to consider. Maybe he should stop leaving her for so long.

Immediately he contradicted himself.

“If she really wanted me there, she would try to connect with me,” he said aloud to reassure himself of his action.

Whenever he said things aloud, it made them into a sort of a truth for him. If he could tell himself calmly, out loud, then it was true. There was no more need to think or worry about whatever it was. Tristan wished he could fully believe that.