Jimmy packed his belongings - a change of clothes, his wallet, a toothbrush and his CD collection. The LPs were too bulky; they had gone into storage a week earlier. He arranged his bed to look slept in and snuck downstairs. It was two in the morning. If he was lucky, everyone would be asleep and he would have a good four or five hours before anyone even knew he was missing.

Walking into the dim living room, he was met by the angry gaze of his generally angry father, and the worried one of his kinder, sweeter mother.

"Where are you going, Jimmy" his father, Lionel, demanded.

Shoving the duffel containing his possessions inconspicuously behind an overstuffed armchair, Jimmy smiled a forced smile and replied cheerfully, "to the kitchen, to get a drink of water."

"Then why are you dressed?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

Lionel stood, wincing at the slight pain the quick movement caused in his lower back. "Don't you use that tone with me boy," he growled, voice low and dangerous. "I know you're running off with that...friend of yours."

There was disgust in his voice when he said the word 'friend' that he did nothing to hide, and Jimmy's eyes narrowed.

"So what if I am?" he snapped, picking up the duffel bag again and in three quick strides, made his way to the front door.

"I'm eighteen, dad. Whatever me and Rayne do, it's our own business, not yours."

"Jimmy, please." His mother's frail voice cut through his anger, and he turned to look at her. "Please stay."

"I'm sorry, ma," he said, setting his bag down and walking over to her chair. He knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his. "You know if dad was right I'd listen. But he's wrong, ma. Rayne and I do love each other. I'm sorry if you can't understand that."

He kissed her softly on the cheek, picked up his bag, and turned to go. Just before he slipped out the door, his mother's voice stopped him one more time.

"But Jimmy," she said, "Rayne..."

"I know ma," the boy smiled. "But I love him anyway." And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

Lionel, who had been silent, believing the boy would listen to his mother like he always had, grabbed the door and hauled it open. "Get back here, boy!" he hollered. Then his voice softened. "You're young yet. I'll forgive you this time."

"There's nothing to forgive," Jimmy's voice echoed back over the cold snow. "I'll be in touch." He slipped into the passenger seat of the black car waiting at the end of the drive and disappeared into the darkness of the night.