4. long rides
The next Morning, I woke up and realized Kurt wasn't there. "Good morning, sleepyhead." He said as I turned around. He held two soft pretzels and a newspaper in his hand. "Thanks." I said taking one if the baked twists. "So. Why the newspaper?" I asked. "Well," he started. "My father used to read it with a cream cheese bagel and coffee every morning before...well...you know. My mom passed and then he became..abusive." I nodded in response sort of afraid to say anything. I paged through the heavily inked paper. 'Skylar Modelle. MISSING! Valuable information for $12,000 is appreciated.' Said an article on the second page. "Shit, Kurt. We need to get out of here!" I pulled his wrist until he stood up and we jogged to the nearest train leaving his pretzel and the paper hanging open to that page. We jumped off the platform and into the small cabin. I sat down on the plastic yellow bench. The lights were flickering and dim. "Next stop, Broadway." Said the train conductor. "What was that about?" Kurt whispered. "The article." I tried to mumble. "Didn't you read it?" He shook his head. An old Spanish woman sat across the way clutching a walmart bag. "We will just get off when the train stops." I told Kurt. "When's that?" He sounded puzzled. "I don't know. Sometimes I spend hours here. Observing the way that other Americans get along." After that he shut up.
About three hours later, the doors slid open for the ninth time and I pulled Kurt off the seat. We walked into a smaller station with one coffee shop and about fifty people. "Where are we?" Kurt asked. "I don't know lets just get to the steps." A homeless man, sat on the bench at the top of the steps with a cardboard sign, which read, 'need money, food, and blankets!' We continued walking since we were without those things too. A large blue sign with purple block letters said 'Princeton' and Kurt looked up blocking the sun with his hands. "We are in New Jersey?" I nodded. "I guess we are, Kurt." He grabbed my hand and another pang shot through my stomach. We were on Carlos street which was filled with Old beat up houses. Broken windows, dead plants, and even no front doors were contained of each one. A sluggish man smoking on his porch watched our every move. A train roared in the distance. Wailing sirens sounded closer every minute. "Kurt?" I said. He stepped in front of me. Come on.
We ran about 5 blocks until we came upon an old car parked in someone's driveway. It was a 1995 Toyota Avalon and it was rusty. No people seemed to live in the house, considering the door was gone and it looked completely empty from what I could see. Fortunately the door was unlocked. "Get in the backseat. They won't see you if we pass them." He told me turning around. I quickly nodded and piled into the back. He got into the front seat and hot wired it. "I might not be an expert runaway like you are yet. But I wouldn't say that my father was an innocent." Kurt said gripping the wheel. It reeked of old tire and oil. He pulled out if the driveway and down the alleyway.
After 30 minutes of driving, we were cruising down the highway talking about our favorite places and animals and just making small chat "So when I was little," he laughed watching me in the rear view mirror. "My father took me to a zoo, and this monkey wa- " he stopped suddenly moving the mirror. "SKYLAR! Get down! Get down!" He yelled. I heard sirens overlap his voice. I lay down on the bench seat watching him drive. He pushed harder on the pedals. My stomach churned. Will I be going to jail today? Am I going to die? Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder.