His crutch got stuck in the snow again and Kurt jerked it up, tipping his precarious balance. He had almost corrected it when everything went haywire and he fell backwards into the snowbank. Youd think that after seven years with this crutch hed be a little more graceful.

“Shit!” he cursed, flinching even as he said it. He could almost hear his father telling him that it was only an illiterate person that had to resort to cursing to express themselves and Kurt was too intelligent to do that. Kurt had met that challenge with his best snark, inventing angry slurs for the bullies at Hamilton Middle School like colostomy seepage, churlish syphilitic wombat, and your poor parents – birth control isnt retroactive, is it?. It was the most satisfying when the insults went over their heads and Kurt was faced with a blank expression on the face of a bully and he could see the wheels going, but not really churning out any answers.

It was getting dark, so Kurt struggled his way out of the snow, brushed off his flannel-lined dark-wash denim jeans, and leaned on his crutch. He blinked a few times, straightened out his hat, pulling it down snug over his freezing ears, and began his slow progress down the street by the park. He hadnt gone two blocks before he slipped on the ice-slickened street and fell hard on his back side. This time it really hurt, and he got up rubbing his bottom to dissipate the sting.

A car went by, splashing him with the remains of a slush puddle on the road. He was already freezing and adding the icy water was no help whatsoever. He cursed again, wondering if his brain was perhaps getting frostbitten because he couldnt come up with anything better than the old standby.

“Fuck”.

The car slowed to a stop and an older woman got out, noticing too late that her car was going to splash the small boy.

“Sonny, are you okay?” she asked.

“Mostly, its just so cold,” Kurt said.

“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” she asked, “I am so sorry I splashed you, it wasnt intentional.”

“Ah, well, if it isnt too far out of your way, I was going to the YMCA downtown to meet my father,” he said hopefully.

“Of course, honey, just get in. Let me see, I have a blanket in the back seat. Let me get that for you,” she mumbled as she opened the rear passenger door and rooted around, coming back with a blanket for Kurt to wrap himself in.

“Thank you, maam.” Kurt was glad to have this, something unexpected in Lima, Ohio. A nice woman that seemed very gracious and generous. Perhaps she was visiting here.

He wrapped himself tightly, the wool of the blanket absorbing the melting ice. The woman didnt offer her name, which was a relief to Kurt as he hadnt made up a name for himself yet. They rode the two miles in silence and the woman pulled up beside the YMCA on Fulton Street.

“Thank you, maam. I really appreciate the ride,” Kurt said, struggling to get out of the blanket and get out of the car, his crutch catching on the doorframe.

“Did you break your leg, sonny?” she asked, apparently just noticing his crutch.

“You could say that. Thanks,” he said quickly and closed the door, turning to walk towards the entrance, afraid she would start asking questions that he didnt want to answer.

Kurt hobbled as fast as possible while staying safe to the door of the building and walked inside. He didnt want to be here, but it was close to the bus station and would garner less suspicion than asking for a ride to the station. He used the vending machine in the lobby to get some peanut butter crackers and a can of V8 juice. He sat on the plastic chair and ate and drank his snack before hefting his backpack into a more balanced position and, taking his crutch once more, he walked to the bus station.

Once inside, he went up to the window and asked how far $45 would take him. The disinterested clerk said he could go to Cincinnati, Ft Wayne, Dayton, Columbus, or Toledo – depending on which direction he was headed – they were all about the same distance away. Kurt closed his eyes and did a counting song from kindergarten in his head, ending on Columbus.

“One ticket for Columbus,” he said.

“By yourself?” she asked, finally glancing his direction.

“No, my grandfather is going to meet me. I just forgot the name of the city and I knew the ticket was $45,” Kurt lied.

“Okay then,” the woman said, no longer interested. She handed him the slip of paper and some change, then pointed to the departure board. “It looks like the bus is a bit late, but should be leaving by 5:30. It will be out those doors,” she pointed to the doors opening onto the east platform.

