I was 8 years old then. I had little need of luggage. But something about my grandma's old leather suitcase, which had been there beneath my bed, appealed to my imagination.
There was an elegance in the chestnut-brown leather of the suitcase. The cracked handle felt firm in my grip and made me feel like I was going to places. But I didn't use the old suitcase before that day.
It was a fall morning in our North Carolina town, and a fine mist dampened the fallen leaves. I was angry. My mother had slighted (冷落) me somehow, though now I have no idea what sparked my anger. I wanted to make her pay. I wanted to give her a taste of what life would be like without me. I decided to run away.
"Goodbye, Mom." I stood outside the kitchen door, suitcase firmly in hand. I was serious.
"Goodbye, Mom," I repeated twice more, cracking open the swinging door with my foot the final time to make sure she'd heard. At last, Mom emerged, wiping her hands on a dish towel. I lifted the suitcase a little just to make sure she didn't miss it.
"I'm leaving home," I said. I'd rehearsed for the expected reaction. The plan was to let her suffer guilt and beg for a minute or two, and then I would agree to stay.
"Did you pack a lunch?" Mom's question knocked me off balance. Where were the tears? The begging? The pleas? "I said I'm leaving," I said. "I'm running away. For Ever!" I drew out the dreaded words, sure they would crack her down.
Instead, she smiled. "Well, would you like me to fix you something? A sandwich? A bag of chips? I just made chocolate chip cookies. "
"I'm really going," I said.
"I can see that."
"Maybe a cookie." I hesitated, "All right, I'm off." As I stepped onto the front walk, fresh-baked chocolate chip tucked in my coat pocket, I looked back at our big yellow house.
Surely, she would follow me. I stared at the front door, waiting for it to fling open. I watched the lace curtains in the living room window for movement. But, no! Not even a flicker of a curtain! My mother didn't care if I ran away. Had she ever loved me at all?
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And so I had no choice but to continue.
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"Robbie?" My mother's voice drifted out from the darkened living room.
