Growing up, my favorite dish was a pan-fried flounder that Grandma made whenever I'd take the bus down to visit her. She'd squeeze the lemon and bake some garlic bread with a salad and cherry tomatoes.

It was 1969, and I was lying on my back in the boy's room, head pressed against the cold tiled walls, and some blood crusted from my nose down to my chin. The bleeding stopped, and now I picked the blood from my chin. I should probably wash my face.

I wanted to lie there for a long time. My face hurt like I'd smacked it against pavement, and a kick of pain hit the right side of my chest every time I inhaled. I might have a broken rib. Imagine that! Only boxers broke their ribs, or people in car accidents. I breathed in. Pain. Out. Better. In. Pain. Out. Relief. A small kid walked in to use the toilet, probably in sixth grade or so, learning about Columbus, but when he saw me he turned and walked out.

"Wait a minute, come back here," I said to him. I was surprised at how loud my voice came out. He came back in the room, and watched me, looking at me for the next direction of what to do. He didn’t seem like he wanted to help, but he probably would do whatever I asked. I didn’t know why I called him in there though. He had these skinny arms that fumbled in his pockets for something.

"Well, piss," I said.

He mumbled something about not needing to, he was just looking for someone.

"Don't you gotta piss?"

What a dummy I was. What a low-down, beat, dummy.

“Are you learning about Columbus?”

“No.” The boy said.

“What, then?”

“Triangles.”

“Oh. Trigonometry.” I sat up. The back of my head hurt from being pressed against the walls. I thought about babies’ scalps being soft at birth. I wondered if you could shape a baby’s head into a starfish, or a perfect square.

The boy urinated and didn’t wash his hands. This kid could be like my sidekick. I could mentor him in the ways of the world. Show him how to play soccer. Tell him that if he wants to get the girls, he needs to play soccer. Or something. Play an instrument.

I decided right then and there to leave school. I could buy a train ticket and start over out in 'frisco. Run with the open roads for a while, and do whatever happens. I didn’t know why ‘frisco, but it was far away from here, and it was a place I’d heard about, and I watched a television show one time where the opening credits ran through some San Francisco streets, and the place looked alright. Even the bums out there probably were clean enough.

At home I wasn't sure what to bring with me, but I had a pack that slung around my shoulders, and it was big enough to hold a few shirts and a couple pairs of pants. My room was a mess. The dresser drawers hung open, their runners broken, and I pulled three out all of the way before settling on some pants. I left the drawers on the ground, piled on top of one another. Margaret would find them there, and probably throw them out soon, and that was alright with me.

At the train station, they had this old woman selling tickets through the bars, and she looked at me like I was young and stupid, but she probably grew up down the block somewhere, and now her husband's dead and she's left fending for herself. The poor old bitch. I didn't have much money, but I had enough for the ticket, and enough to eat for a few days. Ham sandwiches. They’d stay alright. They were preserved meats.

I wondered how long they would stay. And whether the twenty-nine dollars I had was enough. I could buy enough pizzas to last me maybe a week out there. But I would need to find work. I had some retail experience, but finding a job was never my strong point. Despite how much Margaret yelled at me to get out there and do it.

As I was sitting there in the train station, and waiting for the 12:42 train, somewhere in there I lost my nerve. The world was a messy place, and there were people out there who’d probably roast my flesh over an oil-drum fire, cannibalize my bones even. And there was my sister. She really would care. Despite the crap she says about not caring. The day turned out okay though. I got to hitchhike, never did that before. Got beat up. Again, a first. And I’ve decided to not run away. Another first. How about that.