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Listening to Alice Cooper’s CD, “From the Inside”, suddenly transported, I was there again with you Billy, on that high grassy school field, trading secrets. I loved listening to your brave old tales, stories you should have been too young to know. Every time you escaped, I travelled with you, felt the empty boxcars carry you down the track, and far away. The noise, the clickety-clack, increased your peace until the train stopped, and they dragged you back, again. You were the 11-year-old rebel, my hero. I was your confessor, safe, I always got straight “A’s”; no one would ever question me. So, you told me all about the death of your mother, and the drink that drove your father to blame you, more, than you could stand. Your legend as a runaway, still remains. I remember your sky blue gaze, and brush-cut blond hair; your faded blue jeans, and wide-eyed smile. I remember the last time we arranged to meet, on the grass at lunch, behind the school. The field was empty. I heard the whistle of the train in the distance. I thought, this time it isn’t your train, and they won’t drag you back again, to tell me stories, but they can’t take away the runaway child I found within you, Billy, within me. |
