The life I left behind was the beginning of a world anew, filled with excitement and possibilities, far from any violence not born within me.

After hours of riding at night, I arrived in the big city in the morning. Everything looked like it came out of a movie: lots of stores, fancy cars, and people coming and going like they had no worries.

I left the bus station and walked for hours in awe, amazed by that atmosphere. There were all kinds of different people in the streets, with features I had never seen before. Mesmerized, I didn’t see time go by, and my stomach’s growling was the one to warn me it was past lunchtime.

The cashier of the convenience store was an old man who greeted me with a nod while he tuned the radio into another station.

As I picked things I wasn’t allowed to eat at home, it played “Baby, I love your way” and I sang along. But a breaking news report soon replaced Big Mountain’s music. The voice in the transmission warned the listeners about a gruesome crime in a nearby town. According to the reporter, they found a couple brutally murdered inside their house, and their daughter was still nowhere to be found.

That slice of reality struck me hard. Now I was missing, and people would look for me. I left the store and rushed to the closest supermarket for emergency items. I got the darkest hair dye I had ever laid my eyes on, a couple of towels and a big water bottle. Along with that, I bought some other things that would be easy to carry and eat and a sports bag, and rushed to the restroom.

Now I look a bit older, and my eyes seem brighter. I watched my reflection in the mirror one last time before I disposed of my mother’s suitcase and the clothes I was wearing.

To remain unnoticed, I accepted the hardship of my fate at that moment: the fewer people asked about me, the better. And the only place I knew for sure people asked little to no questions was on the streets.

I roamed the city for months. I lived off canned food, hid my bags in climbable trees, and taught a lesson to those who underestimated me – with the same knife that set me free.

One day, I felt it was time to move and took the first bus I saw to the suburbs. People said the neighborhood was peaceful, and I’d enjoy a change of pace.

When I got there, the sun was setting and there wasn’t much movement on the streets. I looked for a place to eat before I figured out where I would spend the night.

I spotted a small restaurant among other stores. The neon sign read “Shanaya’s” and the smell coming from it was beyond inviting, so I went in. To my surprise, the place was as empty as a church after the Sunday sermon. 

It was an adorable rockabilly establishment. Metal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. There was a plaid floor and big red seats in each booth. A woman sat near the counter, reading a magazine and smoking a cigar.

When she heard the door chimes, she didn’t seem phased. Her allowing me in, despite how filthy I was, felt like a promising sign.

I chose a table, put my belongings under it, sat, and read the menu. Spending the little money I have been saving is gonna hurt, but I bet it will be as delicious as the smell.

“Good evening, young lady. I’m Shanaya. Welcome to our restaurant. What can I get you?”

The waitress had wavy hair, dark brown eyes, and wore red lipstick. She was tall and curvy, with a deep, steady voice. Her heels made her look like she walked off the set of a 1950s commercial.

“I want a burger and a strawberry milkshake, with fries on the side, please.”

“Sure. Are you waiting for anyone else?” She answered and smiled, looking at me with interest.

“No. It’s just me,” I made sure I dawned my best sad face.

She stared at me, tapped her notepad with the pen, and headed to the kitchen.

My new life taught me two things. The first was that my experiences and my nature made me a survivor. The second one was that empathy was a very useful feeling.

As I intended to stay around, the sympathy of local vendors and residents would come in handy. I learned how to mimic some emotions and used them to open doors according to my needs. And I noticed she fell for my bait.

Half an hour later, the food arrived at the table. It was steaming hot, and the flavor was indeed as good as the smell. The lady went back to her stool and waited, reading her magazine again, as I devoured the contents of my plate.

I took the dishes to the counter, paid and thanked her, and left. She eyed me with concern. When I hit the street, I went around the block and placed myself near her back door.

That spot would be my home for the next few weeks. We would meet in the morning, I’d offer help with the trash, and she would give me a dollar or two.

When she went out for groceries, she’d see me helping people pack or carry their bags to earn some money. We made eye contact and greeted each other, and sometimes she asked me if I enjoyed her food back then. On week three I was getting ready to sleep when the restaurant’s back door opened.

“Hey there. Care to help me again?” Shanaya leaned against the door and looked down at me.

“Sure.” I got in, grabbed the trash bags and put them on the cans nearby.

“What’s your name, missy?” She lit a cigarette.

“It’s The-.” I paused. Damn.

She took a drag, looking at the floor.

“Tessa. It’s Tessa.” I finished.

Shanaya let the smoke out through her nose, and for a moment, she looked ominous and mysterious, like a dragon. She peered into my eyes, the same way my mother had on the day I killed that baby sparrow.

“Tessa,” she repeated slowly. “I’ve been watching you since that very first day. And I can tell you’re running from something.”

My blood ran cold. My hand slithered under my shirt, right on the back of my pants. That was where I kept my chef’s knife all the times, resting unnoticed, waiting for the moment I would let it shine. But I still needed to lie low. I hoped it wasn’t the time to let my instincts take control.

“I’m saying that because I was a runner myself, from the violence within my house,” she continued, puffing one more time. Shanaya rolled up her sleeve to show a huge scar on her arm. It looked like the cut I did to my father’s.

I sighed in relief and brought that hand back to my pocket.

“You seem like a good kid.” She got closer, analyzing me. “How old are you again?”

“I’m seventeen, I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”

“Nice. I’ll let you stay at the restaurant. There’s a dressing room with a shower, you can use it. If you behave and do well, I’ll move you to a better place. But you have to work hard, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Great. Now come in and shower. You’ll start with pamphlets tomorrow, and that 80s-Madonna face of yours will come in handy. Can you cook?”

“Yeah, I cooked a little at home,” I hated to mention anything to do with that place.

Home. More like hell.

“Good. I wanna check your cooking skills in the afternoon. We’ll need to pack this place now. I have another mouth to feed.” She gave me a smirk and a quick wink.

Shanaya showed me around and explained the dos and don’ts of my stay. She told me I could make myself comfortable and that I should eat, then showed me where the leftovers were. I heard her lock the door and assure me she’d be back tomorrow at seven. 

I showered, ate and laid down to sleep. That proposal caught me by surprise, and I chuckled with excitement and relief. Not only did I have a place to stay, but I also had a way to make money and remain unnoticed. 

* * * * * 

With me as her pamphleteer, the restaurant filled with customers, and in three months, she hired 10 new people to the staff.

Shanaya took me under her wing and let me move to her apartment. Access to the internet was easier now, and I spent a lot of time on my days off studying, learning new things, and doing research. With the help of photo editing programs, I created a fake birth certificate and got a new ID. 

A year after I arrived in the big city, the media forgot all about me, and I could enjoy peace as I helped at the restaurant. My favorite days were those filled with children laughing and playing at the tables.

Time went by, another year passed, and I took my GED. I passed with a high score and Shanaya helped me study for the SATs. After some time and a lot of hard work, I finally received an acceptance letter from college. When the news got out, Shanaya and the staff surprised me with a fully cooked meal to celebrate my achievement. Everyone was as happy as I was.

* * * * *

I sat in the last row to observe everything in the wide open auditorium. My first day in class. The people who came in were from all walks of life. There were so many young adults, all of them so full of life and joy. When I thought about the infinite possibilities that the future could unfold, it gave me goosebumps.

The professor entered the classroom, introduced himself and the subject, and started taking attendance. I was anxious and couldn’t stop moving in my chair, excitedly waiting for my turn. 

“Next is… Tessa? Tessa Graham?”

I got up and said, “Here, that’s me.” As I sat down, my heart raced like horses in the Coliseum. Looking back, I realized I was paving the path that led me to Josh.

Editor: Michelle Naragon