Micah

Micah

Chapter One

One day, I received an email from one of my friends. It went:

Have you ever tried running away?

Micah is one of my closest friends. We live next to each other but, as far as neighbours/friends go, we don’t visit each other much. Our parents are friends, too. I’ve heard my parents discuss what Micah’s dad keeps grumbling about to my dad. About rock and how “that type” of music should be banned from children under 18. Micah has average grades in school and doesn’t cause much trouble except for that one time Micah punched a guy in the face. I’m not sure why, it was a long time ago but it’s still brought up by my parents whenever they want to frame Micah as a troubled child.

Nothing’s wrong with Micah, really. It’s just the way Micah dresses that put off my parents. I hear them complaining about Micah every evening at dinner: a child that’s not theirs. They say they pity Micah’s parents for having to deal with Micah. They don’t talk about me much, though. And for that, I’m glad. I’ve heard how they talk about Micah, good thing they don’t talk at all about me.

There was one time I could recall running away. I used to live with my grandparents for the first 8 years of my life so when I moved in with my mom and dad and got shouted at for the first time in my life, I ran away. My dad wasn’t shouting at me but my mom and I just happened to be there. My grandfather found me in less than a few hours so that didn’t go very well.

I told Micah about it through email and it took a few days for the reply. The reply was in person, though, while we were walking home from school. The topic was brought up because my bike’s tyre was flat and I had to walk so Micah walked with me. Somehow, a flat tyre and walking home were connected to running away from home.

“I never ran away, not once.” Micah said.

It’s a bit unexpected. I sure sound like my parents when I say this but I really couldn’t tell.

“That’s strange,” I answered.

Micah continued, not regarding my answer, “But, you know, I think it’ll be fun.”

I don’t know about that though. When I got home, my brother who came home for a visit, helped me change my tires. We couldn’t just blow air into it anymore, the tyre’s thoroughly busted. I thought about what Micah said all night but not that much that I wouldn’t get sleep. I woke up at 4 am that day. I felt as if I had to. Or I’ll be late. To something. School, probably. Even though it starts at 8 am.

Micah’s probably a free soul to think like that. What about food? Shelter? Water? I’m not one to talk, though. I was the one that ran away, not Micah. I didn’t think of any of that back then. Because I was about 8, so I had a pretty good reason. 8-year-olds are really reckless. Quite like Micah. Micah has always been impulsive. Micah’s calculating but impulsive at the same time. Once, Micah jumped off a perfectly climbable tree. Later I pointed out you could just easily climb down. Micah said that that was not an option because time was running out.

Later that evening, I didn’t hear a breath about Micah. My parents love talking about Micah, they bring up that person as a topic every dinner or every time we are all in a room as a family and they can’t ask, “How was your day at work?” I think Micah’s been the saving grace of our family because my parents don’t talk at all and Micah’s always been the topic at the table so dinner wouldn’t be awkward. It’s strange for me not to hear my parents talk about Micah.

I went to check my computer. And Micah emailed me;

I’m running away. Come with me?

Like I said, with no prior plans, why would you impulsively run away? It’s not safe. What about food? Shelter? Water? I’m already shivering when I think of the night chill. The nights are cold in California. I can’t handle the cold.

I packed my bags nonetheless. I had only 299 dollars and 50 cents on me. I brought a water bottle, a roll of tissue, my jacket, slippers and a few unchecked clothing. I ran out with one backpack. Besides, who would be with that reckless Micah if not me?

Micah was there, waiting for me beside that old bicycle my grandfather gave Micah. We had no plans. Micah looked at me and smiled. Just then, I went back and took out my bicycle. I had almost forgotten. I guess I’m impulsive, too, sometimes.

“Where are you heading?” I asked.

Micah mounted the old bike and waited for me to get on mine. We pedalled for who knows how long in silence why my question lingered in the air. I only looked ahead where Micah was, the person’s shoulders went up and down with their pedals. I could feel Micah’s smile. I looked back and realized Micah had taken turns we don’t usually take and the scenery had long since changed.

“Where are you heading, Micah?” I repeated.

Micah abruptly stopped the bike and so did I.

“The stars.”

—

What Micah meant by that, I’m not so sure. Maybe Micah meant, “to see the stars,” instead? I’m fully convinced that’s what Micah meant to say because he stopped at a building with half a roof. Looks like we’ll be “seeing the stars” all night. Literally. Micah brought a chain and chained the bike to an old pole. I didn’t bring one so Micah brought out a rope and tied it as tight as possible on a nearby tree. I’m surprised. I’m the more unprepared one.

