Aimlessly

by Krisztina Janosi

As I hurry down the stairs to catch the tram, I wave a last goodbye to my mom. I look at my phone to check the time, and, yep, I’d better take off. So I run. All the way, all hundred-and-ninety meters from our gate to the tram stop. Ugh. To no avail. The tram is gone. I missed it again. I know what comes next. You’re late again, the third time in a row. Sit down and pull yourself together. Okay, exactly. That is what I’m trying to do, but nothing seems to work.

I get to school only five minutes late. Not bad. I race upstairs as fast as I can, but there are so many stairs. I just can’t do it that quickly. I counted them once. The exact number is sixty-eight. And here we go.

The teacher looks at me as if I were some kind of disgusting nuisance, gruffly instructing me to sit down. I haven’t done my homework either, since I played Scrutiny on my phone all day and somehow couldn’t bring myself to do it. Sometimes mom does it for me, but this time it had to be written by hand, so she couldn’t. I didn’t even mention it to her. Because then she would also have nagged me to death. We would have fought about it, but I still wouldn’t have done it. I know myself. I am hopeless.

So here we are. The teacher asks us to pull out our homework. I’m trying to disappear and stay very very quiet, praying he will not pick me. This time I don’t end up on the hook, but last time I got an F for the very same reason. As I already said, I just can’t motivate myself to do homework. Mom is always annoying me about this. I just want her to leave me alone. But she can’t do it. No one seems to understand me. Sometimes even Bloopie is coming up to me as if he were my mom, demanding I clean up my room. What part of “leave me alone” can’t they understand?

When the school day is finally over, I’m not much happier, since I got reprimanded by the teacher for the foul language I was allegedly using. Mom will not understand this either, but I have to tell her anyway. Otherwise, she’ll find out from the teacher, and it will be way worse.

I am walking home with some of my classmates, trying to have at least a little fun before my mom gets angry at me. We decide to go shop-hopping in Mammut Mall, which is just around the corner. We don’t have much money on us, so we skip Starbucks, but we do cram in Rossmann, DM, Pepco, H&M, even a cosmetics shop to look at the bath bombs. We are looking at them until, poof, one of us somehow drops one. As it splashes on the floor, we want to run away, but it’s too late. One of the employees has spotted us. There’s no escaping. We have to pay for the damage, so we all chip in, but it’s still not enough. Really, why does a stupid bath bomb have to be so expensive? It’s their fault. Anyway, we give them what we have – with everybody chipping in. The employee looks at us with a strict expression, shakes her head and finally lets us go with a deep sigh. It was funny and miserable at the same time. Hell, I hate this. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel. I want to laugh at it, but I know it’s wrong. Why did it have to happen to us? Somehow, nothing seems to be working lately. The only good thing is that I live close by, because now all I want is to be home where I am at least safe. Sigh. Or not. Mom will be mad at me because of the reprimand. To hell with that, too. Everything is a mess today.

I take the two hundred and forty-eight steps from the mall on Margit Boulevard, open the big brown wooden gate, which gives a loud creek as I push it in, and closes with a big deep reverberating bang after I’m in. I head upstairs. Slowly I walk to our apartment, and plop down in the corridor next to the door. I sit there for a few minutes, and only get up because I’m afraid some neighbor will spot me and tell me I’m going to catch a cold. Which is nonsense anyways. It’s the middle of May. So I walk in. Mom sees through me right away, and I can’t help but tell her about the reprimand. Apparently she is learning. She doesn’t take it that bad. So I proceed with my daily routine, which is laying down on the bed to play Scrutiny.

