Run, Maggy. Run!

Tonight, Maggy finally gets her chance to run. Tonight, he passed out drunk again. But this time he forgot to lock up first. Tonight, she waits quietly, huddled out of sight. She waits till she hears his sloppy snores.

She takes one of his shirts, the one she has been ironing. Knowing exactly which floorboard creaks, exactly where and how far she can push the screen door to keep it from squeaking, she slips out of the house. She tiptoes over the gravel and patchy front yard to the street.

And runs.

"Let's run, Maggy!" With a shove, six-year-old Eric took off. "I'm gonna beat-cha." He taunted. Laughing she went after him. Her sneakers slapping on the asphalt, her lunch bag bouncing on her back. "You can't catch me." He laughed.

Every afternoon was the same. As soon as school let out, they'd run. Sometimes she'd start, usually Eric would run ahead, challenging her. Her legs were long, she could beat him.

Taking a deep breath, she'd push off a little harder, pump her arms a little stronger. She'd bump him as she passed. "First one home gets both cookies." She'd shout over her shoulder. "Nooo!" He'd cry. But he knew she'd share anyway.

Watch out! Car lights up ahead. Maggy ducks into the ditch, rolls away and crawls under some bushes. She hides till the car passes. Panting, heart pounding, ignoring the cuts and scratches, she climbs out of the ditch and starts running again. Faster! She tells herself.

A crossroad. Left, or right? Does it matter?

Eventually the sky brightens. Her bare feet are bleeding, each step is agony. Her lungs scream, each breath burns. Still, she limps on.

It used to feel so good to run, just for the fun of it. Of course, she had shoes then, threadbare as they were. Back when they still went to school, even though they rarely stayed in the same town for more than a few months. Back when they were still a family. Before ...

A car comes up behind her. She should step aside. She should hide in the bushes again. But she has no fight, no strength left.

She simply stops.

The car slows and stops next to her. An old woman with white hair, lowers the window. "Where you headed, child? Do you need help?"

Her mind is blank. Her mouth too dry to form words. Does she need help? Can she trust them? What if they take her back? He'll kill her. What if ...?

"Hop in girl. We'll take you to the next town." says the salt-and-pepper haired man behind the wheel. The woman reaches to the back and unlocks the door. "Get in sugar. Dry your tears. It'll be alright."

She doesn't cry, does she? When was the last time she cried?

Before ... Before they didn't go to school anymore. She doesn't often let herself remember. It's useless. But sometimes she thinks she spent her whole childhood in the back of that truck. She and Eric would huddle under the tarp when it rained. At night she'd snuggle with Eric under the old blanket. Pappa would drive through the night to another town where Mamma would work for a few days, sometimes a little longer.

Maggy had taught Eric to read using the road signs. Had taught him his numbers using mile markers. They had one book, Gulliver's Travels. And it hadn't really been theirs. It's just that Pappa had made them get in the truck before they could return it to the library.

"Here we are, honey. This is a hospital. You just tell your story, and they'll take care of you." The woman with the white hair tells her.

And she does. Maggy tells her story to the nurse and the doctor in the emergency room where they bandage her feet. And take x-rays that show every bone that has ever been broken. They wrap a pink cast around her left arm to protect last week's break.

She was tall but skinny, when she was eleven. With straight blond hair. Eric at nine, was still cuddly. He had dirty blond hair that always fell into his eyes, no matter how often he'd push it away. His nose had a slight dent. Years ago, Maggy had tried to swing a baseball bat. Eric had been a bit too close.

The truck broke down in a holler, near a small cluster of houses and shacks. Mamma had shrieked and cried when Pappa told Maggy and Eric to go with the man who said he could fix the truck. They had spent that night locked in his toolshed, holding hands in the dark. Repeating over and over, that it will be okay. Promising to never let go. The next morning, the man had taken them down the mountain and sold them to the one who was called Master.

They move her to the children's section where she tells her story to the nurses and social worker. They spoil her a little with special foods and store-bought clothes and new sneakers.

Once her feet are healed enough, the social worker drives her to a foster family. "You just do what they tell you and you'll be fine." The social worker had promised.

How long had it been? How long had she been with Master? Three winters? No, it was four, wasn't it? Or maybe five? He had locked Eric in the attic and made Maggy work. Cleaning and cooking and keeping the coal furnace going. He would beat her if she hadn't done it right, or just because he felt like it.

And he invited 'special' friends to the house. Some touched and hurt her. Some went up to the attic. Then she would hear Eric scream and cry and beg not to be hurt anymore. Which made her scream and fight and try to get to the attic, but Master would slap her and lock her in the coal cellar.

