Sat Mar 01, 2008 10:03 pm
The day I ran away
The plan to run away from home and CCHR had only been in place for 12 hours, and yet there I was, bag in hand, anxiously hiding in the bathroom of a Greek restaurant waiting for my non-Scientology boyfriend to come get me. He was late.
That morning, I had gone into work as if nothing was wrong, said hello to everyone, and then took a couple copies of my handwritten goodbye letter and slipped it into the executives' in-baskets.
"I'm sick and tired of kissing ass to OSA", I'd written in a fit of defiance. "I'm sick of..." well, there were a lot of things I was sick of.
I said I was going to get the newspapers, as I did every morning. And I ran.
My bag - one backpack - and a change of clothes were stuffed under the sink in the bathroom, and I changed into non-business clothes. My boyfriend showed up an hour late, and I was in a total panic by then. I was sure they were looking for me already. What if they saw me when I walked out of the restaurant? I was only a block away from the CCHR offices, and surely the police had already been alerted. I was still a minor, after all.
This wasn't, as I have been accused of, some plea for attention. I was heading to San Fransisco. I figured that I could find an anarchist infoshop where I could dye my hair green and sell books and Zapatista coffee, or an egalitarian society where I could farm - I was willing to stay anywhere that would take me.
I asked him to take me to the grocery store and bought fruit roll-ups and ramen from the little pool of money I'd scraped together on short notice. He was a minor too, and I couldn't stay with him - his parents would find me. I didn't know anyone who wasn't a Scientologist, except Matt, who was among the seediest men in history. And history, pardon me gentlemen, has spawned plenty of seedy men. What kind of 30 year old gives a 17-year-old their phone number? I knew I couldn't go to him.
I wasn't sure where to go, actually, but my boyfriend knew of an abandoned house, and I spent the night in a dark, unfurnished room. There was no hot water, so I soaked my ramen in cold tap water and ate it half-crunchy, kicking myself for not buying real food.
I watched from a darkened window as police cars drove up and down the block - the phone company had triangulated my cell phone signals at the request of the police, I learned later, and they knew I was in the area. At the time, I didn't understand why there were so many cops around. No one knew where I was, I thought, so they couldn't be there for me. They didn't find me that night.
A day later, I was exhausted. The police were everywhere I went, and my boyfriend didn't know what to do with me. I racked my brain for someone I could call that would hide me for one night, let me sleep and then drive me to the Greyhound bus station, but everyone I thought of was either a Scientologist, or another minor that couldn't help.
Finally, with nowhere else to go, I called Matt. We had no quarters in the car to use for a payphone, so we called from my boyfriend's home phone. Matt agreed to take me for a night and help me get out of town, and though I hated his guts, I figured he was shady enough and would never tell anyone I was with him.
Whoops.
I kissed my boyfriend goodbye for what I thought was the very last time, and went into Matt's apartment complex. He answered the door in his boxers, and there I stood, scared and tired. The first words out of his mouth were, "My girlfriend's out of town tonight, so you'll be sleeping with me."
My boyfriend had already left. It was 2:00 in the morning. There was nowhere else to go. On the other hand, I had no interest in contracting a venereal disease at that exact moment. So I found my spiky necklace and wrapped it around my wrist and crawled in bed alone. He snuck into the room a few minutes later, though he had promised to sleep on the couch, and scooted up next to me. I jabbed my bracelet into his side and told him to leave me alone. A few more similar spikes to the ribs and he let me be.
The next morning, he said he was going to call some friends to help me get out of there. I had a shower, and when I came out, I heard him saying to someone on the phone, "Sure, she's young and hot, and if you take her to San Diego, she'll be really grateful." At that point, I tried to think of a way to get to the bus station by myself. If I took a cab, I wouldn't have any money for the bus. The guy didn't have the internet, so there was no checking online. I had a couple things I thought I could pawn and asked him to pawn them for me, partly to get him away from me for a few minutes so I could think, partly because if I had some more money, I could catch a cab. He agreed, and left to do that.
While he was gone, I paced around his apartment, a nervous wreck.
That's as far as I got. The police came while he was out. They'd gotten my boyfriend's phone records and just showed up at the last address we'd called. My parents were with them. I was taken home.
I never told my parents what happened while I was gone, or how I ended up there, or what I did, or where I intended to go.
But the day they brought me home, they finally asked me "What do you want?"
"I don't want to be a Scientologist anymore."
And they finally agreed. It was the worst and best three days of my life at the same time. Sometimes I ask myself, if I went back with what I know now, would I have told my young self to call Matt from a payphone? I wonder what would have happened if I made it to San Fransisco.
