I met Wil in Brighton when I was 19, and I owe him my life.
I had left my home in Georgia with the clothes on my body, my passport, my boots, about 200 dollars and my guitar. I ran from home as far and as fast as I could. My goal? The airport. It was starting to rain about halfway to the airport. My hair was getting wet and my calves burned.
Still to this day i remember everything. From the beginning of my journey I had been sobbing. The city lights shone intensely, blurring in my eyes. When I got to the airport I was soaked, and when I got my one way ticket to the UK my passport was wet. I remember the lady chuckling at my dripping passport and making a snarky comment about it. Jackass.
When I got to Brighton my lips were chapped from biting them and I was hungry. I let the hunger set it and started walking. I didn't have much money so I stayed that way for days. I dont know what day it is but I dont care.
I finally got food today. I mustered up a bit of money playing songs on the metro so I went to the small business down the road. It was a shop called Gregg's. It had pastries and donuts and cookies and the aroma filled my nostrils as soon as I walked in. I got something called a "yum yum", a chocolate eclair and two sausage rolls. The sausage rolls were heavenly and I dont know if it was because I was so hungry or if they taste like that all of the time. I hadent heard of a Gregg's before but I'm glad I know what it is now.
Now I'm walking down the street, a Gregg's bag in my hand and my guitar on back. I'm startled by a voice ahead. Yelling. A drunk man is yelling at someone and it makes me feel sick. I think of home and what my parents said before I ran away. I back up quickly, turning my body looking for a way out in the crowded street. Then I hear a gruesome *thwack* and an "Ugh, man." I look up to see a tall man, not much taller than me though. He has brown hair sticking from his sock hat and honey eyes hiding behind his glasses. I cant even think of speaking. I can't even think of anything. My mouth hangs ajar and my eyes glaze over. Its too much at once and my hand starts shaking.
"Hey," he speaks low with a soft voice, "Are you alright?" He adds, "You look sickly," my stomach turns but I laugh it off.
" I always look sickly," I grin but i still feel anxious. His eyes go up and a smirk is placed on his lips.
" Are you sure your fine?" He asks. I nod. "How long have you been here?" Then he adds a quick " Or are you on a holiday?" I think. Then reply.
"I'm not sure how long I've been here, actually," I think again, "maybe a few weeks" I say this as a question almost. I speak again "I kind of ran away." His eyebrows go up.
"Really?" He asks, "I wouldn't mark you as mischievous," he then adds, mouth going up in a grin.
We walk down the street and suddenly I'm aware of how I must look, or smell really. I havent showered in weeks and as we talk im v e r y aware of that. But as we chat he doesn't really ask or mention anything about my appearance or my sent.
After I'm done telling him part of my story (keeping some of it to myself) he asks if I need to freshen up or if I need a change of clothes. My face heats up but I stutter a response and he walks me to the metro. As were on the train, I realize I'm going to a strangers home.
"Wait," I say as he turns his head toward me, " I dont even know your name." I squint at him, "For all I know you are some British serial killer," he laughs.
" Wilbur," he continues, " Wilbur Soot," then he laughs and adds "English, I'm English," he shoots a smile at me and I feel s l i g h t l y at ease.
"Sage, Sage Sands," he cocks his head again.
"Your initials are SS?" He has a toothy grin plastered to his face and he chuckles lightly.
"Well actually AFSS" I respond factually. His eyes go wide and he laughs harder than he should. "What?!" I ask him
"Who gives their kid FOUR names?!" Hes dying really. I just smile and shrug. Really they didn't. I did. I renamed myself after years or hating my name. My "real" name is on my driver's license. But I prefer my new name. It suits me. Asher Finch Sage Sands. It's long but fitting and people laugh when they hear it. So I just say Sage.
When we get to his house I'm weary. It's a tall apartment building but he says his flat is on the second floor. When we open the door there are records and music equipment on the floor. The walls are white, no posters hung, not decor or books. It looks like I thought itd look. He points me to the bathroom and hands me some clean clothes.
When I get out of the shower he offers to let me stay the night, giving I dont have a place to stay. He confuses me, that Soot man. I wouldn't let anyone stay at my house, let alone a stranger. But I take the offer anyway, giving a warm flat is better than a cold bench in a park or some dirty concrete outside of a storefront.
I already like this Soot man. And theres some weird glimer somewhere inside me hoping he doesn't kick me out when its finally light out.
I sleep the best I have in weeks laying on a couch, in a brown haired, englishmans flat. And I finally feel safe even though this is a stranger's home I'm in.
YOU ARE READING
Run away ( WS)
Random" You look sickly," he said. "I always look sickly," they responded. That's where young Sage's life changed forever.
