Runaway Pete

Runaway Pete


Pete was smart, as all three and a half year old boys are.  Questions poured constantly from his busy little mouth.  Large dark eyes steadily watched and processed the many life lessons a farm and family have to offer.  Today's adventure began in the barn, his favorite place to play.  The sweet scent of hay hung in the air, mixing with the odors of manure and animals.  Empty stalls lined the walls, waiting for the cows and horses to return after a long day in the warm Montana sun.  A symphony of grunting pigs, clucking chickens, and a fainter mewing sound echoed off the rafters as Pete scrambled down the ladder from the loft.  He had just discovered the most amazing thing, and he couldn't wait to tell his mom and dad about it.  He raced out the large entry of the faded red structure and toward the kitchen door of the two-story farmhouse. 
He approached his mom first, for she was usually very good at talking to him while cooking the dinner meal.  A loaf of freshly baked bread was cooling on a rack on the counter.  A stew of some sort, maybe rabbit or chicken, was simmering on the wood-burning stove.  Pete inhaled deeply.  Yep.  Rabbit.  His mom was standing over the cutting board, slicing some potatoes.  Perfect.  He could tell her right now.  Unfortunately his sister Kat was already there, posed on a stool and yammering on about this friend and that boy and whatever else happened in junior high.  Having witnessed these conversations in passing, Pete was sure that this one could continue on through dinner if he didn't speak up.  During a short pause by his sister he attempted to speak "Mom, Mom, Hey Mom"  He attempted to get his mom's attention by pulling on her shirt and standing right in front of her but she shooed him away, reminding him that knives and small boys' heads just don't mix.  "But I wanna tell you something."  Kat looked down her pert nose at him and snootily responded with "We are having an important conversation, Pete. You've had all day to talk with Mother while I've been at school.  Find someone else to pester."    Mom gave teenage daughter her "don't be rude" look and turned to Pete with an apologetic smile.  " Kat was here first, Kiddo, why don't you go get cleaned up for dinner.  We'll talk later."  Yea, right.  He heaved a big sigh.  He looked down at, what he thought, were perfectly clean hands, glanced back at his mom and his, once again, twittering sister, and decided to move on to the next available ear. 
Dad was busy working in the hay fields, so the next best person to a parent is an attentive sister.  Marge was sitting at the dinner table, still in her school uniform and frowning over her math homework.  Her gangly, ten-year-old legs were twisted around the legs of the chair as she gnawed on a pencil in concentration. She was Pete's next best bet because, of his two sisters, she was the only one who would actually play his games with him.  She was always answering his questions and rarely tried to escape when he persisted with even more queries.  He wasn't even discouraged by the fact that she was doing her homework, because it didn't look fun for her.  Besides, she needed to know what he had discovered.  He came up to her to share his new, startling information with her.  "Hey, Margie, did you know..." he didn't get to even begin the story.  Hazel eyes flashed up at him briefly from beneath a mop of curly dark hair and she interrupted him with an irate "Not now Pete, I have to get this done tonight and it's going to take forever. Go find Walt, I'm sure he would love to hear what you have to say."  Pete's shoulders sagged.  Strike two.  He heaved a deep sigh and slowly inched his way out to the living room, as if hoping that if he moved slowly enough, Margie might finish her work before he left.  When nothing else was said by the time he reached the doorway, he finally turned fully toward the living room in search of his big brother.
Even though Walt was a boy like Pete and he was closer in age to him than Marge, they didn't get along as well.  Pete used to follow him everywhere and Walt didn't seem to care for that.  In fact, he seemed to prefer the company of girls for some reason.  So Pete wasn't too sure if this would be worth the search.  Oh, well.  If he didn't tell someone about what he had seen, he would burst.  His brother was nowhere to be seen in that room or anywhere in the house.  His favorite spot was down by the river, so Pete headed off in that direction.  Sure enough, there was Walt, long stick in his hand, a line attached to the end of a pole in the water and a bucket at his side.  But, he wasn't alone.  His girlfriend, Norma, was sitting with him and their heads were close in quiet conversation.  At least, he thought so because he couldn't hear them saying anything.  "Hi Norma, Hey Walt, guess what!  The cat....".  Once again, Pete barely got a word out before being interrupted by his sibling.
"Pete, go away.  We're busy."  Funny, they didn't look particularly busy.
"Come on, Walt, no one will let me talk.  It's important!"
"Why, is the sky falling?" Bill snickered at Norma's snide quip and followed it with "Why don't you talk to Margie, Chicken Little?  Isn't she the one you usually go to?"  Pete clenched his hands and felt a slow burn starting at the back of his neck. 
"She's busy too, you stupid, big turkey!" Pete yelled.  He ran off, fearing that at any moment Walt might charge after him dunk and him in the river in retaliation.  No such luck. 
Once again, Pete found he had no one to listen to his amazing news.  He couldn't even get anyone interested in him enough to thrash him.  No one in this family had time for him.  Dad was working in a place that was out of ear shot and out of bounds, John was too little, and everyone else was, apparently, too busy.  The slow burn in the neck spread to the rest of his body, and tears threatened to spill from his eyes.  That's it, he thought.  I'm sick of this family.  I'm going to find another one.  A family where I am the only child and people will listen to me.  I'm running away.  He stalked back to the house and marched loudly up the stairs to his room.  He pulled out an old knapsack and packed a shirt, pants, and his favorite toys.  He plopped his treasured cowboy hat on his head and proceeded back down the stairs. 
Staring straight ahead, bag dragging behind him, he stomped through the house to the kitchen door.  He paused long enough to inform Mom emphatically that he was running away.  He then stepped out the door to the driveway.  Mom and sisters watched as he turned in the driveway and headed toward the Studebaker.  He opened the back door, slung the knapsack inside and boosted himself onto the backseat.  He slammed the door closed and waited for his dad to drive him away. 

