K moves

To the last load of her laundry she had been cleaning our room for weeks. All of her clothes were in the dresser drawers or hung up. Her books were in boxes and we had smuggled a couple pots and pans in. She was ready and had every one lined up. She was 18 and leaving home in secret. Running away was more like it. It was the most organized runaway she had ever done. Since the time she had packed up her little red wagon and our mother had tempted her back with a game of Cootie she had gradually been more organized. From shushing me from her hiding place under a neighbors porch to me packing up all our coins and taking a sweater to the garage, where out mother soon found her and locked her till the cops came. Usually quickly, always found. But not this time.
The adrenaline made me giddy as the thought of leaving did her but that thought to me was... We waited silent in our room looking out the window. Waiting for the heavy tread of out parents coming to be, or the headlights, which ever came first.
She had mad up some industrious story about re gluing, or refinishing her dresser. The heavy lifting waited on the enclosed porch. We leaned out the screenless window together waiting and smoking. Then we saw the headlights and her friends get out of the car waving up to us. Her whisper holler said she'd be right down. She tossed her cigarette over the roof and snuck downstairs with a drawer. From above it was a circus act. The mimes oversold sneaking back and forth from the porch to the street. A dresser supported between to sneaking theater members has so much potential for humor. Then one by one she hustled the boxes and drawers away.
Her last trip back was to remind me of the plan. If the check on us tell them shes asleep. This ran the risk of getting me busted, but then I had been a willing and glad participant. Right up until this moment, the moment of her leaving me. And leaving me all the repercussions. I was sad, and jealous, and knew the only way to survive was to get away.