I wrote that note twenty minutes ago. It’s been pinned to the cork board propped up against my desk since. The handwriting’s a little sloppy, but there weren’t any lines on that page of the K Mart catalogue. I need lines or my handwriting ends up looking crap. You can still read it, but it’s just not as neat as I can be. If I had a ruler I’d rule the lines myself, but what’s a runaway note if not a little sloppy? I guess the note’s a bit short too. I should maybe make it longer.

Bye Mom. Bye Dad. See you whenever. Tell Jane I love her. I’m leaving because I have better things to do with my life. Better things than to sit around every day talking to Dr. Adult-Acne about the recurring nightmare where I’m a dog and everyone else in the world is an animal rapist. Chris.

I suppose that would have more bulk. Give them something to work with, something substantial to blow into their hankies about. Perhaps some explanation to give Jane when she’s older and wonders what happened to that lanky boy who liked to stroke her hair and pinch her nose. She’ll ask about me when she’s maybe eleven. My parents would point to the fridge door and on it would be that note, as freshly crisp as the day I wrote it. Jane would read it and then float into the next room to quietly sob to herself. She’d sob tears of relief that her brother is doing better things and no longer discussing dog rapes and looking into the eyes of a huge zit. But she’d also sob tears of grief because the reality of no longer having a brother who loves her would settle in. That would make her sad. I don’t really want to make Jane sad. New note.

Bye Mom. Bye Dad. See you whenever. Tell Jane I think she’s okay. Enough of talking about dog rapes for me, I have better things to do. Chris.

A note like that won’t hurt Jane’s feelings at all. She’d be eleven and taller and won’t even blink after reading it. She might wonder about dog rapes though. Like if dog rapes were one of the topics we discussed at the dinner table as we cut into our steaks and potatoes. Or if we had a dog, maybe a sausage dog, and it was raped again and again in a totally mean way and the police kept questioning me about it. Jane might think that. She’s very smart. Or if our sausage dog, who we’d call Patrick or maybe Glenn, went off raping other dogs and the owners of the other dogs kept asking me what happened to their dogs that was making them limp all funny. That’s possible too. They’d ask, what happened here? And I’d say, I don’t know. Then they’d ask, did you see anything? And I’d just shrug because I’d had enough of talking about the stupid dog rapes. Yeah. Scrap dog rapes. I don’t want to be associated with dog rapes. It’s not very cheery at all. I want them to be happy for me after I’m gone. The note should be something that gives them hope. 

Bye Mom. Bye Dad. See you whenever. Tell Jane I think she’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be more than fine. Jeremy’s cousin taught us how to break into cars last weekend and says we can join up with his business. Kind of like an internship. No more school for me, I guess. Chris.

Just listen to me, the career man. Dad would be so proud. He’s always bugging me about the real world and here I go, jumping right in there with an internship. An internship in the automotive industry no less. That’s even better since Dad’s such a car fanatic. He’s always waxing and polishing the sedan. I just know Dad will sleep easier knowing I’m making something of my life and learning the ropes of Jeremy’s cousin’s auto business. He’ll tell all his co-workers about me. About how fast I can break into someone’s car and how sneaky I can be. Everyone else will be so jealous and fantasize about their sons running away. I don’t think Mom would be as proud though. She thinks school’s important and doesn’t like Jeremy’s cousin much. Maybe a note like this will make Mom go crazy. I guess I need to bend the truth a little.

Bye Mom. Bye Dad. See you whenever. Tell Jane I think she’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be more than fine. I’ve arranged to stay at a friend’s house for the next few weeks. He lives in a nice neighborhood. I’ll continue taking my medication until it runs out. I will try my hardest not to be hurt or die. Chris.

That’s more like it. I prefer the tone of this note much better. It’s upbeat and makes me sound like a promising adolescent who has nothing to do with dog rapes whatsoever. And there’s no mention of Jeremy’s cousin at all. It’s like he doesn’t even exist. So who’s going to drop out of school and join a crime gang? Not me. I’m going to a friend’s house. He lives in a nice neighborhood, my friend. We’ll play crosswords and watch sports on television all day. I’ll have so much fun, breaking into cars would be the last thing on my mind. So this is the note then. I’ll just find a new piece of paper, one with lines, and write it out neatly. I like the last sentence. I’m nothing if not unselfish. That Chris, they’ll think, he’s so amazing. He has so much talent and such readable handwriting. We’re going to miss him because he’s so special to us. They’ll think that, and then they’ll cry for a long time. Most importantly, Jane won’t see me as a loser when she’s eleven and taller because her brother had a friend he could stay with. She’ll know exactly where her brother lived for the next few weeks after he ran away. Wait. So would my parents. New note.

Bye Mom. Bye Dad. See you whenever. Tell Jane I’m not a loser. I have plans and a better life waiting for me. It’s a new world out there for me, Mom, Dad. It’s a world where I’m a dog and . . . 

New note.

Bye Mom. Bye Dad. See you whenever. Tell Jane I’m not a loser. Tell her I think she’s okay. Woof woof. Chris.

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