Operation: Sneakout

It is a glorified version of a time when a young Wisconsin girl sneaks out on a vacation to California.

Operation: Sneakout

My mother always nagged me about how my step brothers’ influence was going to get me into trouble. “Don’t think I don’t know what those boys do at your father’s house, they steal whatever isn't nailed down and soaked in mighty glue, every word that comes out of their little devious mouths are nothing but twisted lies, and they sneak out in the middle of the night to do bad things. I just know it. Don’t you ever do any of this! You hear? If I ever catch you, oh if I catch you, it will be a dark day for you.” This is what usually awaits me every time I see my mother. I used to take it to heart so I could be the perfect little daughter that she wanted. But now that I’m 17, I shrugged it off like it was nothing as I threw, with great difficulty, my overstuffed suitcase onto the hotel bed. We had just landed in California a few hours ago, and we finally got to our hotel room after numerous wrong turns and trying to check into the wrong hotels. I belly flop onto the white linen blankets of the bed and bury myself in the pillows. If I have to listen to her annoying pestering all week I might just kill her and stuff her body in my gigantic suitcase.

It was during the middle of the summer in 2011. My mother and I were attending the annual Spina Bifida convention. It was supposed to be her, my brother, and me attending, but my brother wasn’t able to fly due to the amputation of his legs. So, there I laid face down on the bed wondering what I had gotten myself into. I never spend more than two days with my mother, and now I’m pushing three with another seven on the way. Usually after two days I’m already more venomous than an Asian Viper. Their quick temper and cruelly fast attacks, compared to me, is like comparing the Wiggles to Freddy Kruger. Suck it up. Life could be worse. She could try to hold my hand everywhere and tell embarrassing stories about me to others. The thought just made me even more annoyed because the probability of the latter one was a real possibility. The rest of the night was filled with me watching Showtime’s Weeds on Netflix, with headphones plugged in on max volume, and my mom, lying on the other bed watching T.V, randomly chatting with what she thought was me.
Day two hit me with a jolt of pain, as I woke up to my mom screaming in an unpleasant man voice to get up wearing nothing but a loosely wrapped towel with soaking wet hair. The sight, nearly blinding as it was and still is, made me pull the chunky comforter over my head as well as a pillow to try and erase the memory. As you can tell, it didn't work. Eventually I got up and got ready for a day of hanging out with the coolest people, which only happens one week out of the year.
The rest of the week went smoothly. I hung out with my friends and my mom with her’s. My mom and I also shared some good dinners and breakfasts together. My favorite being dinner at The Rainforest Café.
It was the last day of the conference. All of the teens were depressed that it was almost over. So in an effort to make it a lot less depressing, we all devised a plan for that night. It was a sketchy plan, but if followed and executed correctly it would equal a night to remember. The plan: sneak out of the hotel, drive to the beach, than downtown L.A.
Lucky, when the time came, my mother had a date with a dorky, gray haired, skinny Santa wearing a Hawaiian shirt, khaki pants, and socks with sandals. She soon got ready and left for the date. As soon as she said good bye and walked out the door, I left ten minutes after she did.

When I met up with the others, they were all ready to go. Sean and Evan, who are brothers, each had their own rental cars provided by their parents. We all filed into the two cars. Sean, who is 18, Roberto, who is 17 and goes by the name Burrito, Bridget, age 17, and me in one car. Evan, age 19, Alyssa, 19, Matt, age 17, Brie, age 17, and Andrew, age 14, were in the other car. We left childish Disneyland for cool Los Angeles.

We headed for Santa Monica beach, all filled with bubbling excitement. We got there around 7:50 and basically partied like there was no tomorrow. We swam for hours and just had fun. Then as time was getting late, Burrito reached into his backpack and told us he had a surprise for all of us. When we looked at what laid in his hand we were all shocked, terrified, and excited at the same time. We knew if we did do that we could get into serious trouble, but like most teens we didn't listen to that good little person on your shoulder telling you that it is wrong. We listened to the little devil on the other side. In his hand was a handful of assorted fireworks. We all rushed him grabbing the one that most appealed to us. We were smart enough to pack all of our stuff up in case we needed to make a quick escape. I don’t think this will end very well. We are in Los Angeles and are about to light about twelve fireworks simultaneously. The thoughts kept creeping through my mind, but I pushed them away. Seconds went by then the next second the sky light up in a multitude of sparkling and crackling of colors.

With our heads in the sky, it toke us a small while to notice that the sound of police sirens were getting louder and louder. Being as young as we are and being an unfamiliar place, we ran for it. We didn't wait to see if they were after us or someone else. We all jumped into the cars and quickly but legally and toke off driving. Due to the lethal amounts of adrenaline flowing through our bodies, which would be enough to kill Betty White fifty times over, we pushed the thought of going to downtown L.A out of our heads and made our way back to Disneyland.

The sun had set long before we got back, when we realized our timing was off and we were late. I ran up the stairs in a feeble attempt to beat my mom up to the hotel room. Finally, out of breath, I reached my hotel room and reached in my back pocket to grab the key. My hand grasped nothing, for the key was not there. It had fallen out sometime on the way back. As soon as I realized it wasn't there, my mom walked up and opened the door. She asked where I went with a curious look on her face.

“Oh I just went down to the pool with my friends” I dully stated like it was no big deal. She believed me without a second thought. We both changed into our pajamas and fell into a much need sleep.

I woke up to my mom dropping my beach on my chest. I jumped up, scared out of my wits. There she stood in front of me with eyes black as charcoal with her face turning red that matched a tomato. There was the smallest vain popping out of the corner of her forehead.

“Where did you go last night?” She demands with a voice that could have belong to the devil himself.

“I was at the pool.” I said timidly.

“Then why is there a wrist band in here for Santa Monica Peer?”

BUSTED, oh crap.

After an hour of screaming and punishment, we went to breakfast. On our way to breakfast, we saw eleven police officers rush toward the Tiki bar, when they came out they had a man in handcuffs. The man was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and khaki pants. I looked up at my mom and said, “So, what did you do last night.”

In the end the grounding never stuck and my mom and I formed a closer bond. But the number one thing I learned during this adventure was: Hide the Evidence for Future Attempts.