Soon it’s evening again. I hate evenings. This is the time of the day when Mom starts to nag me about homework, showering, cleaning my room and all that. And, as a bonus, we always end up fighting. I just don’t get it. Why does she have to shout at me for nothing? Life could be so peaceful if she shut up for once. This time I tell her I’ve had enough of her constant whining. It would be so nice to get away from this all. I wish I could do that one day. Yes, I’d walk out of this craziness for good, turn my back on the green walls of my room, the mess I always make, Bloopie’s whining, and the most annoying thing in my life, which is Mom’s badgering. I’d leave behind the yellow buildings on the boulevard, the stuffed smog of the city, and maybe even leave this whole civilization, with all the people that annoy me and that I annoy.

This thought lingers in my head, and the more I think about it, the more comforting it gets. I wish I could just do it. I wonder if they’d miss me, though. Could it be that secretly they also liked the idea of me running away? Subconsciously. Well, I hope that is not the case. I hope mom would get hysterical, and would search everywhere, go to the police, call everyone, just to find her one and only little sweet daughter.

Anyway, I’d just fill my backpack, walk down crowded Margaret Avenue to Széll Kálmán Square, descend into the raw concrete station and take the subway to the Southern Railway Station. Look at the homeless who are gathering in the underground passage and around the station area. Some of them are old, have been living out in the open there for years, decades even. Some of them are young like me, but being homeless has made them look old. Who knows, one day I might end up like them.

It’s funny how I looked down upon them just weeks ago, and now I’m contemplating joining their circles. I’d direct a tentative smile in their direction, but continue on my way up the stairs to the asphalt gray platforms to pick a train. Wouldn’t matter where it takes me. It should just be far enough. Maybe even across the border. Now that would be something. I’d take one of the shabbiest long-distance ones with no air conditioning, smelly seats and greasy floors. I’d hated them every time we’d had to take one when we went to some remote place, but now I feel like this is where I belong. I’d just pick one with a departure time not far off, as I know sooner or later they’d be after me. I guess I’d have to hide on the train, too. Would be fun to always try to avoid the conductor, which I’d have to do not only because I wouldn’t want them to find me, but also, because I wouldn’t have a ticket. I’d sit on the toilet for most of the journey, I guess. And the border crossing – that would be another challenge. I’d have to plan that better. Or maybe a remote little village within Hungary will do. There are enough of those, where I could just show up from out of nowhere and ask old ladies for food. Or steal from the shops, like I sometimes did now. Or eat wild plants. Or sneak onto somebody’s land and eat their tomatoes and cabbage. Or go catch dogs for a Chinese restaurant. Just joking, I could never do that. I love doggies. My friend Julie has a puppy now, a really cute one. Some homeless people also have dogs, so the authorities can’t force them to go to a shelter. Anyway, if I became homeless, maybe I’d have a dog, too. Not for protection, but for love. Seems like only a dog could love me and accept me the way I am. So no dog catching for Chinese restaurants. But, actually, the idea of the restaurant is great, I could be a waitress in the summertime at Lake Balaton. Yes, I’d definitely go for that.

So, once in the Southern Railway Station, after passing the homeless, I’d know my train. Take the one going to Tapolca, along the northern side of the lake. Travelling on those trains is an adventure in itself, for two reasons: one of them is the train itself, as it is sometimes late, sometimes on time, sometimes you have air conditioning, sometimes you don’t, but you can’t open the windows no matter what, and sometimes you don’t even have a seat, because there are not enough carriages. The other reason is the scenery. Right after it departs, the train passes through a long and run-down tunnel, right outside the Southern Station, to start the adventure. I like it best when the lights in the carriage don’t work, leaving the minds and souls in total darkness.

Legend has it that Whiskey Guy, an infamous criminal, a modern-day Robin Hood, ran through this tunnel while escaping from the police after robbing a bank. Allegedly he didn’t succeed, but escaped from prison like three times.

