I didn’t plan to run away from home. It was a momentary lapse of sanity, which happens every so often when I see statues of angels or talk with my mother. In this case, it was the latter that sent me flying into the arms of the night. For the first hour or so, I was totally out of it. Then I found myself walking past my elementary school, the park, the library and through the darkest neck of the woods. For hours I crossed roads without looking, tramped through cold creeks, and wept on sidewalks. 

When my feet were raw and blistering, I collapsed under a park bench and shivered. Though I tried to sleep, rest would not have me. The roar of a nearby highway was calling to me like a siren song. I began to imagine myself smashed upon the concrete. Roadkill. What a dream. Following the drone of cars, I came to the freeway…and found it empty. I laughed. That’s when I saw the snail. He was crossing the highway in what must have been some mad snail dash.

For hours, I watched the snail trying to cross the highway, drawing nearer and nearer to me. Cars passed by, but I no longer had an interest in killing myself. Not until this snail crossed the road, at least. I sat on the sleeve of the highway. Please god. Give me the strength of this snail. His strength, courage, and determination awed me. At some point, I actually started to believe he'd make it. He just had to. Cars whooshed by him, but the darn snail persisted. Then, by some miraculous force...he did it. 

The snail slid by my feet and disappeared into a patch of grass. I wonder if he’d make the same journey the next night. Lights hit me. A car door opened. A woman stepped out. She was tall and dressed all in white. Her husband sat in the driver's seat, a faceless shadow. 

“Hello, dear,” she said to me. “Are you okay?”

I looked up at her. I was not wearing shoes, my face was streaked with tears, and I was covered in cigarette ash from trying to sleep under a park bench.

“I’m okay, thank you,” I replied. “I was just watching a snail.”

The Woman in White regarded me with gentle eyes. “It’s four in the morning. Do you have someone I can call?” she asked. 

I had been asking myself the same question. “No,” I replied. “But don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

She looked at me the way moms are supposed to look at their children. Concern. Love. Understanding. Gentleness. She knew I was lying to her, but she believed in me the same way I had come to believe in that snail.

“Take care of yourself, dear,” she told me. “Please take care of yourself.”

She spoke with so much sincerity, I actually considered what taking care of myself might look like. Eating right, sleeping right, doing work that mattered to me, forgiving myself. 

“You take care too,” I replied.

She stepped back inside her car and closed the door. Not once during the whole interaction did the shadow in the driver's seat turn to face me. His only focus was the road.

It only occurred to me the next day that I had met spirits. These would be the first of many. And if ever you were wondering, life and death are married. They look to be in their late thirties and drive a maroon Honda Civic.