Sam's Great Escape

Sam was always an outdoor child.

Cycling, running, disappearing for hours and coming back sunburnt, dusty, and starving.

His appetite was legendary. Well into his early twenties, his metabolism seemed to run at triple speed.

Breakfast could be six eggs, baked beans, six - sometimes ten - slices of toast, a glass of milk, some fruit if it happened to be around. He wasn’t fussy. He just needed volume.

And then he’d do the same thing all over again at the next meal.

So one day, for reasons now lost to time but very clear to him then, he decided he’d had enough.

He was going to run away from home.

He packed a small bag, slung it over his back, got on his cycle, and announced his departure.

I said, “Okay. Bye.”

And off he went.

This was a different time. The neighbourhood was made for wandering. Quiet streets, no main roads, familiar shops - the kind of place where an eleven-year-old could ride for hours without ever feeling lost.

He cycled hard.

Up one street, down another. Around corners, past houses he knew.

The wind rushed through his hair, his legs burned, his chest felt light and full. He had done it. He had actually run away from home. This was freedom. This was the beginning of a grand adventure.

The rush was intoxicating.

The speed.

The movement.

The delicious not-knowing of what came next.

And then, somewhere along the way, he thought he heard a rumble.

He rode on.

The sound returned. Soft at first. Easy to ignore.

Easily drowned out by the rush of air and the pounding of his heart. Each time it appeared, he pedalled a little harder, as if speed alone could outrun it.

But the sound didn’t belong to the road or the wind.

The pain that now accompanied the rumble made it hard to ignore. He had a stick of gum in his pocket and chewed it, hoping to satiate his stomach.

The rumbling grew louder, sharper.

The ache in his stomach became impossible to ignore, the kind that folded him inward even as he kept moving forward.

The adventure began to wobble. The wind in his hair lost its magic.

This suddenly didn’t feel like the grand escape he’d imagined. He had a little money in his pocket - enough for a packet of chips. Nowhere to go. No plan beyond the moment.

No idea where to go or how to get dinner on this adventure.

This adventure was fast losing its appeal.

That evening, as I was cooking dinner, I realised I needed something from the Home Buzz, the grocery store just a few minutes from home. Got what I needed and was standing in the check-out line.

Paid my bill and saw a familiar figure behind me.

Apparently he hadn’t realized he knew this person in front of him; he was looking all around.

I didn’t look at him.

I just said, “Dinner at seven.”

I went home, finished cooking, and laid the table.

I looked at the clock. It was 6.55.

I put the food on the table. Kababs and hot parattas. They smelled good.

The clock showed 7pm. I heard the door latch open.

Young Sam walked in as if nothing had happened.

Bag was probably abandoned just inside the entrance.

Face innocent.

Stomach rumbling loudly...

He dug in.

As if he had never left at all.

He never thought of running away again.