It was 1985: Oak Harbor, Ohio.
Morgan’s older brother beat me up while playing touch football in her front yard. Morgan stood up to her brother, immediately fell for me.
We ran away to the nearest buckeye tree and planned our escape from Ohio. We scheduled routes around mountain ranges, added constantly to a piggy bank with portions of our lunch money—no one knew.
At the meeting tree, we discussed techniques demonstrated in the Black Belt magazines I swiped from my dad; they functioned as how-to manuals for self-defense on the road.
We agreed, giggling—I needed the help.
Morgan’s older brother beat me up while playing touch football in her front yard. Morgan stood up to her brother, immediately fell for me.
We ran away to the nearest buckeye tree and planned our escape from Ohio. We scheduled routes around mountain ranges, added constantly to a piggy bank with portions of our lunch money—no one knew.
At the meeting tree, we discussed techniques demonstrated in the Black Belt magazines I swiped from my dad; they functioned as how-to manuals for self-defense on the road.
We agreed, giggling—I needed the help.
