Running Away Every Sunday

Why did I want to run away, I asked myself when leaving home for the train station.

“Sorry I am late,” Kanae arrived.

“It’s okay. I came early.”

This Sunday was our first time taking a train. Kanae wanted to see a planetarium that had opened in the town two hours away. After visiting it we went window shopping, and she picked clothes for me. I treated her to canned juice after we had lunch. Later, we found a spot near the river where we could sit in the grass, watching the afternoon sun that had begun to hang low.

I still remember the first time we ran away together.

It was the day I fought with my mother. My grade was second, after Kanae in the school rankings. “How could you lose to that woman’s daughter?” accused mother, referring to Kanae, my sister born of my father’s mistress. “If you don’t work hard, those two will steal everything we have. Don’t you understand?”

So I left the house, and ran into Kanae.

We hung out until late and were accosted by the police. They asked if we were runaways, which gave us the idea. Ever since, we would meet in secret on Sundays to get away from our mothers’ rivalry.

“They say you shouldn’t run from your problem,” I said, feeling the grass under my hands. “But if the problem is not yours, what’s wrong with running?”

“I hate adults who force children to fight for their pride,” said Kanae. “Still, they are our mothers.”

The sun was setting.

Why did I want to run away? I just wanted to spend time with my sister.

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