Getting Away

Scum, Sweetheart. That’s what I’d call him. He’s a runaway train and he’s heading in the wrong direction entirely. Last thing I want to see is you hopping the proverbial train to nowhere. You can do better.”

“Mom, please.” I couldn’t possibly have packed my duffle bag with more intent. “You lived your fairy tale of New Orleans. I’m going to live my fairytale of New York.” I zipped the bag and slung it over my shoulder. Mom was such a hypocrite, and she wouldn’t even admit it. “It could be the best choice of my life,” I added. "It’s too early to say. "

“Well, you could at least pretend not to be so desperate to get away from me.” She did that quivery frown thing I always hated.

I opted for comforting instead of hateful. “Oh, it’s all right now.” She put down her cigarette and I hugged her. “I kicked a boy once to save myself. I’ll do it again if I have to.” I caught our reflections in the mirror and saw her smile. “If I’m going to do anything with my life, I must get out now.”

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