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We came to a town. It was small, with a little gas station and a couple of houses, a pharmacy, but that was it.
I followed Clara into the pharmacy, where we wondered the isles. I watched as Clara, hesitantly, but quickly stuffed some food into her clothing.
I wanted to grab her arm and make her put it back, but we had no money, and we desperately needed more food.
Clara walked out the store confidently, and thankfully, nothing happened.
I followed behind her as we continued on along the road.
I looked at the road signs, street names embedded into my mind. Palm Street, Green Haze Avenue, Church Road.
And the houses, blue's, greens, and even one a bright red. Porches with small swings on it and sometimes little cats sitting lazily in windows, watching as we walked by.
I longed for the warmth inside those homes, to sit in a chair and feel okay, to know I was safe and wouldn't have to worry anymore.
I wondered if it would ever come.
We spent weeks on foot, stealing from stores, washing our hair in cold streams, or in gas station sinks.
We walked in the rain and snow.
I remember shivering at night as we clung to each other for warmth, sitting underneath streetlamps or in alleyways once we got to the bigger towns.
I remember Clara selling herself for money, letting men do what they wanted with her for a night. She always told me to hide, wanting no one to find me and take advantage.
I remember sitting outside in the cold, crying, wondering what horrible things those men could do to her.
But she always returned in the morning with money, dark circles under her eyes as she stared emotionlessly.
I watched my sister become another person. Another being.
Something less human with each night.
I feared I wouldn't ever get her back.