Running to Nothing

Summer

Running to Nothing

Danny abruptly sat up, his heart pounding in his chest, his sweat-drenched hair plastered on his forehead, his eyes, wide, staring anxiously up at his father, who was standing over him.

“We’re going.” He said, in a rough, angry voice, and Danny didn’t have to ask to know where it was they were going. He clambered out of bed and pulled on an old, holey T-shirt, and paused to stare around at his room. Small, the dull yellow paint peeling, the room had a constant smell of mothballs. Danny sighed and reluctantly trudged over to the miniscule drawer in his rickety old desk that was his closet, and pulled out a large trunk, one so big that it was almost unbelievable that it could fit in such a petite drawer.

Casting one last glance at the room, Danny picked up the heavy trunk, shouldered open the creaking, yellow door, and stepped into the hallway, dragging his heavy bag behind him. He heard his fathers arguing about where to go next, and why.

Danny knew why they had to run. He just didn’t understand why he had to run. It wasn’t his fault his father, Gordy, had had an affair with some woman, who was most likely dead, by now. It wasn’t his fault that that woman, Meredith, had told the officers where to find Gordy and his family. Of all these injustices, though, what nagged at Danny the most was the fact that if he spoke out, or if he rebelled against the unfair laws as his father, Gordy had, he would be killed. The number of times Gordy had escaped death by an inch. . . Danny preferred not to mention those moments, those brief instants where Danny felt so afraid, he was paralyzed. If it hadn’t been for Chris, his other father, they would have been dead a long time ago.

Danny wondered why Chris was doing all of this for Gordy. Did he really love him so much? So much that he would help him run, run from his past? They were running to nothing. They could not go back. Going forwards, towards nothing, with no other reason than fear. Fear of being caught, of being killed, of being tortured.

What Danny would never know, was that the reason Chris stayed with Gordy, took care them, was for Danny. Chris knew, that, if they were caught, Danny would be killed, for not turning Gordy in. And Chris loved his son, loved him so much that he would stay with the man who betrayed him, who gave up his steady, normal life for something only a woman could give him.

The rules were unfair, Danny knew. He knew that Gordy was different. That he preferred women to men. And that was against the rules. People like Gordy were executed. Shot, hung, poisoned. . .  Danny didn’t want his father dead, although he was tired of the many years of running away. His entire life he had been running in fear of something that was not done by him, of a crime that was committed by another.

Danny wondered where they would hide next. Sacramento? Nashville? They had lived in so many different houses, acted as so many different people, taken so many different names. He was sick of it.

It all affected him directly, too. Now, Danny would never get to go to college, or stay in a school, any school, for more than a few months.

And now they were going to start over again.

Danny walked through the hall, passing by his parent’s room, the kitchen, the small dining room, and right to the front door. He opened it and felt a cool gust of wind tousle his hair, tangling it. He turned, pausing only to look at the small house once more, before climbing into his parent’s hovercar and zooming off, not to speak one word during the entire trip.

Seattle. It was the first word that reached Danny’s ears as he opened his eyes, wincing in the bright, grey light that came from the roof of the hovercar, and how it contrasted with their dark surroundings, lit up only by a half moon, and even that seemed dull in comparison to the hovercars’ artificial light. Danny sighed and slouched back into his seat, listening closely to his parents’ discussion. He could only make out a few words, though.

“Seattle. . . names. . . Danny. . . college. . . hair dye. . .”
It was the same story over again. When they reached their house, a small beige house with blue trim, Danny didn’t even care to know where they were. He would find out, eventually.

As soon as they entered the house, they unpacked and debated what hair color to sport. What names to have. Nothing too common, it would seem “underly suspicious,” as Gordy said. Nothing too uncommon either because that would be almost like begging for attention.

They ended up picking three names, and although they were very simple, Danny just went along with it. Mike. Mike Hamilton. He was a quiet boy with brown hair and blue eyes, and glasses. Danny wore glasses regularly, but most of the time, he wore colored contacts, to mask his real eye color and his awful eyesight. Now, for the first time in two years, he was finally getting to have his natural eye and hair color. His parent had debated for a long time before deciding that dying his hair blond was out of the question since he had already been blond twice last year. Being a redhead was too noticeable, and he had already been one eight months ago. So, he just stuck to his natural look. It was a bit risky, but they were in Seattle and had led the officers off their trail by sending another hovercar somewhere in Florida.

Danny should have been happy. He got to sport his natural look, and he loved the climate in Seattle. Instead, he only felt a strange emptiness, a feeling that ate at him from inside, taking over him, like a sickness. This was his life. He had nothing to look forward to, nothing to look back on and smile. When he was an adult, he would have to run away, unless he wanted to turn himself in. . .

No. Why turn himself in if he hadn’t done anything? The whole situation was hopeless. Danny was stuck and he felt so alone, so helpless. He had no one to talk to, and he had tried not to make friends, because he knew, that, if he did, he would not be able to contain himself, and would spill his family's secrets.

Friendless, alone, and desperate, Danny sat upon his “new” bed and looked around at his room. Small, square, and painted a dull green that might have once been cheerful, it didn’t look particularly exciting, just dreary, which Danny was fine with. It portrayed his emotions exactly.

The one thing that stood out in the room, was a large, chestnut colored desk, with drawers and a searchboard, which would help Danny immensely with his studying. He remembered the few houses that had not had searchboards, let alone desks. And, since his parents knew that searchboards could easily be tracked, they had not allowed Danny to have one of his own.

In fact, many of the things Danny owned had never felt like his. He never got to pick his clothes. Every time they moved, his parents bleached and dyed them a different color, to fit his “personality.” To fit his many personalities. Or at least, the ones he portrayed. David liked green. Alex was a punk. Max was a quiet nerd.