I'm so pleased with the way my life has turned out so far. I wouldn't change a thing. But while a beautiful life is being forged, it does tend to get uncomfortably hot.
That morning, I had gone into work as if nothing was wrong, said hello to everyone, and then took a couple copies of my handwritten goodbye letter and slipped it into the executives' in-baskets.
"I'm sick and tired of kissing ass to OSA", I'd written in a fit of defiance. "I'm sick of..." well, there were a lot of things I was sick of.
I said I was going to get the newspapers, as I did every morning. And I ran.
My bag - one backpack - and a change of clothes were stuffed under the sink in the bathroom, and I changed into non-business clothes. My boyfriend showed up an hour late, and I was in a total panic by then. I was sure they were looking for me already. What if they saw me when I walked out of the restaurant? I was only a block away from the CCHR offices, and surely the police had already been alerted. I was still a minor, after all.
This wasn't, as I have been accused of, some plea for attention. I was heading to San Fransisco. I figured that I could find an anarchist infoshop where I could dye my hair green and sell books and Zapatista coffee, or an egalitarian society where I could farm - I was willing to stay anywhere that would take me.
I asked him to take me to the grocery store and bought fruit roll-ups and ramen from the little pool of money I'd scraped together on short notice. He was a minor too, and I couldn't stay with him - his parents would find me. I didn't know anyone who wasn't a Scientologist, except Matt, who was among the seediest men in history. And history, pardon me gentlemen, has spawned plenty of seedy men. What kind of 30 year old gives a 17-year-old their phone number? I knew I couldn't go to him.
I wasn't sure where to go, actually, but my boyfriend knew of an abandoned house, and I spent the night in a dark, unfurnished room. There was no hot water, so I soaked my ramen in cold tap water and ate it half-crunchy, kicking myself for not buying real food.
I watched from a darkened window as police cars drove up and down the block - the phone company had triangulated my cell phone signals at the request of the police, I learned later, and they knew I was in the area. At the time, I didn't understand why there were so many cops around. No one knew where I was, I thought, so they couldn't be there for me. They didn't find me that night.
A day later, I was exhausted. The police were everywhere I went, and my boyfriend didn't know what to do with me. I racked my brain for someone I could call that would hide me for one night, let me sleep and then drive me to the Greyhound bus station, but everyone I thought of was either a Scientologist, or another minor that couldn't help.
Finally, with nowhere else to go, I called Matt. We had no quarters in the car to use for a payphone, so we called from my boyfriend's home phone. Matt agreed to take me for a night and help me get out of town, and though I hated his guts, I figured he was shady enough and would never tell anyone I was with him.
Whoops.
I kissed my boyfriend goodbye for what I thought was the very last time, and went into Matt's apartment complex. He answered the door in his boxers, and there I stood, scared and tired. The first words out of his mouth were, "My girlfriend's out of town tonight, so you'll be sleeping with me."
My boyfriend had already left. It was 2:00 in the morning. There was nowhere else to go. On the other hand, I had no interest in contracting a venereal disease at that exact moment. So I found my spiky necklace and wrapped it around my wrist and crawled in bed alone. He snuck into the room a few minutes later, though he had promised to sleep on the couch, and scooted up next to me. I jabbed my bracelet into his side and told him to leave me alone. A few more similar spikes to the ribs and he let me be.
The next morning, he said he was going to call some friends to help me get out of there. I had a shower, and when I came out, I heard him saying to someone on the phone, "Sure, she's young and hot, and if you take her to San Diego, she'll be really grateful." At that point, I tried to think of a way to get to the bus station by myself. If I took a cab, I wouldn't have any money for the bus. The guy didn't have the internet, so there was no checking online. I had a couple things I thought I could pawn and asked him to pawn them for me, partly to get him away from me for a few minutes so I could think, partly because if I had some more money, I could catch a cab. He agreed, and left to do that.
While he was gone, I paced around his apartment, a nervous wreck.
That's as far as I got. The police came while he was out. They'd gotten my boyfriend's phone records and just showed up at the last address we'd called. My parents were with them. I was taken home.
I never told my parents what happened while I was gone, or how I ended up there, or what I did, or where I intended to go.
But the day they brought me home, they finally asked me "What do you want?"
"I don't want to be a Scientologist anymore."
And they finally agreed. It was the worst and best three days of my life at the same time. Sometimes I ask myself, if I went back with what I know now, would I have told my young self to call Matt from a payphone? I wonder what would have happened if I made it to San Fransisco.
I'm so pleased with the way my life has turned out so far. I wouldn't change a thing. But while a beautiful life is being forged, it does tend to get uncomfortably hot.
