When I was fourteen, I ran away. I wasn’t planning to—my mom made me.
I simply walked outside after we had a fight, and she followed. I walked faster and so did she. I ran. She ran. The faster she came after me, the harder and faster I ran away. My mom is actually one of the fastest runners I know, so it didn’t take me long to figure out I was going to have to do some ducking and weaving. I finally eluded her by hiding behind a sign. I still remember looking out from behind that sign, watching my mom search for me. I didn’t know where to go. I hadn’t planned on leaving, but really, what choice did I have? She made me run.