I watched as the sun set in a hue of gold and purple over the autumn sky of the Washington hills. The sun projected light and color on to the lingering clouds. It looked like someone spilled a can of paint on the horizon and it spread to all the right places. Ma always wanted to take me to fancy art-showings back in Houston when I was little. She never knew there was all the beauty you could ever want in the North-West. I ran my thumb across the face of her compass. The brass was cold against my fingers. Suddenly I heard a branch snap making me jump to my feet. I was in the middle of a field surrounded by neighborhoods, but isolated enough for it to be my usual hangout. There was another snap and Officer Richards emerged from behind the brush.
“Frank? You there?” he called.
I stuffed Ma’s compass back in my pocket, “Yeah, Richards. I’m here.”

Officer Richards was an older man and a respectable officer. He heard about my situation and has been looking out for me ever since I moved to Washington from Texas.
He walked over to where I was sitting. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” He looked confused.
“I ain’t going home, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m gonna sit right here.”
Puzzled, he asked, “Are you hurt?”
“Nup.”
“Your father reported you as a run-away. I’m required by law to either take you home, or take you to county jail,” he said flatly.
“Then I guess you’re going to have to take me to county, ain’t ya?”
Richards sighed, “C’mon Frankie, let’s get you home. Your father must be worried sick. He said you didn’t come home after school and-”
“Pa can worry all he damn wants!” I interrupted. I sat back down and wiped my eyes.
Richards stood in silence for a moment. “Look at me.”
I lifted my head. “Gee kid,” he whistled. “Where’d you get that black eye?”
I didn’t respond.
Officer Richards got down on a knee next to me. “Look Frankie, I know this hasn’t exactly been an easy transition for you, but you can’t keep running away from things. You dad said all you do nowadays is disappear into your room with survival books. This isn’t the life your mother wanted for you.”
I slowly stood up and brushed off my jeans. “You tell Pa I’m going to be home soon.” I walked towards the path. I paused and turned around, “And Richards, you speak on my Ma’s behalf again and you’ll be taking me to county for sure.”

I went upstairs to my room as soon as I entered the house. The sun had fully set by now. Pa was probably on the couch in the same old spot, watching the same old shows. Carroll was probably at the same old bar, drinking the same old sauce. I’m not a religious man and haven’t been since Ma passed, but if the devil is real he married my Pa and calls himself Carroll. An evil mastermind, that ol’ devil. She’s a lot younger than Pa; she’s twenty-four and he’s thirty-five. The age difference doesn’t bother me, his heart wants what his heart wants (and her money-burning alcoholism wants what her money-burning alcoholism wants.) I hated Carroll and meant it in the most sincere way. On the first day after I moved to Washington, nearly a month after Ma’s passing, she looked to me and said, “I’m so excited to be your new mom.” Devil trying to disguise himself as an angel of light.
  I heard the home phone ring downstairs, followed by my dad's voice inaudibly drifting through the halls. I heard him stomping up the stairs, coming towards my room. I heard the anger in his voice when he spoke the same words he has a hundred times before.
“Where have you been Frankie?” he frowned.
“The field.”
“I ought to skin you, had the police out after you and everything. Maybe you ought to stop spending all your time with your face in books and start thinking about what you’re doing with your life. What are you running from?”
“I ain’t running from nothing, Pa.”
He began to speak but stopped himself short. “Glory Frankie,” he exclaimed, “you got aheck of a black eye. Is that what’s got you camping around town like a bum? Is it that boy at school? I can get Officer Richards to talk to him.”
“No Pa it’s nothing, I got hit with a stray ball in gym class today,” I lied.
“Alright then,” he said. “You best get to bed, and no more staying up reading, either. You got that from your Ma. She couldn’t put a book down even if it was on fire.”
I fell asleep with Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet and Ma’s compass clutched in my hands.

I usually don’t dream, especially after Ma passed. When I do, however, it’s often magnificent. That night I dreamt of what life would be like if I fled to the forests. In the dream, I packed my bag with various survival gear and tools to start myself off. After that it was smooth sailing. As cheerful as I remember the dream being, Pa said I was screaming in my sleep.

That morning I missed my bus. I threw on my bag and stuffed Ma’s compass in my pocket and left without a jacket. On the walk to school I cursed myself through chattering teeth for my awful time management. I knew Pa would have my hide if I was late to class so I quickened my pace. Nearing Main Street, I spotted a faded red sedan tailing me a bit too slow for the flow of traffic. It pulled alongside of me and its horn blared, I winced and pulled my hat down over my ears. The window rolled down. Trent was behind the steering wheel accompanied by one of the prettiest girls I ever saw. How a monster like Trent got her within twenty miles of his car, I couldn't y.
“Would you look at that? Frank Williams Jr. out for a stroll,” Trent said, still driving along side me. I prayed Richards would patrol by.
“Yup,” I said. “Pa bought me a car, but it was an old piece of garbage so I told him to kick it. Hey, how much did he sell it to you for?” I hate to admit it but I was scared, and my southern drawl comes out when I'm nervous and Trent knew it.
Trent flared his nostrils when he heard his dame laugh. He looked like he was contemplating on getting out and beating me a good one, but when he saw headlights shine in the distance he made up his mind. “I'll be seeing you later, redneck. Maybe I'll make that black eye a matching pair.”
“See yous around, yuppie,” I winked. He rolled up his window and drove away. I may be getting my head beat in for that, but there was no way I was gonna let a girl pretty as that see me get tongue lashed.
Class was the usual routine: isolated with my wilderness books, curious looks from my classmates, and a shove into the locker by Trent followed by threats. Where art thou, Shane Koyczan. I thought about this morning and the courage I mustered up to Trent. I felt good. Maybe I was the weird southern kid who spent too much time wrapped up in my books, but that didn’t bother me. I'm Frankie the Yuppie Fighter.
After school I decided to go to the library. I'd make sure to call Pa and let him know where I was from the phone there. He didn't get home until 8 o’clock on Fridays. The library was surprisingly scarce with people. I wandered over to the fiction section and found the shelf marked “P.” After I found what I was looking for I sat down at a table and read for a little bit. I smiled when the character was describing the Canadian wilderness, but I quickly frowned, my mind was drifting off again. Why was I screaming in my sleep last night? Surely I would have remembered if I dreamt about something awful, wouldn’t I?
I checked out my book and talked to the lady at the desk for a little bit, and left when the clock behind her read 6:00 pm. I cursed at myself for forgetting to call Pa. If I rushed home before he got there, he wouldn’t have even known I was gone. I rushed out the door. I ran around to the back of the building. There was a hole in the fence I could slip through that led to a shortcut. but was stopped cold by the sight of a faded red sedan.