Then Lake Velence. Been there, done that, too. Back to the times when I was a toddler and enjoyed splashing in the shallow water at the edge, building sandcastles. Or the family pizza nights at the restaurant nearby. Or the colorful plastic pedalboat, when mom was pedaling, but having little success at steering. Okay, that was embarrassing. Then it goes through Székesfehérvár, an ugly jungle of concrete blocks placed in the middle of an old rural town. It has a spacious railway station with several tracks and platforms, which gives ample opportunity for the railway traffic managers to reschedule trains disrupted by constant delays. I can imagine that soon we’d almost be there. I’d have a sore butt from sitting on the train toilet, and also, would have gotten used to the smells coming from both the filthy toilet and the old and rusty car itself, which reeks of stale tobacco, sweat, machine oil and God only knows what.

The tracks would curve through the yellow rape fields, the corn rows and occasional sunflower patches dried out by the scorching heat in the summer. Finally, the train would arrive at the lake. The Lake Itself. The typical greenish-brownish water – in some years more translucent than in others, sometimes frowning and throwing foaming waves at me – is the lake where I feel like I have reached home. I’d be standing by the window, I mean, the toilet window, to catch that first glimpse of it when it slowly makes its appearance and secretly shows its shining colors, peeking out from its hideaway behind the hills. And when it finally does, I know I can bolt out of the toilet and get the hell out of that disgusting train.

Once out and safe on the ground, the fresh lake breeze would finally blow the hair out of my face and sweep that awful smell out of my mind and soul. I would be free! Free to do whatever I want – run down to the beach, jump in the water, come out soaking wet and look like a monster, leaving my dripping footprints all over the place. Then I’d get my belongings together, put up my small and flimsy tent in the woods nearby, bathe in the lake in the morning, and start looking for work.

There is a restaurant nearby, where I could try, but then it would dawn on me: I am most probably wanted by now, so I can’t just go in there and ask for a job. I should first do something with my face, hair, or whatever. Too bad I’m not a guy. I could easily grow a beard, and, poof, the disguise would be good to go. I think I’d decide on either cutting my hair or just putting on some really ugly headgear with sunglasses. Or obnoxious lipstick with highlighter. Even the thought of this is making my heart beat faster. I feel the excitement and promise of ultimate freedom. I just know somehow I’d find a job in a restaurant. I’d be washing dishes in the back, or cleaning the floor, even learning how to make meals. I’d spend my days off at the beach, live in a tent for the summer, and maybe by the fall I could have enough money to go further, where they’d never find me.

Mom’s cursing brings me back to reality. She is mad again. Soon she will come in my room and start shouting because it’s a mess. I quietly shut the door, put in my earplugs and pump up the volume, pretending I’m not even there. Whatever she’s unhappy about, I want to stay out of it. Yes, it’s getting dark out there. Maybe she’s just had enough for today. Yet I don’t understand why she can’t leave me alone, let me do my thing and live in my mess, the way I am – messy, disorganized, lazy, unmotivated, dirty and apathetic. At least that is what I look like from the outside. But I suddenly switch over and start packing my bags.

It’s funny how in most music videos the misunderstood girl takes off with her boyfriend. Pussies. No stupid boyfriend is needed to run away. You can do it perfectly easily on your own. I put the most important things in a plastic bag – underwear, tissues, a spare pair of jeans, a few T-shirts and socks. I’ve seen in movies that everyone takes a knife, so I gotta wait until I can get out of my room unnoticed to grab the army knife from the kitchen. I pack my sleeping bag and the tent. My backpack is all set.

I calmly sit back and wait. In the meantime, mom has stopped shouting, and all I can hear is a soothing deep murmur and occasional clinks coming from the dishwasher. I ponder getting the knife and just slipping out the main door while at it. But I know that would be a disaster. She would notice my absence right away. I have to do it in the morning, and yes, I have to move everything to my school backpack. That way she won’t look for me until the afternoon, when I’m supposed to come home. And even then, the first thing she’ll do is call me, so I can just say I’m at Julie’s until the evening, which will give me even more time. Sounds like a perfect plan.

