“POW” my father slammed a chair against the wall. “ You, you and your son are stupid. Stupid People. You don’t know nothing.” spoke my dad. “ Don’t you dare, dare call your son stupid. Call me stupid. But you never call your son stupid.” yelled my mother, in a pitch that seemed to rise with each word. I stood there, wanting to scream. Pound my fists into this mans back. My mother was hurt and terrified.

I walked bundled up to school. Steam rose from the basement Laundromats. Newspapers flew around. The music of buses and car horns enveloped the fog like mist. I walked down the grungy steps of the New York City Subway, and began my journey to school.

“ Hello Mr. Tyrell. Why are you late, again?” spoke Ms. Murphy my homeroom teacher. As I stepped into the room, the familiar snicker of voices rose. I felt all alone. “ Subways was running late” I said. “ Take a sit, and if your late one more time, it’s off to the dean” yelled Ms. Murphy. Yeah I thought, better than here.

None of my classmates liked me. My best friend (Catherine) was in class 8122. I was in 814. They all didn’t like me cause my clothes weren’t new, and I have had the same coat since the 6th grade. Everyday of my life seemed to be a struggle. At home, and at school.

As I sat in math class I began to daydream about days past……. “ Come on Mommy. Come on Daddy. Lets go meet Mickey Mouse!” I was so excited, we were at Disney World. We were off to see the infamous Mickey Mouse.

The sights and sounds of Disney World filled the air. Screams tumbled down from above. Howls of laughter filled the air, like a pack of wolves. It was the perfect day, my parents walked hand in hand, laughing.

“ BRRRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGGG” went the dismissal bell. I busted out of the classroom. I ran into Catherine. “ Hey where you bookin to ?” she said with a laugh. “ You know me places to go, people to see! Wanna come over?” “ Can’t gotta work my uncles deli.” said Catherine. “ Oh okay.” I spoke in a quiet voice. I plugged in my headphones, and let the sound envelope my ears.

Running and Music. Whenever something happened at home I would take my mp3 player, and run. I would not stop running. The whoosh of the wind. The sigh of the trees along the side streets. I would run.

I stepped of the old rickety elevator, and took my key out of my shoe. The elevator with girls numbers written on the side, and the warped green buttons. The familiar scent of cooking filled my nose. Mrs. Evans must have been making fried chicken. I opened the door to my apartment, to find it turned over, and my mother silently weeping on the couch

“ Ma, what happened. Who did this? Where’s dad? What’s going on?” I asked with panic in my voice. MY blood pulsing. “ YYYoooouuurr fattthher has left.” my mother whispered. What? When did this happen?

Blood rushed to my face. Heart pounding. I looked at my moms face. The pained look made a dent in my soul forever. I dropped my bag, and my feet began to move.
Running. Running down the avenue. My heart raced. Why did my father do this. My head spun at 120 miles per hour, then all of a sudden it stopped.
I stormed back upstairs. Thinking why would he. Who? Mrs. Evens stood at the door offering for me to come in I didn’t pay any attention I had to find out./ I busted open the metal door.
“Why the heck would he leave? Huh mom? What did we do mom?” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “ I don’t know honey. I’m sorry. I couldn…” my mom stopped mid sentence, and broke into tears. “ Ma, I ain’t mad at you. I am mad at that pig headed jerk. If I ever find him, I will” I spoke this time less loud, but still yelling. My mother lied limp on the sofa.

That night I fixed Chicken Soup for me and her. I got her to eat al little. Then I made some tea. My mom seemed to be in so much shock. That night I lied awake on my pull out sofa bead, and cried.

For the next couple of weeks, my mom sunk deeper into the sofa. Her face seem to disappear. She was a shadow of her own shadow. Her body seemed weak, and wrinkles of sadness formed on her face.
Soon, I became worried. I did not know what to do. I wasn’t worried about myself. But my mom. And the Bills. Since nobody was working, we couldn’t pay the bills, I started using my college fund to get groceries and pay the rent.
One day I had enough. I walked into the guidance counselors room, and told everything. I told her about my dad, my mom, our family. For I was not worried about myself, but my mom. The guidance counselor said we would contact ACS and would figure out what to do.
The Social Worker came one day. She told me to pack my bags, and say good bye to my mother. I asked her what was going to happen to my mom. Where would she end up? She said they were taking her to a hospital in Upstate New York.
I was taken uptown, into an even dirtier building. There was no elevator, only old creaky stairs. We opened the door to the apartment, and pure chaos filled the air.
I stepped inside, and was ushered into a room, with exactly 16 bunks. They put me at a bunk at the end, and said this is your new home. The room smelled of day old fish in week old socks. How could this become my new home.
Slowly I got used to the group home. I became tough. I used to be able to run when I felt trapped, now I need my caseworker to sign off on everything! The woman who ran it was a plump woman. She often hid in her room, listening to Frank Sinatra.
In the group home I was often bullied, but I didn’t take it. I would call my mom twice a month. She was getting better. The doctors said he would be out in a year, I hoped then I could go home.

Epilogue

Tyrell did join his mother, two years later. They never did hear from his dad. Neither of them cared. Through out everything, Tyrell never forgot three things. To keep moving. Never stop. Keep Hope.