Running Away.

Running Away. -By Brian Sottosanti.

No one was found outside the homes, except for the gardeners who were given orders by thin gesturing ladies, who would point their spindly fingers down at their manicured hedges, which bowed to their feet like arch angels. Almost every house had security cameras, yet the only crime we'd ever experienced was when a few delinquent kids littered a few gummy-bears on my dad's car.

We could hear the gentle trickling of the KoiPond which meant we were close to Max's house. It brought the dreamy feeling of mermaid cove from one of our favorite stories, PeterPan. If we were lucky, when the wind would wrestle with the canopy of palm fronds, little golden flecks would fall from the trees, and shimmer in the light, like pixie dust. Our skips quickened as we came closer to Max's house.

At the time, we only thought of his house as "Max's house", but it was the house of Bob, not any old Bob. It was Bob Iger the CEO of Disneyland. It's funny how back then we unconsciously made such a good choice of a home in which to spend the rest of our lives. Bob's hair was slicked back with gel. Streaks of grey, ran through it, like veins of granite through black marble. His face looked sculpted and possessed a presidential.  The usual expression reminded me of a Roman gladiator that was turned to stone. On the rare occasion when we'd see him, he'd say plainly "Hello Brian and Venice". And I would imagine him replacing his "gladiator" working face with another. I wondered if different faces like swatches of fabric were kept in his bag. He'd then turn in the direction of his private office and disappear. His shoes were a gray leather, and I recall seeing a small piece of blue plastic which popped from his heal as he walked. We asked our mom what the shiny blue thing was. She said it was something called a "shoe lift" that made you taller.

"Like the "Eat Me" cake from Alice in wonderland?" we would ask.

"Sure just like that," she said with her eyebrows raised, and a smile. Our yellow brick road had only a few more skips to go,

"If we only had some Cheetos," I said.
"The Emerald City gates!" Venice shouted, swinging her bobbed golden hair.
We arrived at the tall varnished doors, each coated in a pristine ivy green. On each side
were two plastic black boxes with tiny red lights that stared at us. We looked around not completely knowing what to do.

"Look Bri, over here. I'll press the button. It's the red one" "How do you know?" I asked.
"Because I watched mom and I know!"

"That's not fair, I want to press it!"--
"No, I get to!"-
A high pitched beep came from one of the cameras as it rotated towards us, stopping with a click. It watched from behind a thick layer of bullet proof glass as our meaningless bickering immediately silenced.

"What was that!?" I asked anxiously.
"I don't know just ring the button already. We don't have all the days you know!" "Okay! Okay!" I answered back with a stressed whisper.

I looked down to my spiderman roller, and cleared my throat. It was time. I went for the first button I could see which had to have been it, for it was green, and big, and practically screaming for me to push it. A faint ring echoed throughout the house far beyond the gate, and within a few moments it silenced. We waited. Instead of Max or Bob Iger coming to answer, one of his guards came from a tall gray door near the left side of the gate post. He looked us up and down, sharpening his eyes. He walked down the slanted driveway. A confused look spread across his face, as he hooked his thumbs to his waist, gripping the thick polished leather of his belt. We looked up at him and smiled confidently.

"Good Morning! We've come to move in with Max forever because we can't have Cheetos."

The guard stood there, confused and speechless, his eyes darting in all directions. We kept giving the guard a lengthly explanation of why we've come, yet nothing seemed to help. He zoned out from our babbling little mouths, turned away, staring down the street at a car. A familiar hum caught our attention. We knew It was her, our mommy coming to swallow us up again into a world where Cheetos didn't exist. Sure enough she pulled up behind us. The guard's face lost its sharpness as he slowly realized what was going on.

"Get in the car you two!" Yelled our mom as the glass of the window slid down.
Our storybook of an adventure had closed. Slowly climbing into the car, we pulled our little backpacks behind us, up and onto the seat. The guard stood now composed and his face regained its burning sharpness. He then looked at my mom, almost imperceptibly shaking his head. We were almost happy that the guard did such a thing, because after all that is what we wanted her to feel the whole time, some sort of shame.

"Uh, sorry!" My mom shouted with a sarcastic smile to the guard.
We rode home with her, secretly feeling relieved that we were back, wondering maybe if she would feel sorry for us and give us some Cheetos. Max's house grew smaller as it eventually disappeared; our Emerald city was left behind. Leaning my head on the glass, I looked out my window, observing the neighborhood in a different way. A less observant way, a way where everything moved by quickly, and only glints of falling leaves and the Champagne light which highlighted the street side tree bark could be seen.

That must be the view that all those people who ride down in their big reflecting cars must see, I thought. I remember feeling bad for the people who rode around in their cars, how they had missed all the wonders we'd find while taking a walk or even running away. It was like when you finally get to Disneyland, and take a trolly through the parking lot to get to each ride, instead of walking through the theme park.

We arrived back home to the familiar face of our Spanish blue gate, covered in iron hinges, spindles and each side column ringed in bands of gleaming tile.

Is she going to say sorry? Is she going to get mad? Is she gonna give us Cheetos? We thought.

Nightfall had set, the trees had lost their spotted afternoon light, and had slipped on their evening coat of dark blues and burnt reds. I remember always loving the table in the dinning room because it had a thick glass top and would reflect the overhead silk Fortuny light fixture. Through the glass it created the image of what we thought looked like a pitched glowing circus tent, where little people lived, who'd put on shows for our curious eyes above. But tonight we sat at the iron table, with the accompany of the prim faced flowers, and two victorian candle holders. Mom entered with a dome covered tray, and set it on the table, then lifted it off to reveal a large browned turkey.

I wish that the circus performers behind the glass hadn't left, and that those days as fatuous as they were, hadn't lost their gold. The days where flowers spoke, and clouds were so easily made creatures; and where cheap vending machine snacks inaugurated the strangest of choices.