Danny was starting to wonder who Danny was. Was he cool? Was he hot? Was he funny? Nice? Dorky? He had spent so much time being other people, he had almost never been himself. Getting- no. Having to be Mike was the closest he had ever gotten to himself. Brown hair, blue eyes. . . shy? Funny? Loud? His own personality was yet another mystery Danny was sure never to figure out.

The next day, after having registered at his new school and practiced using his new name, Danny entered in his first class. Music.

Music was the only thing Danny was sure belonged to him. He loved it. It helped him escape from reality, enter a world where no one had to follow any rules, where he could have friends, real friends, a nice home, and a happy life, one that didn’t involve running away from a crime he hadn’t committed.

His teacher, Mr. Phillips, was an old balding man, with a surprisingly loud voice. He wore a suit with a purple bowtie and played Beethoven.

The class finished, Danny began to walk out the door, behind the mob of chattering students, when Mr. Phillips called his name. Nervously, Danny spun around and began to slowly walk towards his teachers' desk.

Does he know? He thought. How does he know? I went by Mike! He can’t know. He can’t! Breathing heavily, Danny swallowed as he looked down at Mr. Phillips, who was sitting at his desk, hands folded patiently. Filled with dread, Danny waited.

“As you may not know, Mr. Hamilton, every student in music, is, unless already excelling at the playing of an instrument, required to play in the orchestra.”

Danny almost fainted with relief.

“I-I play the piano. . . I guess.” Danny wasn’t sure whether Mike should play the piano or not, but he knew Danny did. Mr. Phillips nodded slightly and gestured towards an old, chestnut-colored piano sitting by the window, coated in dust. Danny’s heart began to pound in his chest. A piano! An actual piano! The only thing Danny knew he loved, knew Danny loved, was playing the piano. A wooden, soundless keyboard was the only thing his parents let him bring with him, was the thing that was in the large case he brought with him whenever he moved. His mother had taught him to play, and he practiced constantly on the soundless keyboard, having only played on a real piano a few times, when, in elementary school, they had had music class, and he had found an abandoned piano in the music room.

As Danny sat down at the piano, he carefully blew on the keys, and dust went flying in the air, settling on the floor and on Danny’s clothes. The professor cleared his throat impatiently, Danny placed his hands on the keys and began to play.

As he played, he felt. He felt sad and happy and fearful all at once. His heart felt as if it were flying around his chest, dancing to the music. He was engulfed in a bittersweet joy, and he wanted to cry, laugh and scream at the same time. His fingers flying across the keys, the music bursting out, sounding like the spring, the winter the fall, the summer, and suddenly, he was flying. He was in his own world, a world where he and his parents sat in the sun, laughing and talking, a world where he had friends, a world where he cried and danced. A world he could never reach, one far away, but. . . if he could just reach out, just try, he could get there.

A world where he was Danny.  

He stopped. His world flew away, dissolved, grew wings and left. All that was left was Danny, his tingling fingers, and a crying Mr. Phillips.

Yes, Danny’s music professor had tears in his eyes, and a smile on his face. Danny stood and turned to exit the classroom, but Mr. Phillips’s voice stopped him.

“You have talent, Mr. Hamilton. You should use it.”

Danny looked at him. Mr. Phillips nodded encouragingly.

“I have a friend.” He started. “He knows when the auditions to enter into Julliard are.”

Danny frowned. Juilliard was a prestigious, yet amazing school for the arts in New York.

“You should think about applying to college, Mr. Hamilton. After your performance today, I do believe you could get in.”

Mr. Phillips smiled and walked towards him, pulling a crumpled brochure from his coat pocket. The Juilliard brochure.

“Do consider auditioning, will you?”

When Danny got home, his head was spinning. College? New York? Juilliard? It was all too much. Yet to Danny, it meant escape. Escape from the torture of running away every few months, escape from a meaningless life.

But he knew his parents would never agree.

Still, he had to try. For his own good.

That night, at dinner, Danny cleared his throat. Gordy looked at him, frowning.

“What is it, Da-Mike?”

Danny sighed. “Can’t you just call me Danny? When there’s no one around?”

His father shook his head.

“Fine.” Danny retorted, and the silence that followed was overwhelming. Finally, unable to stand it, Danny stood up.

“I want to go to Juilliard.” He said it loudly and clearly, but Gordy and Chris blinked, not understanding.

“I’m sorry, what?” Gordy’s tone was soothing, but with an edge.

“Oh, you heard me. I said, I want to go to Juilliard. To college. I want a life!” Danny almost screamed the last phrase and stopped talking when he saw Gordy’s murderous expression.

“Juilliard,” Gordy said the words softly, yet there was such anger in his voice that Danny backed up. His father stood.

“After all we’ve done for you, you want to leave us, and go to college.”

Danny’s anger was rekindled. “Yes!” He shouted. “Yes! I do want to go to college! And what have you done for me? Have me switching schools every month, having a new name, a new identity, and new me. . . you think I’m grateful?”

Now it was Chris’s turn to get angry.

“Do you know,” he said, quietly, “what they would do to you if they found you?”

Danny paled. He felt tears coming and ran into his room, sobbing.

It was enough. He was done. He had no life. He couldn’t go to college without his parents allowing it. He needed support.

More than ever, Danny felt alone. He ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind him, and pulled out Gordy’s pills, furiously.

He poured out three pills, swallowed them

A world with friends.

He poured out another three pills and swallowed them.

A world of laughter, a world with no rules.

Three more.

A world where I can sit in the sun, free.

Three more.

A world of love.

Three more.

A world of music.

Three more.

A world of summer, of spring.

Three more. . .

A world where I can be Danny.