As we walked closer to the building, a man with a burly beard came to meet us. I smelled him from a mile away. A homeless guy, I think. I’ve seen them on television. You see them always broadcasted, having committed a petty crime or an actual felony. On media, though, they spread this kind of propaganda where they show how miserable they actually are and how they need our help. How so? They’re helped by the government, they’re offered rehab. It’s all their choice to go back to their stupid addiction. All they are are assholes that take advantage of the working class’s taxes.

“Running away from home are ya?” he grunted.

“Good evening, and yes, we are,” Micah answered, attempting to shake the old man’s hand, “But not for long though.”

The old man completely ignored Micah’s hand, “So you’ve got homes to go back to? Ain’t that nice.” He said as if inspecting us.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well, you youth look strong and sturdy. You protect yourself. Watch out for people you can’t trust.” He smiled, showing his yellowing teeth.

Looks like we’re good.

“Thank you.” Micah greeted then sidestepped to avoid hitting the old man and went inside. I closely followed.

‘Watch out for people you can’t trust,’ he says. It isn’t like we’re runaway criminals. We’re not risking anything other than our life and that’s not a lot to risk. At least Micah thinks so. I don’t. I think that as soon as whatever Micah wants done is done, we are going home. Tonight, we’ll be sleeping under the skies and on nothing. I didn’t bring clothes or bedsheets but there was a thick jacket in my backpack. I had thought of tossing it out because it’s too bulky but it turned out to be useful.

I carefully laid my jacket down on the floor and Micah quickly snatched it away. This was Micah’s least unreasonable act today, but still pretty unreasonable. I didn’t mean to glare but it seems I did the first few seconds because Micah started to look like those employees who’ve insulted their boss. Glaring is my first reaction to unreasonable acts.

“I’m sorry,” he laughed, “Have mine. Or you’ll freeze to death.”

Micah handed me those square fluffy throw blankets that won’t reach your ankles. It’s better than nothing. I’d hated the winter since I was born. And now it’s at night in the winter and we’re sleeping in an otherwise open place. Micah’s got thick skin because Micah’s a reptilian, probably. Micah likes the cold. Micah likes the heat, too. Come to think of it. I don’t know what Micah doesn’t like.

I have a lot of things I don’t like but only a healthy amount, I’m not very particular about things but Micah isn’t particular at all. It’s the clothes Micah worries about. One time, I tagged along with Micah’s family to an amusement park and Micah wore a white collared shirt. It was clean and ironed very well. Mary, Micah’s older sister, asked us what drinks we wanted. Micah answered, “Anything, as long as they won’t stain on my shirt.” When you’re in an amusement park, everything has additives. The juice they sell there is just overpriced cups of sugar, water, artificial sweeteners, and colour. Tons and tons of colours. In the end, Micah and I both got water.

The reason I got water was because you could never really trust the food or the drinks in places like these. For Micah, it was because it could spill on the white fabric and stain. Like I said, Micah is only particular about clothes.

“Micah,”

I called but continued to lay down and stare at the not-so-starry light-polluted city sky.

“Sup?”

Micah had not lied down yet. The “bedding” for Mich has not yet been set up. Micah bent down and patted my puffy jacket as if doing that would make it any thicker or more comfortable.

“Is there anything you don’t like?”

I heard Micah sigh followed by the sound of rustling as Micah prepared to sleep and lay down beside me.

“Anything?”

“At all,” I answered.

“Well, I… The cold? I’m not a big fan of it.”

Liar. I sat up and stared at the very thin bedding and blanket Micah had.

“Lies. You’re all lies and bullshit and recklessness.”

I threw an article of clothing at Micah’s face because it was far due. I should’ve thrown something at Micah the moment running away was suggested.

Micah caught it and threw it right back at me. I scrunched my nose as it hit my face. It’s underwear, now that it’s so close, I could figure out what it was. I don’t know whose it was. It’s not mine, that’s for sure. It gave a ‘flop’ as it hit the floor. I am not picking that up.

“It’s true, though. I mean-”

“Do you hear that? I hear bullshit.”

Micah laughed, “It’s true, I’m not lying! Just because I can handle the cold doesn’t mean I like it!”

That argument made sense but for some reason, I’m still annoyed. Greatly annoyed. I humphed and lay on my makeshift bed.

“Why does it bother you so much??”

“It doesn’t. Shut up.”

It doesn’t bother me that much. Micah sighed in a laughing sort of way and I didn’t hear a peep after that. I closed my eyes. A chill went down my spine as the cold breeze blew. I tried to warm myself up by curling up to fit into the small blanket. I don’t know how Micah can handle this weather. It’s horrible. Really, really horrible.