Trent stepped out of his car, followed by two other boys and the girl from this morning. I didn’t know who the boys were, but I’d remember that girl any day. Trent and the boys walked towards me, but the girl stood back, leaning against the car.
“Howdy, cowboy,” Trent sneered. His friends laughed, but the girl stood silently. She gazed at me with sympathetic eyes.
“Howdy, Yups,” I spat. “Y’all lost? This here’s a libarry.” I felt my accent spill out of my mouth with the thickness of an eighties western film. “Folks usually come ‘round here when they know how to read.” I felt my legs shaking.
Trent laughed. He stepped forwards. We were standing only a few short feet apart. He stood about six inches taller than me, but he looked scrawny. City boys usually weren’t as tough as country folk, but they fought dirty.
I've never been much of a fighter. As I locked eyes with Trent, I made sure I was looking my meanest. He looked tough as nails and even if he was going to beat me into a pulp, I wasn't going to go down as a coward. He slowly approached me and the crowd collectively held their breath as a metal pipe slid out from his jacket sleeve.
I woke up in a haze and my head was smarting something awful. I was laying in the lot behind the library. It was freezing cold and the sun had lowered its position in the sky from what I last remember. I stumbled into the library and read the clock. 7:14 p.m. The librarian looked at me in horror and I left before she could ask me any questions. I felt the blood fall down my cheek as I jogged home, every step I took sent a shooting pain into my head and I winced at every pair of headlights. My thoughts were blurred and my sight was fuzzy. I rushed to the bathroom as soon as I got home. My jaw dropped when I looked in the mirror. I had a gash that started on my left temple and went in a straight line down to the corner of my mouth, and the whole cut was surrounded by a purple bruise. My cheek and shirt collar were stained with dried blood, and there was a streak that ran down to my ear from laying in the parking lot.
In a panic, I ripped open the first aid box and searched for the antiseptic. No luck. I stumbled into the kitchen, holding my hand out under my face to catch any blood. I snatched one of Carroll's wine bottles out of the refrigerator. I thanked her super-human liver and moved to the closet where I dug out Ma’s old sewing kit and regrouped back in the bathroom.
I pulled my belt loose from my jeans, bunched it and bit down on the leather. I leaned over the sink and poured the wine down my face. I had to bite down on the belt to keep myself from screaming. After washing and drying the gash, I removed a needle and and spool of thread from the sewing kit and soaked them both in the wine. With trembling hands, I closed the gash with seven evenly spaced stitches. I managed a smile. Ma would've been proud. I put the sewing kit back in the closet, and added a bit of water to Carroll’s wine and stuffed it behind the rest of the alcohol. The last thing I remember before passing out in my bed was officer Richard’s voice echoing in my head, “this isn't the life your mother wanted for you.”
My eyes snapped open, the clock read 1:57 a.m, three minutes before my alarm was scheduled to go off. My head still ached, but not nearly as bad as it had earlier this evening. Slowly and silently, I crept around my room. I stuffed various items into a hiking bag. Matches, small pots, a sleeping bag, and warm clothes. I pulled the last twenty dollar bill from my wallet, and stuffed it in my pocket along with Ma’s compass and a survival knife. I wanted to get the sewing kit, but it was too risky. I fished some gauze out of the first aid box. It wasn’t much, but it’d have to do.
As I sneaked down the stairs, I heard Pa snoring in his room. I wondered if he'd miss me, or if he'd be happy he could finally start a new life with Carroll. I decided on a fresh start with Carroll. It was easier to think about that way. I’d stop dead in my tracks if I thought about Pa missing me. Standing in my room, blank expression on his face. Looking at where I used to sit and read. I shook that out of my mind and slid out the front door into the night.
I had an hour and a half before the buses started their routes. I jogged to the depot, the icy air stinging against my stitches. Excitement took over me in waves. I hid my grin as I approached the depot. It was empty for the most part, a few drifters here and there. I bought my ticket and sat on a bench. I went through my supplies and cursed myself for forgetting a book. I had nodded off when the bus came, my knees were shaking so violently when I stood up I thought I wasn’t going to make it.
I followed two men up the steps through the bus door. It occurred to me that the driver might question what a kid could be doing on a bus headed north by himself. After the other two men gave him their tickets, I approached the driver and handed him my ticket. He looked me up and down questionably, eyeing my wounds, but said nothing. I took my seat and the bus pulled out of the depot.
As I looked out the window I caught a glimpse of the cut and bruises on my face. I smiled. This wasn’t the life my mother wanted for me, so I was out to start a new one.