I went down into the dark basement, looking around as I descended. I never liked it down here. It was scary and it freaked me out, but I had a job to do. I stepped onto the concrete floor and moved quickly to the stack of boxes in the corner. I didn't turn on the light since I knew exactly where to look. I reached around behind the biggest one and felt for the bag I knew was there, I fully expected a big rat to bite my fingers but it didn't happen. I felt the bag with relief and pulled it out. I dropped the two dollars Mrs. Johnson had given me for cleaning out her garage into the bag, twisted the top closed again and stuffed it back into its hiding place.

Back upstairs, I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall, noting it was almost six o'clock and knew that mom and dad would probably not be back until late. Probably drunk again as usual but that was OK since it meant he would ignore me. If he was drunk enough, I could probably make it through the next morning without getting smacked around. Maybe, if I was lucky. I wanted to go back down and count my money but I was afraid that he would come home unexpectedly and catch me down there. If he did, he would find my stash.

I watched TV till bedtime and then crawled onto the foldout cot that served as my bed. I pulled the covers over my head and said a silent prayer that this time it would be OK and he wouldn't come in. I fell asleep and didn't wake when they came home, both falling down drunk. But it was OK since he was thankfully too drunk to come at me. At least he must have been since he left me alone.

The next day was a bad one. Dad was angry about something he said mom did last night and they fought and yelled at each other until mom finally screamed at him and ran out of the house. I heard the car pull out and then nothing. I was sitting on the steps out in back when he came out. He yelled at me and grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me into the house. He was screaming about dinner and wanted to know why I hadn't fixed him something to eat. I didn't know how to cook and I told him that, but he didn't buy it. When I again refused, he smacked me across the mouth and then kicked me when I fell to the floor. It hurt like hell and I began to cry. That made him more angry and he kicked me again. It went on for what seemed like hours but eventually he stormed out of the house and I heard the truck leave.

When I finally pulled myself up off the floor, I decided then and there that I had enough. I was bruised, hurting where he had kicked me and bleeding from the nose where he slapped me. I had enough! No more! I made up my mind right then and there and went downstairs to my hiding place. I pulled out the bag, not caring about the rats waiting to bite me and took my bag and went back upstairs. I pulled out all of the money and counted it. $67.45, enough for the bus ticket out of here. I was twelve years old, smart enough for my age and fed up with being smacked around by a drunk. Mom wouldn't say anything to stop him because he would smack her around if she did. Well, OK, I was gone!

My bus ticket in hand, I boarded the huge Greyhound bound for anywhere but here. I sat by the window and watched carefully to see if he would show up. I thought I saw him several times but it wasn't him. I was getting away! He couldn't find me if I left and I would be safe. I held my breath as the doors closed with a hiss and the breaks released with a clicking, clanking sound and the bus began to move. I was on my way to safety. Away from both of them. I was only twelve, but I was on my own.

We left Wichita, Kansas heading south. My ticket would take me to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma but I didn't plan on going that far. I wanted mainly to get out of town so they couldn't find me or know where I went. So, I settled in and watched as the bus drove out of the city and into the surrounding openness. It was about an hour later when the bus stopped at a small roadside rest stop and I got out. I looked around, saw a fair sized road leading east and west and made my decision. This was it. This was where I got off. I had only my small duffel bag so I took it with me, pretending on going to the bathroom, then sneaking off to the back of the stop into a stand of trees. I settled down there to wait until the bus left again. It was twenty minutes later when I moved back to the rest stop and went in for supplies.

Fortified with five packages of cheese crackers and a carton of orange juice, I moved to the side of the road and began hitchhiking. I stood there for only fifteen minutes or so before a pickup truck stopped. The man asked me where I was going and I just said east, so he beckoned me into the back and we were off. I was going farther away by the minute and as I did, I felt more and more safe and happy. I leaned back against the cab of the truck and looked around at my new surroundings.

Stillwater. That was where I stopped to make my new home. It was a small town of about 70,000 and it was just what I wanted. I wandered around until I found a small suburb that seemed just right. It had a couple of strip malls and some individual stores that were perfect for what I wanted. I found an empty old wooden building, back off the street, that served as a hiding place for stray dogs and cats and moved in. I scraped a clear space for myself and decided on what I would need. A couple of blankets, a nice deep box with a top, and some more food. I could steal what I needed and did so over the next two days. By the end of the third day, I was set. A place to sleep, plenty of places to swipe what I needed and some store backs with trash that would yield some real treasures. Not too different from what I had come to depend on back in Wichita. Drunk parents don't do much shopping and a fridge full of beer is a poor meal.