Pete's dad came in from the fields some time later to clean up and help prepare for dinner.  With a half smile and furrowed brows, Mom waved him over to the window overlooking the driveway and pointed to the car.  He spotted the cowboy hat instantly and asked her what Pete was doing.  "I think he's waiting for you to drive him so he can run away."  Dad's face didn't move a twitch; he just gazed out the window with shining eyes and clomped out the door toward his ever-so-logical little son.  He opened the driver door, slid his tall, thin frame quietly onto the seat, put the key into the ignition, and turned it on.  He started driving the car slowly down the driveway and once they stopped at the road, finally turned back to look at Pete and ask "Where to, son?" 

Pete had cooled down a bit since leaving the house and he wasn't nearly as eager to leave what he knew as he had been.  In fact, an achy lump formed at the back of his throat as the car had lumbered toward the road.  He was almost ready to cry by the time Dad turned around to say something.  Pete took a deep, shaky breath before squeaking out "Can we talk, Dad." 
"What's wrong, Pete?" 
"No one wants to listen to me, they're too busy"
"How about now?  I'm here, you're here.  What did you want to talk about?"
This was quite a generous offer on Dad's part.  Everyone knew that he was always very tired and hungry when he came home from the fields.  "I saw this fantastic thing in the barn today."  Pete paused.  The food smells from the house were getting stronger and his stomach was starting to sound like a bear.  "Are you too tired to talk, Dad?  Are you too hungry?"  Pete wanted to give his dad an out just in case he wanted to get in for dinner first.
"I'm not too tired or hungry to listen to my boy, so talk.  I'm all ears."  Dad wiggled both ears and waggled his brows to let Pete know he was ready. 
"Well, today, Missy pooped out 6 kittens.  Remember how she just seemed to be getting bigger and fatter everyday?  It must have been the kittens in her tummy.  They look so funny, Dad.  They were all wet and their eyes are closed and they make these tiny little squeaky noises and Missy licked them and fed them just like the pig feeds her babies.  Dad, did Mom poop out John?  Is that how babies are made?"

Dad and Pete sat out in the car for a long time and Dad answered Pete's many questions as solemnly and truthfully as he could.  Truth be told, this was the fourth time answering these questions so he was getting pretty good.  He also made sure that Pete had a chance to share his story at dinnertime.  With a mouth full of savory rabbit, and residual laughter floating about him along with the echo of Dad's praise "best story I've heard, son,"  Pete made the decision to stick around for a little while longer