“Mom? Mom, it’s Shawn.”
“Shawn! Oh my god, Shawn! Are you okay? What happened? Where are you? Do I need to—“
“I’m fine Mom,” I cut her off. “I’m fine. I love you. I’ll be home tomorrow.” Before she can respond I slide my finger over the button and hang up on her. And it hits me all at once that I’m standing in some God-forsaken gas station in the middle of nowhere, dial tone ringing in my ears. I am trembling. I swear under my breath, slam the phone down, and race out the door.
I don’t realize I’m crying until I’m curled up in my truck, kicking the front seat in frustration. I’m pathetic, I think tracks of my tears criss-crossing my face. My head is spinning, my heart is racing. I cannot think, I can’t even breathe. I cannot see, I cannot hear. I can only cry. I lose track of time, I feel as if I’m underwater, floating away. I slip into darkness.
I wake up at dawn. My hair is matted to my sweaty forehead and my left leg is stiff from sleeping in my car.
“Oh, God,” I mutter and stretch. I open my door and step outside. The still air smells like night, cigarettes and gasoline. As I go into the gas station, the cold air conditioning chills me and the too-bright lights blind me for a moment.
I stumble back to the dirty truck stop restroom. After I finish, I go back out to the store part and browse through the aisles, realizing I’m famished. I try to remember the last time I ate. McDonalds – last ni- no, no two days ago. No wonder I’m dizzy.
I fill the biggest Styrofoam cup I can find with steaming coffee and toss a small package of donuts on the counter. I mutter thanks and wander back out to my truck. I climb in front and start it up. 4:53 in the morning. I am so screwed up right now.
But for now I have no more tears to cry. Instead I fidget. I turn the radio on. I turn it off. I roll the window down. I roll it back up. I stare blankly out the windshield, take a bite out of my donut and allow my thoughts to wander. I think about the past.
“Shawn!” My mother calls. “Shawn Matthew! Come here! Come here right now!
My lanky fourteen year old self wanders into the kitchen. “What’s up?” I ask lazily.
“Not your grades,” my mother bites, her voice thick with fury. “Your report card came. Two C’s, four D’s and an F! Shawn! That is absolutely unacceptable. Unacceptable!”
I shrug. I’m surprised I got two C’s. Mom continues.
“I know since…” She bites her lip hard and doesn’t finish her sentence.
“God, since what Mom? Since what?” I shout, throwing my hands up. “Since Dad decided he’s not good enough for this family anymore?” The words and the harsh reality they carry stab both of us in the heart.
Mom puts on a familiar façade. She doesn’t want to cry in front of us. That mask usually fails. Her face falls and her lips tremble.
“Mom…” I whisper. “I’m —“ I’m shaking.
“No Shawn!” She roars. “Sorry! Sorry is just what your dad said. Just go to your room.”
As I dash up the stairs, it’s her who is trying to apologize and me who’s refusing to listen.
That was three and a half years ago and one of many trips and stumbles down the Grand Canyon that has brought me to the rock bottom I’m trying to climb out of.
I’m tired – physically tired definitely, but I’m tired of thinking. Where the hell am I now? I’m driving past a field…I watch a pony sneeze. I want to count all the animals I see, but I’m moving too fast. I sigh and flip on the radio again. I vaguely recognize the song. “And I don’t know how it gets better than this...”
“You take my hand and drag me headfirst, fearless!” My tone-deaf little sister twirls around the kitchen, getting underfoot.
“Shut up Cass,” I snap. “Go finish your homework.”
“I’m done,” she answers, spinning on her toes. Her bright socks slip over the tiles; she crashes into the counter and barely catches herself on the edge. I shake my head.
“Fine,” I say. “But you’re getting in my way so go watch TV while I finish dinner.”
She plants her hands on her little hips, grinning.“You mean while you call for take-out, right?” Did she get that sarcasm from me?
“Nope,” I smirk at her. “Mom left food to heat up. And I will, except you’re standing right in front of the fridge. So go do something besides get on my nerves.”
“Okay.” The seven year old mini-me skips away and a moment later ICarly is blaring.
Every time I look at Cassie, I see myself, as a girl and nine years younger. There’s no denying we look alike. Dark hair, hers smooth and neat, mine always a shaggy mess. Bright eyes the color of melted chocolate. Mom’s eyes are blue. Is it because I look like Dad that Mom finds it so hard to look at me?