I became known around the little community where I settled and a lot of folks didn't like me being there. A lot of them would yell at me when they saw me, the shop owners would shoo me out when I came in and in general they considered me a pest. Several times, I saw cop cars driving around slowly, probably looking for me but I was too small and I could hide when I spotted them. I lived this way for about six months before noticing this beautiful woman who came into my favorite store every Wednesday morning without fail. I watched her for a couple of weeks before venturing in the store when she was there.

As I sidled close to the counter while she was waiting for her purchases to be totaled, I heard the clerk, a young man named Henry, call her Miss Rose. He seemed very nervous around her and I wondered why. She was tall, very long blonde hair, a voice that reminded me of a church choir and she smelled so very nice. I watched her as she picked up her bag and started out of the store. Just as she was about to walk out the door, she turned, looked right at me and said, "Would you like to help me with this bag?" I was struck dumb! How had she noticed me? I was too cool to be caught by someone like her, and anyway, she was too fine for someone like me. But she was looking right at me! I had no choice but to nod my head and run after her. Out the door and down the street, her leading and me following. We reached a very nice truck. One with all the fancy trimmings and she beckoned me to her. I went like a dumbstruck kid without a mind of his own. Maybe I was being led to the slaughter but at the time, I didn't care. I would have followed her anywhere. She smiled at me, making my legs buckle, and just pointed to the back of the truck. I climbed up and sat back against the cab. She put the bag of groceries right next to me, telling me to hold on tight and we left.

We drove out of the little suburb, down a back road where she turned off onto a gravel drive. It wound around a little clump of evergreens and on the other side I saw this big old house. It looked grand to me. Big columns like you see sometimes in pictures and a whole lot of windows, all with white lacy curtains blowing with the breezes. They were all open. She pulled around to the back and parked next to the large back porch. I hopped out and grabbed the bag of groceries ready to follow her inside. She never looked back but went straight to the back door and inside. As I got to the door, she pushed it open and held it for me.

Inside was a huge kitchen with lots of cabinets and a huge old stove that was bigger than any I had ever seen. She told me to put the bag down on one of the counters and I did as she instructed. I had to lift it very high since the counters were almost too tall for me to reach. But I got it safely on the counter and then stood back, my hands behind my back, waiting. I hoped she would give me a dollar for helping her but I did worry a little about hitch hiking back to where my things were. If I left now, I could get there in plenty of time, before it got dark.

Instead, she had me sit down at the table and without a word, she fixed me a sandwich of real meat and a glass of ice cold milk. It was the best meal I had since way before I ran away. Like I said, drunks don't do a lot of shopping. As I ate, she put away the groceries and then taking a cup of coffee, she sat down across from me and watched me finish that glorious sandwich.

"My name is Rose. What's yours?"

I told her my name was Richard Wallace Bing and I was twelve years and three months old. I didn't tell her where I was from but did tell her I lived close to the store. She listened, nodded her head like she believed me and just watched me finish the sandwich and milk.

"Why don't you tell me the real reason you're running the streets with no one to take care of you. And don't you lie to me. I gave you some food and a glass of milk so you owe me at least the truth. I promise I won't turn you in or anything like that."

There was something about Miss Rose that got to me. I just found myself wanting to tell her everything and before I had any sense, I did just that. I told her all of it. I told her about my drunken parents, my dad smacking me around, my mom looking the other way, me catching the bus and hitch hiking from the interstate to here and then finding the old building to live in. She listened so carefully to everything I told her, asking a few questions when I wasn't too clear and then just nodding and letting me talk. I spilled my guts to her and somehow felt much better afterwards. Something about Miss Rose made me want to trust her. I had done it and now I could only wait for her to do something.

"That's a very sad story Richard Wallace. I do believe it is one of the saddest stories I have heard for a very long time. I need to think on it now. But I don't think that old building is a good place for you to stay. I have an idea. Follow me."

Miss Rose took me down a long hall leading toward the back of that grand old house and she opened the door to a large room with big windows that was full up with boxes full of who knows what. It seemed that it was just junk that had been collecting for years, or at least that's what she told me. She asked me right out if I thought I could get those boxes moved out of that room and piled in the back of her truck. When I told her yes, for sure, thinking that she would surely give me at least two or three dollars for all that, she hit me with the first of those priceless gifts she was to give me over the coming years.

