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July 2019
Time goes by in the blink of an eye when you’re constantly on the run from a man possessed with capturing you. It’s been almost four years since I fled home. I’m not the same naïve girl who ran away from her home in Bountiful, Utah. I grew up a lot in four years. When you have to navigate the streets, you develop survival skills overnight. If not, you may find yourself at the mercy of people more vile than Levi.
The only good that arose from my trauma was developing a keen sense of distrust. When you don’t trust others, you don’t put yourself in vulnerable positions. No one knows my secrets, and that’s the way it will remain.
The first three days after I fled my home, I was lost entirely, uncertain where to go for help. After paying cash for a ticket out of Bountiful, I wound up in Ogden. Winters in Utah are brutal. I needed a homeless shelter, but did not know where one was located. With no phone to use the internet, I made my way to the public library to use the computers. In the sanctuary of the old books, I found a safe place. The old building lacked a security system. There were plenty of hiding places where I could tuck myself away once the library closed for the night. For a voracious reader like me, it was a slice of paradise.
During the day, I used the free computers to plan my next move, looking for any resources to help me. A soup kitchen two blocks away provided me with one solid meal a day. The rest I stole from the grocery store if I could risk it.
Three days was too long to stay in my first location. Levi tracked my course to the bus station, and from there, he located where the bus dropped me off. He hit the public resources for the homeless first. I exited the bathroom at the soup kitchen when I spotted Levi walking into the cafeteria. Spinning on my heels, I dashed through the building and out the back. It was the first time I flagged someone down to hitch a ride. I was lucky enough to have a woman stop. I told her I was being pursued by a dangerous man and the woman took pity on me. She got me safely out of town.
What I learned from that encounter was I needed to do more than jump from town to town. I had to blend in, change my looks. Dying my hair, wearing beanies, non-descript clothes all became necessary. Relying on the kindness of strangers has helped me more times than I can count. When you’re young, and your fear is real, people want to help you—at least that is the case in my experience.
Greed is a luxury I cannot afford. I learned to not look a gift horse in the face. To be humble, accept what others offer—pride provides you with nothing. Food pantries, soup kitchens, homeless shelters, churches I know all too well from my first year on the run. I worked at those establishments to guarantee myself a cot at night in a safe building, along with a few bucks. When you don’t have a lot of money, you learn to stretch a dollar, buying only what you need. Work that required a social security number was a no-go. They were too easily traceable.
Staying in one place for more than a few weeks was risking my chances of eluding Levi. He was never far behind me. A game plan was always in place in case he found my location. Leaving at the drop of hat was normal. Things slowed after the first year as I got better at staying hidden for longer periods, but I could never let my guard down. Not ever.
When I landed a job in a diner, I put my sweet charm to work, earning more tips than most. Even with buttering up the customers, I barely scrimped by. I could afford rent, necessities like food or clothing. But I couldn’t afford to escape. Didn’t matter how many cities or small towns I found work in. There was never enough.
The sound of a bell pulls me out from my trip down memory lane. “Customer at table three,” the cook shouts from his kitchen window.
My mouth waters as I inhale the delicious smelling burger on my customer’s plate. Hopefully, the cook will have leftovers for the staff this evening. I can use the free meal.
The diner is picking up speed as the dinner hour nears. My shift is coming to a close since I work the lunch hour, and I’ll be running ragged until I punch out, covering all the tables. It’s usually like this—me having to do the job of two or three people while only being paid one income.
Hustling, I set the meal at table three. “Here you are. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay. Enjoy.” As I turn to leave, I hear the customer clear her throat to grab my attention. I turn back to the woman. “Yes?”
The striking lady appraises me, her eyes roaming over my body in my frumpy server uniform. “You really are quite stunning, you know?”
This isn’t the first time some random has complimented my looks. Doesn’t matter if the commenter is male or female. The remarks make me uncomfortable. I never understood why people ogle me when I see myself as sort of plain. My pale-blue eyes wash out with my pale complexion, and my platinum-blond hair doesn’t help at all, even with my rainbow streaks.
When I ran away from home, I knew I had to hide my pale-ass. I stood in the hair care aisle of Walmart, admiring all the pretty colors. I wanted them all. The idea of rainbow dye in my hair struck like lightning. I grabbed colors representing ROY G. BIV, hightailing it out of there.
My first few self-dye jobs came out horrendous. I got better with time, experimenting with natural dyes from fruit extracts, herbs, and spices. My finished product today is a crown of blond fanning into a vibrant rainbow. It’s a little slice of colorful happiness.
The woman continues to appraise me as she chews her burger. “Hey Rainbow Bright, you want to make some actual money?”
Huh?I glanced around me, seeing if she was talking to someone else. No, she’s addressing me.
“Rainbow Bright?”
The woman rolls her eyes. “God, I dated myself, didn’t I. No matter. How old are you?”
Why is she asking me this? Is she a private investigator hired to find me? It’s happened before. Yet, she doesn’t look like a PI with her skimpy dress and skyscraper heels. No way can she run after me in those shoes. It’s best to shut these types of questions down hard.
“No offense, Miss. But I keep my private business to myself.”
“Fair enough.” The woman says, undeterred. “Name’s Starlight. I work across the street at the strip club. It’s my job to recruit new girls when I see one who has potential. And guuurrrlll, you’ve got potential coming out of your ears. Your rack alone will have the men throwing cash at you.”
My face flushes and I’m sure it’s beet-red. Attempting to hide my assets, I cross my arms across my chest protectively, which doesn’t help at all. If anything, it amplifies the size of my chest. I’ve been told I resemble a young Dolly Parton. The only difference is my breasts are natural.
“Oh, aren’t you a sweet thing! Don’t be bashful. The men will eat you right up,” she coos.
“I don’t want men to eat me up,” I sputter anxiously.
