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our last visit, they'd argued about a red mark on her neck. He said it was a "love bite" and she insisted it wasn't. Then he slapped her in the face. She'd stormed out of the house while I trailed behind with the little girls. I was stunned. He'd attacked her without warning. Would I be next?

Mom warned us not to say a word about the move. It was two tense months away and I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, convinced one of us would accidentally blurt out our escape plan.

It was so smoggy the morning we left Ohio that I could taste the air. People were pushing and shoving to get on the bus. My mother was trying to herd my sisters and me through the line. She was shaking so badly the suitcases kept falling out of her hands.

One by one we marched up the big black rubber steps onto the Greyhound bus. It had a logo of a running dog painted on the side. I liked that. It was a good sign, I thought. Freedom. I held my breath. "One, two, three, four," I counted to myself, looking down at my Mickey Mouse watch. My cheeks felt hot as I exhaled.
Hiccup
. I was so nervous I couldn't stop hiccuping. I could taste the IHOP breakfast we'd eaten hours earlier.

The bus driver was a friendly black man who instantly became my hero. I wanted to hug him, but I just smiled as I moved toward the back. I had to pee again but held it in favor of getting a window seat. I sat there holding hands with Lorraine, looking out the window, searching the parking lot. Was Dad going to appear suddenly?

I couldn't stand to look anymore so I slammed my eyes shut and tried not to breathe too loudly. "Come on, mister, pull this bus onto the highway," I prayed silently. I sneaked a peek at Mom. She was quiet and her eyes seemed glazed. I wondered if she'd been crying. My little sisters were playing a game ago lisp and just as we were pulling out onto the highway, two police cruisers stopped our bus. I threw up all over my white mary Janes.

My sister howled at our mother that I'd made a mess, it stunk, and she wanted a new seat. I hid my head between my legs and started to mop myself up as the cops boarded and walked right by us.

I felt guilty, though I didn't know why. I looked up in time to see the policemen take a young boy off the bus. He was carrying a yellow duffel bag with a big eagle on it and he looked very sad. He started to cry and I did too. I wondered if his dirty little house was as bad as ours. My body was tight. I thought of my favorite cartoon characters, Bugs and the Roadrunner, and became strong. I am dynamite, I told myself, clenching my fists. I can survive anything.

I closed my eyes and willed that bus onto the highway, leaving my father behind.

We drove for three days and three nights, stopping at rest stops and little diners along the way. My body ached from sitting and I developed a rash from the cloth seat. But I didn't care. I felt better every day. Safer. The distance gave me room to breathe.

I scribbled giant question marks in my notebook as I daydreamed, trying to imagine what my new bedroom would be like. It should be pale pink, I decided, with a beautiful vanity and a big mirror for Lorraine and me to share. We would brush each other's hair while listening to the Eagles' "Hotel California" on the radio our new step daddy would buy us. There would be a whole new group of friends at school and no one would tease me anymore. At lunchtime I wouldn't have to pretend not to be hungry to avoid the shame of my free-meal coupon.

My mom would have a whole closetful of pretty peach-colored dresses and she'd smile all the time. My little sisters would get the braces they needed and we'd all be happy. Our
new family would be perfect. It was all going to be okay. The sun would shine every day and set every night over the swaying palm trees in our front yard.

I sat grinning all the way to California. I love palm trees, I thought, I love my mom . . . it's all okay. We're safe now.

5
Hollywood, California
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