The sounds of New York City to an outsider would be overwhelming, extreme, and would disorient anyone who isn’t used to it. However, to seventeen year old Alfred Jerrod Smith, the many different and loud noises were relaxing. The hustle and bustle of the city folk, the sounds of traffic, and the music that drifted down the streets from the speakers in bars, pubs, and restaurants along with the occasional live performance from someone on the street needing money, he loved it all.

Alfred loved to walk around downtown and just watch everyone go about their day. He found it very interesting to see others rush to work, head home, talk with friends and family as they went to their destination. There was something he couldn’t explain about it, a sense of tranquility as he watched everything before him.

Alfred was the oldest son of the Smith family. Though a common surname, his family owned a multibillion dollar accounting firm that his father inherited from his grandfather, and a very well known and successful lawyer firm on his mother’s side that she started herself and brought it from the ground up. His family had friendly relations with many famous people in the political businesses, along with many celebrities and CEOs of the biggest corporations in America.

Alfred lived the high class life, and he hated every second of it. His entire family, from parents to his three siblings, to his cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, everyone lived a life of material things. The only thing that mattered in the family was money and possessions. It had determined where he went to school, who his family thought were good enough to be his friends, what he bought for himself to enjoy, every little detail about his life was about material.

He hated this life he was forced into. Money meant nothing to him, he didn’t care how much money his friends’ families had, or whether or not what he bought was made of the highest quality and was most expensive. He felt suffocated from this life, and that is why he would run and hide.

Every once in a while, Alfred would take some money, usually a couple hundred dollars, and he’d take some of his possessions, usually clothing and necessities, and he’d go to an abandoned apartment complex that the owner let him stay whenever he wanted because the place was closed. He’d live there, go to school as he was required by law, fend for himself, find, buy, and make his own food, and live the life of an ordinary person.

Eventually, his money would dwindle to zero, forcing him to return home. Every time he did this, no one made a fuss. His parents would say “Look who finally came back” when he finally returned, and that was all they said about it. His younger siblings, Harold,the second oldest at sixteen, Alyssa, the oldest girl at the age of fifteen, and Katelyn, the youngest at twelve, would usually not mention his absence to anyone. But Katelyn would occasionally ask Alfred to tell her about his “adventures” in private where their siblings wouldn’t judge her for asking.

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Katelyn was a kind and innocent soul with ice-blue eyes, small spots of freckles on her face, and long brown hair always tied in a ponytail, Alyssa was the spitting image of her mother, Evelyn, hair so blond it was almost silver, dark brown eyes, and a cold smile worn most of the time. Harold took after his father, William, with short brown hair, a sharp face, a splash of freckles on each cheek, blue eyes that always looked like he was judging anyone he looked at, and the physical build of a track star.

All three of them were like their parents, basing their lives around money, status, and material things, which also sickened Alfred. Yes, Katelyn was sweet and innocent to him, but she still was like the rest of them when it came to anyone but him. He was the only one she liked no matter what, as he was the only sibling who wasn’t constantly ridiculing her for things she owned and liked.

. . . . .

As Alfred sat at a bench in Central Park, his gray duffle bag and his school backpack at his side, he thought about what he brought with him this time. Money equaling roughly six hundred dollars, several changes of clothing, mostly clothes he bought at a thrift store without anyone’s knowledge, and his school things all stored in his backpack.

I’ll head over to the apartment later, I should get something to eat before I go though. He thought as he stood up and grabbed his two bags. He began his small journey out of the park and down Delancey Street. He spotted a gas station and went inside to grab a microwaveable snack for his dinner.

“Welcome in, anything you’re looking for specifically that I can help you with?” A girl behind the counter asked.

“Nah, I’m just browsing for now,” Alfred responded without breaking eye contact with the freezer section. He looked through the frozen meals, then picked out a one-person frozen pizza. He then made his way to the counter, grabbed a bag of chips on the way, and put the food on the counter. Alfred looked at the girl behind the counter, and when their eyes met, he felt his heart skip a beat as he stared at her. She was a beautiful girl, looked not much older than him, with long, silky black hair, her eyes were a mesmerizing soft blue, like an afternoon sky on a summer day. She had a slight smile on her thin lips, and looking at it made Alfred feel warm.

She noticed him looking at her intensely and asked, “Is something wrong? Do I have something on my face?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh,” Alfred stammered, coming out of his trance. “No, you just…, I’ve never seen you around here.”

The beautiful girl chuckled slightly. “I just started working here recently. My father owns this gas station, and we both thought this would make a good first job for me. I like socializing with other people, and he needed the help, so here we are.”

There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Oh, right, that’ll be seven ninety-two,” once again bringing Alfred back to reality. He brought out his wallet, thanking himself that he also had money there, because it would be weird pulling the cash out of his duffle bag.

“Right, here you go.” He said, handing the girl eight dollars. After she handed him his change, she put his food in a plastic bag, then gave it to him. He took the bag and was about to leave, then he stopped himself.

“Hey, what’s your name?” He asked, feeling his face get hotter the more he looked at her. The girl smiled and blushed softly at his question.

She giggled, smiled again with her warm smile, then said softly, “I’m Melanie, Melanie Powell.”