I knew at that moment why I was always so haunted by my memories—why I pushed them aside, and why I left my car in a garage far from where I lived. I couldn’t live with my own guilt of failing as a friend and as a person.
“Wow—well, if anyone knew what she was thinking, or feeling, for that matter, it would be you,” Brian said as he looked at me.
“Yeah,” I said, knowing he was speaking of my feelings for her.
“I wonder what happened to her,” Grant said as he looked away.
As we grew silent, Del grew louder. None of us heard anything but the sound of his voice. We felt the memories falling down around us. We were each lost in our own thoughts, staring down at the floor, concentrating on what used to be, and the friends we had that made us who we were.
I thought I heard something, and when I looked up, I saw Runaway’s dad standing next to our booth, looking down at us.
“How are you boys?” he asked. He had aged, yet the same comforting smile I had remembered in my youth was clearly visible.
“She was right.” He looked at us and a small smile came across his face. “She knew that you all would show up together again when asked.”
“You’re the one who sent the letters?” Brian asked, completely shocked.
We each stared at each other in disbelief.
“Yeah. I own this place,” he said, looking around. “George Thompson left it to Runaway. Brandon…” he paused. “Brandon ran off, you know—started hanging out with Bret and his buddies. Trouble they were, and continued to be. Brandon got caught up in all that and had a big blowout with his dad. Then he ran off.”
He stopped and looked at his hands and paused for a long minute.
“She’s gone, you know…” He wouldn’t look at us. “Runaway. Cancer… ironic, really—the girl who tried to control everything in her life dies from something uncontrollable.”
He said it so suddenly, I wasn’t sure I had heard right. I wanted him to say it again, just to be sure. It was as if a bomb shattered between my ears. I had hoped, in vain, that one day I would have been able to tell her all that I felt. I wanted her dad to take back the words—I wanted to pound the table and scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to tear everything down that was around me, but instead I gripped the end of the table with my hands until the knuckles were white.
Grant saw me, his eyes sympathetic to what he must have known was racing through my soul. In that instant, I hated myself for ever letting her walk away and walk out of my life. I looked up into Grant’s and Stephen’s faces, but I couldn’t speak. I could hardly breathe. I knew I was choking.
I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say, I felt the tears stinging my eyes but forced them back, as did Grant, Brian and Stephen.
Runaway’s dad wasn’t looking for our reaction—he had something else he wanted to say. There was some other reason he brought us out here after so many years, and it was not just to tell us of her passing. We just had to wait for it.
“I asked you here to give you four something that Runaway wanted you to have—she left it to me with specific instructions.”
The tears were clearly visible.
“She was sick for a while. Oh, it was awhile back now—you all had only been gone for a year or two. She was up at college, and called me to say that she wasn’t feeling well, and that was pretty much it. She didn’t want anyone to know—she didn’t want anyone to be there in the end…” he trailed off, lost in his own pain. “Anyway, she wanted me to give you this letter. She knew you would all come back—I thought it was ridiculous, because you all had gone your own ways, but sure enough, here you are. Anyway, here is the letter, I don’t know what’s in it. I… I…” he stammered. “I never read it.” He now looked at us with a parental, comforting smile.
“You should also know that she didn’t want any of you to attend her service—she wanted you to remember her the way she was, and she made me swear to not contact you then. You know how she was—never let anyone know what she was thinking. The only thing I am sorry for is that I didn’t deliver the letter sooner. I just couldn’t, you know? She was all I had, and I just couldn’t even see you four again… it would bring too many memories back… so I waited too long, maybe. Well, anyway, here’s the letter. I am sorry it took this long to get it to you.” He put it on the table in front of us.
“You know,” he said, after a second thought, “somehow, she was never meant to grow up. I knew that,” he said with a small smile through his silent tears.
“See you,” he whispered.
He turned and walked slowly to the parking lot, and just like that, he was gone. We heard the car door slam, and a familiar engine rev. Quickly standing, we looked through the glass front door just in time to see Runaway’s dad drive away in a fire-engine red 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air coupe with a license plate that still read RNAWY33.
I just sat there, not knowing what to do.
How could this have happened? How could she be gone? How could I have not known it?
I silently wondered.
“Well,” Stephen said, wiping his eyes.
“Yeah,” Grant added.
“Seems fitting that he should have her car,” I managed to choke out.
Without a word, Brian picked up the letter, opened it and began to read:
Dear Grant, Topher, Stephen, and Brian:
I am hoping that my dad kept his promise, and that you four are sitting at The Oasis together, instead of at a wake after my funeral. I have recently had a lot of time to think and reflect regarding my life, and even now it’s hard for me to figure out where to begin. I know that I have not always been the most talkative person you all have ever known. That’s why I thought a letter would be better.