“Please Shawn, five more minutes?” My sister whines a few hours later. “Just five short minutes?”
“Cass,” I say, trying to focus on the fat history book balanced on my knees.” It’s almost ten o’clock. I have a big test tomorrow, so I have to study and you have to go to bed. And no,” I anticipate her next question, “You are definitely not waiting up for Mom.”
“Can’t I sit with you for just a minute?” She begs. I have to give in to her. I move the books from my lap and pull Cassie into it. She wraps her arms around my neck.
“I love you Shawn,” she whispers, her cold little nose resting in the crevice of my collarbone. She fits so perfectly.
“I love you too, Cassie-girl.” I kiss her forehead. But as I hold my sister in my arms, I’m mentally cursing my father for not being there to hold her himself.
“I love you too, Cassie-girl,” I whisper, feeling tears hot behind my eyes. A staccato static filled buzz fills the speakers for an instant as I flick the radio off.
As I drive in sweet silence for awhile, I chew on my bottom lip, thinking hard. Why did I ever run away in the first place? I sigh heavily; a train whistle blows in the distance. In an instant my mind flashes to that night.
“Mom,” I argue. “This is my one night I don’t have to baby-sit. You’re home. Take care of Cassie. She’s your kid, not mine. I’m seventeen and I have no social life. Do you realize that? Do you?”
“Shawn Matthew McKenzie.” Oh wow the full name. Totally threatening. “You will not talk to me like that.”
“Oh God, won’t I Mom?” I say lazily, rolling my eyes. She ignores me.
“You don’t realize or even care how hard I work for you two. You think you’re the only one with problems Shawn. News flash—you aren’t. There are other people in the world besides you. I need to relax tonight and I need to get some things done while I’m gone. So like it or not, you are babysitting tonight and we are not talking about this anymore.”
The wheels of my brain already turning, I resist the urge to snap back at my horribly selfish mother. “Okay Mom. I can watch Cassie, I guess.”
She looks surprised, but thanks me, tells us both good-bye and leaves. The minute her car pulls around the corner, I call Cassie downstairs.
“Yeah Shawn?” She asks. The timidness in her voice breaks my heart. When did we drift apart?
“Look Cass,” I tell her. “You’re eight years old, right?” She nods. “You know what? I think you’re old enough to stay home by yourself for a little bit.”
“Oh, um, I don’t know,” she says nervously. “I don’t really want to at night.”
“Oh come on,” I try to bribe her with false cheer. “I have my phone. We’ll lock the door. You know the rules, right?”
“Uh-huh,” she whispers, but I can still see the hesitation is there.
“I’ll be gone for just one hour, Cassie. An hour and a half tops.”
“Where are you going?” She asks, as if she’s coming with me.
“Just out with some friends. A bunch of people are going to be hanging out at someone’s house.”
“Oh, um, okay. If it’s just a few people, can I go with you?”
No, because it’s going to be a crazy, huge party with about a million people doing God-knows-what with zero supervision. “You wouldn’t want to go, Cass.” I say. “Trust me. You’ll be fine. Don’t touch the stove or the oven or anything– just microwave. Don’t open the door and don’t pick up the phone unless it’s me or Mom. Don’t call anyone but me.” I reach for my letter jacket I’m still surprised I could afford. “Oh, and if Mom calls, tell her I’m asleep or doing homework or making dinner or something. I’ll be back about nine.”
“Shawn?” Cassie says again.
Something between a sigh and a groan escapes me. “What? I’m leaving.” But I turn around to face her anyway. She flings her skinny arms around my waist. “I’ll be back soon, Cass.” I kiss the top of her head and slam the door behind me.
“Hey, Shawn’s here!” Someone yells as I step through the open door into a wave of loud music and people.
“Shawn who?” A voice giggles, and more awful laughter follows.
“Where’s your sister?” I heard another call. “You leave her in the car?”
“Oh my god, what’s he even doing here?” Another stumbling girl squeals. “He’s such a freak.” I’m not deaf, dumbass. But, whatever, that’s cool. I guess I don’t exist.
