these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.

thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.


my artist website is here.

Jul 9, 2011

The Runaway Game:

I would go around and around my little bedroom that I shared with my sister and I would pick out the things that could not be left behind. I had a cardboard suitcase with tiny flowers printed all over it. I would open it up in the middle of the room and fold my underwear and socks in to it. My Bible for Children lay beneath the small, white garments. I packed my favorite stuffed animal and a coloring book and a box of used up crayons. Back and forth, back and forth, picking up every item in my little room, weighing the consequences of leaving each thing behind: Would this doll’s feelings be hurt? Would this teddy bear survive without me? Who would love them for me when I was gone?

Sorrowful. Round and round. Each horrible choice. But the suitcase needed to be ready. This game could go on for hours.

9 comments:

Jenny Sawle said...

This is sad, but I know this game very well.
Jenny

angela simione said...

it never occured to me that another child would've come up with this game too.

that makes me sad.

<3

Hannah Stephenson said...

My sister and I used to plan what we would do if a burglar came into our house, or if it caught on fire. Our biggest preoccupation was how we would get each of our pets out safely (we had lots of them). We'd have long, hypothetical discussions about this. We usually settled on loading our cats up in a comforter, and lowering it out the window, slowly (in case of fire). Our plan for the robber was really weird--we would put all our toys into the bathtub, and launch a plastic attack from the bathroom....

So strange. I haven't thought of this in years.

Radish King said...

Yes. I had my little cardboard suitcase packed under my bed. When my mother threw me out I was not allowed back in the house to get it. Some clothes and my violin some sheet music a few books and my Raggedy Anne doll were all on the front lawn. Goodbye forever.
xo


ps. Word verification goosebump edition: UNTRAP

angela simione said...

hannah, so strange isn't it to think of it now... the game children play. and sisters can come up with some very weird games, indeed. my sister and i used to have long conversations about what type of (and to what extent) of deformity we could tolerate from a man. ex: he could be missing an ear but not any fingers. ha! the runaway game was one i'd play alone though. no one even knew of the game. until now, i suppose.

angela simione said...

rebecca, yes... that makes my heart hurt. by the time i actually ran away from home i was much older. it was no longer a cardboard suitcase i kept ready but my ratty school backpack. a few tapes of favorite bands, my diary, torn jeans, and a few pairs of socks.

i have a one-armed raggedy andy.

angela simione said...

ps: untrap. that is absolutely perfect. :)

Jaye Ramsey Sutter said...

I "played" it but I wasn't playing. I did it when I was four. I packed and went door to door in the apartment complex asking each neighbor if they wanted a little girl. None of them did. To this day when I get the mean reds as Capote called them, I run. Or drive away.

I am sorry you had this experience. Hours of it? How very very sad.

I found you via Radish King. Love your work.

angela simione said...

jane, thank you! i'm so glad you like the work! rebecca's blog is such a treasure. i'm honored to be on her blogroll. thanks for visiting me here.

i too am sorry you "played" this game. we learn too early what loniless and desperation are. desperate for safety, some type of security and sense of belonging. and to this day i have to fight the overwhelming urge to run when things get rough.