Within the week her foster "daddy" reckons that Maggy can do for him, what she had done for Master. She looks at him with narrowed eyes, her fists planted on her skinny hips. "Every bone in this body has already been broken at least once. You can't scare me. You will give me five dollars for every blow and ten for the other."

He laughs at her then shrugs and agrees to giving her a share. She knows that this is her currency, her value, her job. At least she knows how to do this job.

It takes her almost a year to save up enough money. Then she slips out of the house and buys a bus ticket to run to ... somewhere, anywhere.

She's seventeen, malnourished, has barely a fifth grade education. She's just another statistic, one of thousands of lost and runaway kids, who are peddling, hustling, doing odd jobs, surviving. She sleeps in dark corners, abandoned buildings, shelters and when she has the money, in a cheap hotel. But never more than one night. Her jo is to stay ahead of the pimps, ahead of the police, stay under the radar.

She tries not to think about running. About running with Eric. About laughing, being carefree. That was another lifetime, another Maggy.

She tries not to think, she tries not to feel.

There was a gap under the attic door. She could touch his fingers. She'd push a slice of bread under the door, or pieces of an apple, or anything she could find. He was always hungry.

"Tell me again, Maggy." He'd beg. "It'll have books and toys and people who care. There will be food and room to run for fun." She'd whisper at the door. "And?" He was insatiable. "Well, doctors to make the pain go away and teachers, of course. There will be hope and a future." She'd add. "What will you call it, Maggy?" He'd ask. "Home."

She knew she'd get whooped if Master found out. But she did it anyway. Even when he brought more 'special' friends who would hurt her. She tried not to cry, tried not to fight. Hoping that if she was brave, if she took the pain, they'd leave Eric alone. But it never worked out that way.

Somehow, she manages to survive on the street for almost a year. But winter is brutal.

She huddles near the doorway of a diner. Every time someone opens the door, she gets a short weak whiff of warm air, rich with the scent of coffee and grease.

'Hey kid." The voice is raspy and comes from the door. Stiffly she scrambles to her feet, ready to slink away and find another niche where she can stay out of the wind.

"Come in, Have some soup." The woman is large. From where Maggy is standing, it looks as if she fills the whole doorway. Her faded yellow uniform is fully stretched. Her salt-and-pepper hair is pulled back ino a sloppy ponytail.

"First one's on the house." And steps back inside.

Can she trust her? Why would she offer free soup? Who'd do something like that? Then she remembers the white haired woman and her husband who gave a ride to the hospital.

Shivering, both from the cold and fear, she pushes the door open.

The large woman put a bowl on the counter, in the corner, near the wall where Maggy might feel safer.

"Eat."

Now that she's inside, er hands and feet begin to warm. They tingle, ache burn, feel stiff and both numb and painful. She can't hold on to the spoon, so she picks up the bowl and drinks the hot, thick liquid. She stuffs the crackers in her coat pocket.

"My name is Rose." The woman places mor crackers on the counter. "What's yours, child?"

"Maggy."

"Got a job, Maggy?" She shakes her head.

"Come." Rose walks away, into the kitchen, fully expecting Maggy to follow. Hands her a pair of rubber gloves. "Rinse and stack these in the washer. Ernie here," A perfunctory nod toward a slender man standing near the stove. "Will show you how to turn it on. There will be supper later."

Maggy is alone with a large stack of dirty dishes and Ernie. Two hours later, she had shed two layers of clothes and is secretly smiling at Ernie, who'd doing a believable soft shoe to some golden oldie, while tending to his chicken-fried steak.

"Hey! Tha's my job!" A very skinny, very tall boy bursts in through the backdoor, bringing a gust of cold air with him.

"You weren't here." Ernie shrugs.

"Well, I'm here now. So scram, mouse." He tries to shove Maggy aside.

"No, Rose told me to do this. I'll work till she tells me to stop." She snaps.

"Rose!" The tall kid storms out of the kitchen. A heated argument can be heard through the pass-through.

Maggy looks at Ernie, who shrugs. "That's B-ball. He's always late. Rather shoots hoops."

"Maggy," Rose sticks her head through the window. "Come here, will you?" Maggy gathers her backpack and coat. She passes him going out the door. He smirks.

Rose tips her head toward one of the stools and pours a coke. "Don't mind B-ball. He'll get over his snit. He needs to learn to come to work on time. You got a place to sleep, Kid?"

Magg shakes her head while draining half the glass.

"You know the shelter on Second?" Maggy nods. Rose puts a burger and fries in front of Maggy. "Go there tonight. Come back tomorrow. There is always work here. We open at six."