“Thank you, maam,” Kurt said and walked over to the benches opposite the exit doors to wait.

It was less than an hour before he heard the speakers announce the arrival of his bus. He got to his feet and shuffled along behind six or seven other people and boarded the bus. He got a seat towards the back and settled in. The driver came along and took his ticket, tore off a piece and handed him back the stub.

Kurt fell asleep on the drive and the driver hadnt noticed him, so they had driven to the next city on the route before anyone noticed.

“Son, wake up. You were only going as far as Columbus. I didnt notice youd fallen asleep. Im sorry, but were in Westerville,” the large blonde man said, his hand on Kurts shoulder.

Kurt blinked, still sleepy and confused.

“Son, can I call someone for you?” the man asked.

“Ah, no. I can call him,” Kurt said.

“I am going to give you a ticket back to Columbus. Just wait in the station and that bus will be along in a few minutes. Whoever is waiting for you can still pick you up, it will be only an hours difference. Is that okay?” the driver asked, a little concerned about the small boy with a limp. “How old are you?” he asked.

“Im seventeen. Dont worry, Grandfather will come get me. I see hes left me a message. I better hurry,” Kurt said, indicating his pocket as if he had a cell phone there, and got off the bus as quickly as possible.

Once in the warm station, Kurt sat down on the bench and closed his eyes for a second. He wondered briefly if he was doing the right thing, then didnt think about it anymore. He needed to go ahead with his plan. Westerville was as good a place as any to live. He left the station and walked out to look around. He would need a place to stay and a job as soon as possible, his money wouldnt last very long if he didnt.

Life in Westerville wasnt going to be as easy as he thought. It was cold and snowy, the sidewalks icy and slick. Walking on one strong leg with the crutch to steady him was a nightmare on icy sidewalks, but Kurt was determined. He walked to the closest city bus stop and got a map from the kiosk, reading the different routes. He settled for going to the city library for now, with a plan to hide in the mens lavatory until they closed and sleeping in the warmth. Kurt loved the smell of books.

His plan worked. Kurt looked for work during the day, managing to take a shower in the mens locker room at Worthington Hills Golf Club. It was near the second place he hid in at night – the North Library. He even managed to get a job washing dishes at a restaurant from a man that didnt ask too many questions, only told Kurt to keep quiet and hed pay him under the table.

Moving around the city, Kurt learned quite a bit about where he was living – where to get a cheap meal, where to hide to get to sleep in a warm place, which parts of town to stay out of. He found that rich people left large tips at the restaurant and he got some of this money from the waiters if he did his job quickly and quietly and didnt say anything when he saw the wrong sort of thing going on.

In the mornings Kurt would sometimes go to the park. There werent many places he could go and not be noticed thanks to his crutch and the lurch in his step, but nobody bothered him in the park. Hed had to get out of the way of a few unsavory looking people, but keeping to brightly lit streets helped that.

One morning Kurt was crossing a bridge over Alum Creek on his way to Heritage Park when he slipped on the ice and cut his stump. It was bleeding quite a bit, so Kurt limped off the bridge, getting dizzy as he struggled to get to a safe place. He sat behind some bushes, pulling up his pants leg to see but he could not pull it up far enough. With a grunt of pain, he got up, leaning heavily on his crutch and went to the mens room in the pavilion in the park. He lowered himself delicately to the bench there and undid his jeans, pulling them down to assess the damage.

Just as he got them down, he was rooting through his backpack for a T-shirt to wrap around the gash in his stump and someone came in the door. This part of the park was usually vacant, especially since it was near the tennis courts and this was winter. Kurt knew being alone in a place like this was foolish and dangerous. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he scrambled for his knife, picked it up and dropped it. His heart just about stopped when he went to pick it up and it went skittering across the floor to end up under someones boot. He knew he was done for – his jeans were wrapped around his knees and in his struggle he had dropped his crutch.

Kurt looked up, terrified.

“Oh, my God...how did you loose your leg?” the boy standing there said, his mouth open as he looked Kurt up and down.