loose ends/free fall

i remember trying to tell people
without even knowing what i wanted to say.
i remember not being able to meet your eyes and saying,
my dad's not a bad guy he's just intense.
and you cut me off to say, "i know."

and now i feel like i'm twelve again;
bag packed with socks and underwear and five bucks,
ready in case i need to run,
ready for when things get bad again.

i met this kid once at the train station
he'd been hanging around there for a few days,
i know because i'd been hanging around a few days, too.
he had the biggest eyes i'd ever seen, sunk into his head and circled with deep bruises that were fading just enough to pass as smudged make up
he was beautiful, he was disgusting.
so was i.

whenever security would get too close we would pretend to be siblings and complain about our aunt being late,
complain about how we just wanted to go home already,
and we'd make up stories about when we were headed that made my stomach turn with jealousy.

at night we'd walk the streets of toronto like kings.
we owned everything, everyone
we were royalty in last weeks wrinkled clothes
royalty with people to see, places to be.

we'd end up on the back steps of wherever, no longer important enough to be in anyone's sight.

"my dad's got the police out for me-"
"my dad's got the army."
"-probably the swat team, too. sercret service. CIA. he's looking for me real hard."
"he ever hit you?"
"no," but i must have been the first he ever told, because then he started to cry.

the police woke us up the next morning and made us call wherever we had left
and i was glad she said it like that
because i never liked the word home much.