Maggy puts her burger down. "Why? She frowns at Rose.

"Because you are too young to die on the street, tonight. Because you are smart enough to take advantage of a good thing when you see it." She turns to the register to tend to a customer.

Then one morning, about two years before Maggy ran away, Eric was gone. Master was furious. Lashed her to the tree in the yard for a whooping. It hurts more when you can see the pain coming. Afterwards he threw her in the coal cellar and left her there for a day. Or had it been two?

When He pulled her out, they went to live in a different house. Now he brought even more 'special' friends. Said she needed to earn enough to make up for losing Eric. She asked over and over, but Master wouldn't tell her where Eric was.

If only she knew that he was safe. Had the last 'special' friend taken him? Was he well taken care of? Or was he just in another hell? One where she couldn't slip him some extra food.

She had hoped that he'd come back for her, rescue her. But she wouldn't have been there anymore. How could he find her?

Maggy is back at six-o-five the next morning. "Stow your gear under the counter and do the refill round." Is the first orientation she gets that morning.

After the lunch rush, she and Rose are cleaning up. "I know this woman." Rose begins. "She's eighty-three. Has an extra bedroom. She needs someone to keep an eye on her, in case of emergency. Run a few errands, now and then. The room is free. Interested?"

"Yes." She's surprised and grateful. "Thank you."

Over time, Maggy learns that everybody who works at Rose's has been rescued by her, at one time or another. B-ball had been kicked out of the house by his stepfather. Sherry and Brandi, twins who work the late shift, had been set on the street by CPS when they turned eighteen. Ernie had done time. And there had been many more before them.

Several weeks later, Rose puts a stack of books in front of Maggy. "Study for your GED. Just start. Start anywhere. B-ball will be happy to correct you when you make a mistake."

"He won't get a chance." She mumbles.

It's six months before Maggy stops carrying her backpack with her everywhere she goes.

***

Maggy's twenty-five, still working at Rose's. Still living in Mrs. Kretchmer's extra bedroom. She has earned her GED and is taking one class at a time at the university branch, nearby. She still thinks of Eric, of course. Remembers their dream of a home. A home where they and others like them, can heal and grow.

She's cleaning booth five, between customers. wiping the table and seats, gathering the discarded newspaper. She is carefully folding the pages, because she wants to read it later.

In the middle of the want-ad page is a long column with job openings, all from the same company. The company's logo shows two M's in a red circle. She smiles because it reminds her of the candy. But then she sees the company's name next to the logo.

Frozen she stares at the paper.

What does it mean? Why is her heart racing. Why are her palms sweating?

She drops the paper, grabs her coat. "I'm going out. Don't know when I'll be back." She shouts toward the kitchen.

Rushing the eight blocks north, three west, she stands on the corner. staring up at the large building. It's an old bank building. She's not aware of the lights changing. Not aware of the blustery wind. Not aware of people jostling her, giving her odd looks. She just stands there, staring at the front of the building and the big black letters next to the logo.

Finally, she crosses the street. As if in a trance, she climbs the steps and opens the door. Inside is a large space, two or three stories high. A ring of balconies overlooks the ground floor. Here is everything a kid or a teenager would want, like pool and ping pong tables, a wall of computer stations, bookcases with books, games and toys, art supplies and much more. And kids playing, talking, laughing.

In the middle of the room is a large pole with arrows pointing to doctors, counselors, classrooms, dormitories, cafeteria, pool, gym and more.

On the walls are reproductions of illustrations from her favorite book. The one she all but memorized. There is Laputa, the flying island. There are the Lilliputians.

Why can't she see clearly? Why are her cheeks wet?

"Hi, I'm Silvia. Welcome. Are you applying for a job?" A girl in her early twenties is standing in front of Maggy.

She wipes her cheeks. "What is this place." Her voice is thick with emotions.

"Oh, it's a wonderful place." Silvia gushes. "Reverent Phillips and his foster sons have built it. It's a home for abused, neglected and lost children, well, anybody, really, to give them hope and a future. But come. They are right there I'll introduce you."

Under the signpost are several chairs and a large couch. A grey-haired man is leaning forward in his chair and talking with five others of varying ages.

"Excuse me, Reverent. This lady wants to know more about the Maggy Mallone Home. What's your name, ma'am?"

Maggy has been staring at the youngest one there. He's in his early twenties, has dirty blond hair that keeps falling in his eyes, no matter how many times he pushes it back. His nose has a small dent. He is staring at her and has slowly come to his feet.

"I'm Maggy. Maggy Mallone." She whispers. "Eric?"