It’s loud. That’s all it is, loud and wild. Music blasts, obnoxious stuff I hate to listen to, while people grind like dogs. I know that’s not Kool-Aid in all those cups. I’m one of the precious few who will be avoiding all food. I wonder around for awhile and ended up in a conversation with a few people, huddled in a corner. I’m mid-sentence when the vibrating jerk of my phone in my pocket cuts me off. Shooting an apologetic look to my group of people I barely know, I pick it up.
“Hello?” I say loudly over the music.
“Shawn. Shawn,” Cassie cries. “Will you come home?”
“What happened Cass? What’s wrong?”
“Someone keeps calling and asking for Mom. I don’t know who it is, but he won’t stop.”
“Cass,” I say, slight exasperation creeping up my throat . “Didn’t I tell you not to pick up the phone?”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m scared.”
“What did he want?” I ask. Someone shouts; I plug my free ear with my finger to barely hear her.
“He said something about insurance?”
“It’s a telemarketer, Cassie.” I sigh. “ It’s no big deal. I’m sorry it scared you, but don’t call me anymore. It’s fine. Just don’t pick up the phone.”
“Oh, okay. Okay…Bye.”
“Bye,” I snap my phone shut and turn back to the circle of people. “Sorry about that you guys. My little sister’s scared over a telemarketer. How stupid is that?” They laugh and I feel a little more relaxed.
But not twenty minutes later, my phone rings again. “Yeah,” I say.
“Shawn. He keeps calling me and it’s freaking me out.”
“Cass, I told you just don’t answer it anymore.”
“But he won’t quit it.” she whines.
“Will you calm down? It’s ok.”
She agrees, reluctantly, and I hang up. But a few minutes later she calls again. “Cassidy,” I growl. “What do you want?”
“He won’t stop calling me Shawn.” She’s in full blown tears now.
“You won’t stop calling me.”
“He asked me what my name was. It was creeping me out.”
“Cass, don’t worry about it. He’ll do everything he can to sell whatever it is he’s selling.”
“But it—it’s scary.”
“Then don’t pick up the phone. And you know what? Don’t call me anymore either. This is a really stupid thing to be worried about. And it’s my night for me; I don’t want to deal with you. Just leave me alone. Just leave me alone, alright!” I slam the phone shut.
The next time it rings, I don’t even answer. I just reach into my pocket and turn it off.

“Cass!” I call, finally getting home. “Hey, I’m home girly.” Silence. “What? You won’t even answer me now?” More silence. “Cassie?” She’s ignoring me – that’s great, I think, ascending the stairs. I peek in her room – nothing. I cross the hall. She’s not in the bathroom. She’s not on the computer. I dash down the steps. She’s not in the kitchen. She’s not watching TV. I run back upstairs and check her room again – Nope. I look in my room. No matter how many times I tell her to stay out, she goes in there anyway, but not tonight. She’s not in Mom’s room. She’s not in her little closet under the stairs. I hear the door open and swear under my breath.
“Hey,” Mom calls softly as she shuts the front door behind her. I fly down the steps.
“Mom, I can’t find Cassie.” I gasp out.
“You can’t what? You lost her?” She joins me in my frantic search around the house. “Cassie! Cassie?” We call her name loud and all over. I know she’s not gone, but what if she is? What if she went outside and got hurt or kidnapped? What if she’s already a million miles away? What if she just left? What if she tried to go to a friend’s house and got lost? What if –
“Shawn?” her small voice says. It’s sleepy and muffled. I swing open the door to the closet. There she is, looking like she just woke up. I think she had. But she was there. I try to hug her, but she pushes me back.
“I hate you!” She yells. “You didn’t pick up. And I tried to call you. And I was scared! It’s way past nine. I thought you died! I thought your car crashed! You’re the worst brother ever, Shawn.”
Fighting with Mom I can handle, but seeing Cassie there, tears streaming down her cheeks, not letting me hug her? That I can’t take. Something inside me snaps. There’s no reason for me to stay anymore.
Mom is yelling at me but what’s new about that. I just fly out the door, jump in my truck and drive off, the sounds of Mom yelling and Cassie crying echoing in my head. I just want to drive, I don’t know where – only anywhere but here.
I get to the end of the block and turn right. I drive through town, and since I got that far, I keep driving. I end up on the interstate, side by side with vacationers and truck drivers. And I’m still driving when I pass the sign that reads, “You are now leaving Ohio.”