Ever since I can remember, the four of you have always been my life. I have never known a time that I could not rely on or find you—you all have always been there for me until now. Every day I search my memories and find peace in the past. I never dreamed that my life would have ever been different than what I knew growing up. How is anyone really to know? My life is so short now, that I want to tell you what I realized a long time ago, and what I know now.
There are moments in your life you can never replace, or “do over,” to quote Officer Tessler—they just are. They are fast, and usually you don’t even know when a “moment” is happening.
I knew ours. I knew our moment was happening, and I knew it would end, and honestly, I didn’t know how to deal with it. How do you make time stop? You don’t—you just ride it and enjoy the moment until it ends. I know that I am lucky in many ways, and from each of you I learned something different.
Grant, you taught me that you don’t have to be big to be strong, and that size and strength really are in the eye of the beholder. You also made me realize that laughing, or at least smiling, and remaining calm in the face of adversity or stress, really is the best medicine.
Topher, you taught me responsibility for not only my actions, but also for my feelings. Without you and your support, I would have done stupid things, and that is why I never went after Brandon personally. You taught me “controlled control,” if you will, in simple silence. You worried out loud—I worried internally.
Stephen, you gave me the gift of words. To only express what needed to be said and nothing more. But also, that vengeance is not always mine, but can be others’ as well—that, and of course, wonderful memories of wit and cynicism.
And Brian, although you came late to the bunch, from you I found a profound sense of loyalty. And it was the reason I went after Bret with such vengeance, to take a stand for Stephen.
From all of you, I gave and received love, and nothing less. The night of Stephen’s accident, I thought I’d die. My anger was so intense that it scared even me. I have lost loved ones before, and I couldn’t handle losing another—I couldn’t risk losing any of you. I felt responsible. Even that day in the hospital when I felt the world crashing down around me, I couldn’t see a way out, and yet the simplest solution was standing right there in front of me.
The night before the city trials, I felt everything coming to an end, and even then I said nothing. Topher, you sat with me and never said a word, for that I thank you. It was a support that I needed at the time, and you were there. I know now that it may not make a difference to you in your life, but there was a reason I listened to that song over and over that night in the diner with you. Please, please, please, listen to it again.
Brian stopped and looked at me—actually I felt all eyes on me. I remembered the song, “A Thousand Stars,” by Kathy Young.
“What song?” Grant asked.
I shook my head. I knew that the song was just for me. “Keep reading, Brian.” I looked down at the table. I would find it and listen to it again, I promised myself.
I’m trying my best to put into words an entire lifetime of what I should have said before. Within every moment of our lives, a time comes when the feelings we have can never be repeated or reproduced again. Growing up and moving forward seemed to be the hardest thing for me to do. Funny, I always thought I’d spend my final days as a victim of an accident, not the victim of a disease.
Don’t lose each other again. We can’t go back, but we can go forward. Keep the memories and smile with them—hell, laugh with them—don’t lament over them.
I thank you all for being there throughout my life. I also thank you for supporting me with every decision I made. I had goals and dreams, just as everyone does, but now I know that I’ve already had the time of my life and you four were right there with me.
Don’t forget, and don’t stay away… it’s okay, we were the best, and someday, when you read this letter, you’ll understand what I knew then.
Here are my last instructions to you:
Grant, start making everyone laugh again.
Topher, stop worrying—lighten up.
Stephen, make your sarcasm and wittiness everyone’s constant companions
Brian, most importantly, make them all stay in touch.
I wish that I could have been there. Thank you for the best times of my life.
Long live The Shakers, and our friendship.
—Runaway
P.S. In my father’s garage next to my ’57, you’ll find a yellow ’55 Chevy sitting right next to mine—in the glove compartment you will find the pink slip. The car is up for grabs to anyone who wants it. Rest assured, I think the stench of Bret has finally left it.
As Brian finished, our eyes rested on the six-foot trophy standing in the corner.
About Kathleen Cook Huebbe
Kathleen Cook Huebbe was born in Southern California, and grew up listening to stories of street racing in the 1950s from her father, a street racer himself. First envisioned as a daydream,
Runaway
was in the making for over twenty years. While it took many years and many memories to make, it was one long and desperately loved dream.
She has been a high school English teacher for eighteen years. She enjoys writing, gardening, but most of all teaching. Many of her students have inspired and encouraged her to continue writing.
Kathleen Huebbe lives in Southern California with her husband, their three energetic young children, and Jake… their ever-patient Golden Retriever.