31 years and 1 day ago, my 9 year old and I, packed the car with things we thought we’d need. In the days before I talked my SO into letting a friend borrow a 9 inch black and white.
I’d managed to get my ‘bug out’ kit to the apartment we’d secretly rented. Even if we didn’t have a chance to pack the car, the important stuff was there.
On the morning of the 2nd, while SO slept off a hangover, we made a run for it.
Run isn’t an apt way to describe our escape.
My 74 Duster with a slant 6, (it made me feel important to add that info) was running on 4 and starting it required a touch of leaning just, holding my breath and letting off the key at exactly the right time.
For days, coming to a full stop meant slowing down a block ahead and then I coasted.
I cried all the way to the gas station in Belgrade. I actually had to go all the way around the block to make a coasting speed. (If you rub a tire on a curb it will slow you some.)
The first thing he said was it looked like we were moving. I asked him not to tell.
I got a few dollars in gas and asked about my breaks. I was driving dry, not even a smudge of brake fluid. He fixed it and left me with the can.
On the 2nd, my 4H friend and her family met me on the corner with a little red wagon. We were moved in, just like that.
I mourned this mentally ill alcoholic relationship. It was what I knew. If they hadn’t unpacked me, that day, I might have gone back before he awakened.
Altogether, planning this took 7 months. Let me leave this note of support to my friends who suffer abuse, there is ALWAYS going to be a Holiday to use as an excuse to Stay.
2 days before the 4th of July, not one of us died.