Am I that brave? Am I willing to walk down that path no matter where it might lead?

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. My stomach churns. My heart tightens as I make my choice.

I turn my back on my father’s room and the bottle hidden there. If my father drinks, he drinks. And if he passes out, he won’t be able to hear me slipping out of the house.

The minutes crawl. I change into a black T-shirt and jeans and pull my ratty green robe on top of them. Then I sit in the window seat and gnaw on the inside of my lip as I listen to the sound of my father coming up the stairs. He calls good night and waits for me to respond before closing his door. A half hour later, the weeping that always comes when he drinks too much too fast rings loud in my ears. I pull my knees up against my chest and try to block out the sound. Eyes closed tight, I bite my cheek and taste blood. Finally, after what feels like forever, the house goes mercifully quiet. The silence says Dad has fallen into oblivion. If I’m going to go, I need to move.

I walk by the window one more time in my bathrobe, giving anyone outside a good view of me. The car with the gold rims is gone, but a new silver one with tinted windows has parked in the same spot. Here’s hoping if someone is still watching the house they’ll think I’ve gone to bed when I turn out the light.

With careful, quiet steps, I slip out the back door and am grateful for whatever dog is barking as I grab my bicycle and wheel it to the alley behind the garage. Every crackle of gravel under my feet or snap of a twig makes me jump and look over my shoulder, certain someone is moving behind me. I feel both relieved and foolish when I reach the deserted alley without incident. Shaking my head at my unnecessarily dramatic exit, I climb onto my bike, adjust my backpack, and, before I talk myself out of going, ride.

After several blocks, I zigzag out of the alley. I pedal down the asphalt through scattered pools of streetlight, toward the skyscrapers with their windows shining bright against the dark sky. The number of cars dwindles as I ride, which tells me the midnight road-maintenance vehicle curfew is fast approaching. Unless there is an emergency, vehicles aren’t allowed on the roads between midnight and four. The curfew was first put into place as a step to curtail the high volume of crime, since the middle of the night was the time that behavior was most likely to occur. When that was successful, the ordinance was kept in place by the City Pride Program so they could use the time to repair streets and signs without interrupting traffic or daily life.