texaswildfire

Grandma and grandpa felt the need to bring presents.
Plural.
Neither of the things are that great.
Seth brought me flowers.
I know he swiped them from somewhere.
Must have been the only thing that he could get his hands on.
Well, that was legal, anyway.

By 10:00, mom is up making the kitchen more suitable.
Cleaning it is first. (It's cleaner than most operation rooms already.)
Then she goes to get the cake.
Grandma goes with her.
Dad, Seth and grandpa went to Mr. Foster's wife's place to pick up the dinner.

I get to stay home.
Wallowing in my misery.
I should have asked to go to Paris.
We should have run away.
Being sensible is possibly the dumbest thing in the existance of the world.

Still, the whole day isn't bad.
The only person to actually say "Happy Birthday" to me was Marc.
And that was via text message.
How wonderful.
He is already pushing himself to not care enough to call.

I think that's why I have a better time around my family.
Just like I did last year.
And the one before that.
I didn't have someone else to worry about.
Why should I worry tonight?

It's after 7:00 when we finally get to the cake.
Dad lights all 17 candles.
I blow them out and make a wish.

I wish...I wish I was better.

Better at what?
I don't know.
Better able to handle myself.
Better at being myself to begin with.
That would help.

"Did you wish for a pony," Seth jokes, sending everyone (but me) into a small fit of laughter. "No, seriously Rose, what did you wish for?"

"She can't tell you what she wished for, Seth. That would prevent it from coming true," my grandmother tells him as she pats my shoulder. "Whatever you wished for, Rosemary, I am sure it will come true."

"I hope so," I smile, really wanting to burst at the seams.

Mom suggests Seth and I go for a drive.
He drives.
I ride.
Major difference.

He takes me to the park Marc and I frequent.
We sit on the swings next to each other.
There is a nice silence between us before he has to go ruin it.

"Have you seen Marc today?"

"No."

"Heard from him at all?"

"He sent me a text message but that is about it."

"Yeah, well, he's been busy."

"With what?"

"That."

He points ahead of us.
Marc stands across the way, leaning against a cab.
A backpack sits on his shoulder.

"What does he think he's doing," I ask Seth, praying he's got some kind of answer.

"He's giving you what you are too afraid to take for yourself," he says. "Look, I am the only one that knows that he's doing this so you better take it while you have the chance. He has your passport and tickets. You just have to make the choice to go with him or not."

I can't go.
Can I?
Seth knows.
He will blab at some point.
But, when he does, it will be too late to do anything about.
I'll be gone.
And, if I don't go, I will regret it for the rest of my life.
I can't imagine staying the way I have been.

So, I hug Seth then run to Marc.
Really run.
He just couldn't get this out of his head.
And, he's accepting full responsibility for all my actions.

We slide into the cab.
He hands me a backpack he had sitting on the floor.
Everything I will need is inside.
Passport, another t-shirt, socks, panties and my wallet.
Seth must have swiped that for him, too.

"They are going to kill us for this," I say, completely disregarding the speeding driver.

"They have to find us first," Marc responds. "Don't worry about anything anymore, Rose. I couldn't leave this idea alone. Leaving you would have been too hard and, if you really want me to be honest, I would rather give up a life of journalism greatness to be with you."

"You're insane."

"I'd only be insane it I hadn't done this, Rose. You can't argue anymore. You're here with me so, on some level, you wanted to run, too. It doesn't matter what your reasons were. It just counts that you're here."

"And where are we supposed to be going," I ask, still mildly insistant on knowing every small detail.

"The less you know, the better right now," he says firmly. "Either you can consider that romantic or protective, it's up to you but, really, it will help you stay out of trouble just in case."

"In case what? Someone accuses you of kidnapping me?"

He nods.
And I kind of understand.
My dad will be livid.
Mom will be pissed but see it as romantic.
Seth and Jonah...well...they won't really care.
His parents will want blood just as much as mine.

In the end, what does it matter?
Being here is holding us down.
School, parents, expectations.
What kind of life is that?
None.

The airport is crowded.
Thankfully.
We get through undetected though no one is looking for us yet.
We have no baggage to check.
It makes it easier to get through security.
Easier to get onto the plane.
Easier to leave everything we know behind.

I'm not sorry to the people on the ground.
I have stopped feeling sorry for myself.
Perhaps the wish I made will come true.
This will make me better.
It will force me to find out what I am made of.

It's a 12 hour flight to Germany.
A small airport is where we end up.
It's the afternoon.
Only three people stand in the main floor of the airport.
Two are employees.
The other is tall, built and looks just like the male version of Marc's mother.

"Jean-Marco, we have recieved a string of angry calls from your mother already," he greets us. "Along with yours, his sweet Rosemary. Are you absolutely sure that you are willing to stay?"

"Yes," Marc tells him with absolute conviction.

"Then I will continue to deal with the phone calls," his uncle smiles. "Your aunt has been busy since yesterday arranging everything in our old house for the two of you. She is looking very much forward to seeing you and meeting your Rosemary."

Your Rosemary.


Oddly, I like the way he says that.
It's cute and sweet.
Just like the house he brings us to.
It's small and brick with very light blue shutters on all the windows.
Flowers in all sorts of bright shades line the unpaved driveway.

"You have everything you need inside," his uncle tells us as we pile out of his car. "Electric, great plumbing, a shed in the back with full vegetable garden. Your aunt has brought in some clothes that belonged to Himmel and Bess for you to have until you can afford more or your parents send your things."

We both thank him before we get a tour of the house.
An open livingroom.
Small kitchen with duck themed curtains and butter yellow fridge.
One bedroom sits up stairs.
There isn't too much to look at.
White flowy curtains on all the windows.
A white based floral bed spread.
Small brown night tables on each side of the bed.

I haven't seen a phone.
No T.V.
No computers.
The only modern convinence is the microwave.
It looks very old, though.
Like from the 1970's.
It matches the fridge.

"So, the two of you should get settled. You know we live just down the street so, if you need anything, you shouldn't hesitate to come to us," his uncle offers. "And, tonight, you are coming to dinner. Your aunt is making a feast for you two. Don't break her heart by saying you won't come."

"We'll be there," I finally feel comfortable enough to say.

"Good," he smiles. "Come tonight at 6:30. We will talk about you going to work then."

Yeah.
Downside to this cute house in Germany away from our parents?
Work.
It can't be too bad.
Marc gets to write.
I get to..well...I don't know yet but I am sure they have a plan for me.

The plan right now is to get used to this house.
This yard.
This new country.
And the clothes seperated by a black garment bag in the closet.
Bess' clothes are pretty.
Flowy dresses in pastels.
Himmel's clothes are more modern.
Jeans, t-shirts and a few button downs.

"What do you think of all this," Marc casually asks as he empties the contents of his backpack onto the bed. "From the looks of it, they went all out to get this house in good enough shape for us to move into."

"The house is nice but, Marc, I don't know about all this," I say, my fingers and eyes too concerned with the fabric of one of the dresses before me to even look back at him. "What if they come here to get us to come home? What if we don't like it here?"

"If they do, there is nothing they can do that can make us go back if we don't want to and, if by some odd chance we don't like it here, then we'll go home. But, Rose, do you already regret running away?"

"No," I say, not understanding if it's the truth or not. "I just don't want my parents to hate me. I want all my things; my clothes, my shoes, my books. Don't you want your things? What if they refuse to send it all? We will have to...."

"We'll just have to make the best of it," he finishes for me. "The best we can do is relax about it and hope for the best of the best."

Right. Hope.
I have never grasped that concept.
It's taken me running half a world away to get it.

Lesson #1: Learned.