I look up the train schedule for the next morning, because I don’t want to waste a minute lingering on the street. I’ll set out at the time I usually go to school, not later and not earlier, either. As I am planning this, and as my journey is actually becoming reality, I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my body. My heart is racing like never before. I’m almost jumping out of my skin. Mom usually comes to my room for a good-night kiss before she goes to bed, and occasionally we talk a little bit about the day’s events. But not today. I yell that I’m going to sleep early, because I know I just can’t conceal my excitement in front of her. I don’t sleep, but it’s okay. My escape needs to be planned out right down to the last detail. Night is the perfect backdrop. By the time I finally fall asleep, dawn is breaking.

In the morning, mom comes into my room to wake me up at 6:10 as usual. By this time, I’m wide awake, trying my best to pretend I am getting ready for school. Apparently, I succeed. And when I kiss her goodbye and leave our apartment, I even manage not to cry. I hurry down the stairs, open the heavy, wooden main gate with a loud creaking sound, leave the big bang behind, and run to the tram station. This time I’m not getting off at school. I’m taking it one extra stop to the Southern Station. When I exit the vehicle, submerged in the underground passage, cross the abandoned rotunda with the Vasarely-cubes on the wall and walk up the stairs to the platforms, I can’t stop myself from basking in the glory and greatness of what I’m about to do. When I finally arrive at the train, I look back at the station before boarding. I walk through the cars and finally find a suitable spot in one of the toilets of the last car. It’s still May. Nobody wants to go to the Lake yet, and unlike in the Summer break, there are ample opportunities to find a good seat. Yet I’m a little bit scared, so I still choose the toilet. This I regret later, as I could have just bought a ticket. I sit on the toilet for the rest of the journey, and I can literally sense the unpleasant smell absorbing into my clothing. I almost throw up, but I hold it and from then on I only breathe through my mouth. After an hour or so the train reaches Lepsény, which I can see from the toilet window, and at this point I’m certain that the next stop will be at the lake. I peek out and, though I know I’m reeking, nonchalantly take an empty window seat. I’m in luck. No conductor passes through for the rest of the trip, which ends at Balatonakarattya.

I jump off the train and as my feet hit solid ground, I know I’ve embarked on the first step. Not only physically, but also spiritually. In facing the fear of the unknown. Of being alone, wanted and homeless. It’s only about nine-thirty in the morning, and a little chilly. The wind is blowing in my face with all its harsh force, yet it’s a liberating sensation. I spread my arms in the air of the empty station, in front of the white and cozy little station house with geraniums below the window. After all, it’s a town, and as such, I have to walk about a kilometer from the station to find some civilization, and another kilometer through the woods, if I want to get down to the beach. I remember this from a family vacation, which gives me confidence. I pass the “town center” with the small food store and lame boutiques, then I turn left and head down to the beach. The only restaurants I know in this town are at the Lake, so that is where I go. My route leads by the forest, just along the edge of it. This time I’m not going deep into it – looks like I’ve found a shortcut. And voila, about twenty minutes later, I catch the first glimpse of Lake Balaton.

So I’ve arrived. I tentatively open the door to the closest and biggest restaurant I see. Geez, how does one look for a job? Shall I inquire after the manager right away? Or just knock on the back door and ask if they need an extra hand? Or shall I just sit down and order a drink? Or a meal? Actually, I’m also hungry, but it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that I’m standing there like an idiot, not even knowing what to do. Finally, a waiter approaches me. He smiles, which gives me the courage to ask for the manager. To my chagrin, he informs me that the manager is not in the building, and actually he only visits maybe once a week or so. He seems helpful and kind, so we start to chat and I tell him I’m looking for work. Any work. He raises his eyebrows and gives me a mysterious smile. He says he may be able to help me. He tells me to take a seat at one of the tables and disappears. When he strides back out, I can see he’s making a phone call. In a few minutes he returns and tells me that it’s all sorted out, I just need to wait in the restaurant to meet my new boss, who will be there in a few minutes. When I ask him what I will have to do in my new job, he gives me shady answers, while the only thing he mentions for sure is that it is in catering and that I will enjoy it.