"If you can get this room empty of this junk, I think it would be a perfect room for a boy your age to spread out in. We can find a few things, like a bed and maybe a chest of drawers that would be a nice addition. How about that, Richard Wallace?"

Well, you can believe that I got all those boxes out of that room in no time. I was very careful not to scratch her fancy truck but I got them all in, along with a few other odd pieces of furniture I found buried under those boxes. By day's end, the room was empty and I was standing in the middle of it, just looking around, the light from those wonderful big windows shining on me and making me feel like a King in his castle. I was lost in the wonder of it when I heard a voice behind me.

"Well, well. What have we here? Looks like a little man to me. What do you think girls?"

I tuned to find three women, dressed in what looked like see-through nighties and robes looking at my new room. They were all very beautiful and their faces were made up like they were ready to go out for the evening, none of which made any sense if they were ready for bed.

"You girls get! This is Richard Wallace and he is off limits to you. Make no mistake, he is a guest in this house and he is working for me. Isn't that right Richard Wallace?"

It was Miss Rose and the girls all acted like she was their boss. They all curtsied to her and moved back from the door. Miss Rose watched them go and turned to me. She looked at the room and smiled that wonderful smile of hers.

"A very nice job, Richard Wallace. A very nice job, indeed. Let's take a ride and get rid of those boxes and pick up the rest of your things. I do have to get back before it gets dark."

We drove back into the center where the vacant house was and I ran in quickly to grab my few things. One look around and I said goodbye and good riddance. I piled my stuff in the truck and climbed in beside her. She drove down the block and pulled into an alley and around behind a big brick building. She went inside for a minute and returned with two very big men. They moved to the back of the truck and began to unload those boxes I had moved. I quickly grabbed my stuff and protected it from their efforts and within no time at all, the truck was empty. After Miss Rose spoke to the two men and then waved goodbye, we drove back to the house and to my new home.

I was to find out later, that the day Miss Rose took me under her wing was a Wednesday, and Wednesday's were one of the two days a week she didn't open for business. The other was Sunday, of course. I also found out later that Miss Rose owned and operated a bordello, or a whore house as it was commonly known around Stillwater. She had seven ladies working for her and I had already seen three of them.

on the phone

I started to go with her every Wednesday to the store and to do other chores that she saved for that day. In return, Miss Rose began to find little pieces of furniture for my room and she made sure I took meals three times a day. Miss Rose never cooked but there was a little lady who did. Her name was Ling Li and she was Chinese or something and she was a very good cook. She also worked for Miss Rose in the evenings only. There was another woman there who started to work with me on my schooling. Not that I wanted that, but Miss Rose insisted. The lady, Veronica, seemed to enjoy it and I had to admit, she made me work hard. I learned more than if I had stayed in school.

As time passed, I grew bigger and stronger and learned a lot from Veronica. She gave me some books on home repair and she suggested I learn what I could since Miss Rose thought it would be good if I could do some of the repairs around the house. I did and became quite good at most things. The older I got, the more I learned. Miss Rose once told me that the house had never been in such good repair in years. I was pleased since all I ever wanted to do was make Miss Rose proud of me. I loved Miss Rose.

I learned the names of all the girls who worked for Miss Rose. There was Veronica or Ronny, Ling Li or Lee, Pamela or Pammy, Judith or Bunny, Janet or Candy, Alice or April, Ruth or Robin and Miss Rose herself. All the girls had their second name which they used at the house. I learned their real names during the time I lived there. I later found out why they had two names. Funny thing was that Miss Rose was just known as Miss Rose.

While I eventually found out what the girls actually did at the house, I was never allowed to enter those rooms or go out to the main house during the times they were 'open for business'. That was Miss Rose's rule and there were no exceptions. Any girl who broke that rule would be fired on the spot, no questions asked. Miss Rose told me that too, just so I would know that someone would pay if I broke the rule by myself. I never did.

The other thing I learned was that when Miss Rose and I went into town to do the shopping, nobody would speak to her unless it was for business purposes. Like the young clerk the first time I saw her. If she was walking down the street, people would step off the curb or cross the street rather than meet her. She often spoke to someone she saw but they would never return her greetings. I wondered about it for the first several years but then later, figured it out on my own. It was both shame on the part of some of the men folk and anger or envy from the women. Miss Rose didn't seem to mind but she was always very quiet on the way back from those trips.