I start to feel uncomfortable, but he doesn’t leave the table. He even offers me hot sandwiches and a drink. Actually, I’m hungry, but I can’t eat much. I take the drink though. We’ll see what happens. I am dying of curiosity about my new work, but he says he can’t give me any more details. I’ll have to wait for the boss. He will arrive soon. After a while, a black BMW screeches to a halt at the entrance, and a tall, muscular guy gets out. He must be the one. My new boss. He is attractive, but doesn’t seem very kind. I glance at the car through the window to see if he is alone, but the windows are all dark. He says his name is John. John what? When I ask if this is some sort of nickname, he just laughs and says I’m sweet. Whatever. Details? What I’ll be doing? Nothing. He says I’ll be a great fit, I’ll love the crew.

At this point, I’m not so sure. Actually, I’m shaking in my boots. I need to get out of here. My eyes scan for the bathroom, an exit, an open window, whatever, I just need to escape. If I say I need to go to the bathroom, and I am able to get there, will I be able to climb out the window? Do bathrooms here have windows at all? Anyway, I need to try. There must be a backdoor or something in this place. I resolve to ask for the bathroom. The waiter guy nods toward the rear, and I can feel their gaze on my back as I move in the direction he nodded toward. Pretending I am not suspecting anything at all, I walk slowly, yet naturally. I finally reach it. There is no window, just the modern, tiled stalls with only a toilet bowl in them. My brain is racing. I need another option. All sorts of thoughts are running through my head, but I’m so scared that they don’t settle on anything plausible.

Then something occurs to me, a desperate step – I pull out my phone and call my mom. It’s ringing. Come on, mum, pick it up. I don’t care if you kill me afterwards, just save me now. Getting killed by you would be a thousand times better than being enslaved by these guys. Or getting raped. Or being sold as a sex worker. Oh, how could I be so stupid… Mom, I love you so much, please come and rescue me. I swear, I will not argue with Bloopie, not even when he is deliberately being annoying to me. Come on, Mom, please pick it up. I dial again. I try on Messenger, I try on Viber, I try on the regular phone. Nothing. Mom, please, please, please! I can hear the guys approaching. “What’s taking so long?” the BMW driver shouts-asks. I hollar that I’ll be out in a few minutes, but I know they are waiting for me right on the other side of the door. Mom doesn’t pick up.

Shall I call the police? No other choice. I dial the emergency number and lock the door from the inside. And I pray they don’t break down the door before the police do. While I’m here, I might as well sit on the toilet, and wait. The police dispatcher says they are on their way. This is a small town, but large enough to have its own police station, so I might be in luck. The waiter and the boss are losing it, they start shouting and banging on the door. I tell them to calm down, I’ll be out in a few minutes… I don’t know how long I can hold out. Why didn’t I take karate classes when mom told me to? Or boxing. Or whatever. I hear footsteps. Please, let it be the police, please, please, please! I can hear the waiter’s voice, inviting some guests to a table, asking them what they would like to eat or drink. Sounds like they are regular guests, an older couple. They sit at one of the tables, which is great for me, because it at least keeps the boss from banging on the door. And I am in luck. I can hear footsteps approaching. The footsteps of a lady, wearing heels.

I rush to the door and open it up before she arrives, because now I have a plan. When she enters the bathroom, I can hardly tell her about my predicament. I am trying to be fast and tell her everything all at once. She just looks at me like I’m crazy, and anyway, why would she trust me, I’m young, and she’s old, and so on. But then I just ask her for one more thing. I beg her to stay with me until the police arrive. Now she is a little more friendly, and she does that for me. Soon she believes me, and asks all sorts of questions like what my name is, where I live, where my parents are, and last but not least, why I am here. As I was just getting to the point where I could explain to her how silly I was to escape from home, we can hear the police officers. They are knocking on the door, calling my name.

I’m finally safe, thank goodness. But I know I’m back to where it all started.