My Great Escape (Part 2): Chapter 9

In case I forgot to mention, it's raining in buckets. I've been outside not 5 minutes, & my clothes are soaked through to the skin.

I'm fucking freezing, & my hoodie weighs a ton now. So much for good planning...while I was researching train fare, I didn't take 5 seconds to check the weather WHY?!

Because OBVIOUSLY I had my sights set on freedom, have a one track mind, & am a top notch planner!

So now I'm clawing at the charcoal grey shingles on the roof of my parents' house, because if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to take a tumble.

-"Zoe! What can I do to help?!"

Griselda swoops down in a panicky blur, knicking my white knuckles with her razor sharp talons in her haste. Warm sticky blood mixes with cool rainwater. & I lose the grip I had with my left hand.

I slip a little more.

-"Fuck! Back off Gris! I'm gonna fall & break my head!"

-"I'm sorry!" She flutters up, & I lose sight of her.

I'm starting to breathe too hard, too fast. Deep breaths, I tell myself. You've done this a hundred times or more. It just wasn't raining so hard you couldn't see before.

But it doesn't matter. You don't NEED to see.

I swing my left hand back up, fingers fluttering across the shingles, looking for a grip. I find one.

I try to redistribute my weight, & spread my feet, the rubber toes of my sneakers getting a little traction.

Just a little.

I scoot down, ever so slowly. An inch at a time. Getting close to the edge.

I feel a small smile creeping across my face. Almost there. I'm gonna make it.


KA-BOOM!


The crashing thunder catches me off guard, & I lose not only my composure, but my grip. For only a split fucking second--but it doesn't matter. It's a split fucking second too long.

I go skiding down the roof, feet scrabbling, arms stretched out in front of me....fingers reaching. One of my fingernails catches & pops off & I hear a ragged screech.

& realize it's coming from me.

& someone's wailing in my head.

I reach the end of the roof & grab madly at the gutter--another fucking mistake--but who's thinking at this point. I'd have been better just to try to roll up & take the fall. I'd land in the grass; it wouldn't have been too bad.

But I'm running on pure instinct at this point, & I grab the gutter with both hands.

I never stop to think that it's too damn old; it can't support my weight. Or the force with which I make contact. Not rusted out as these gutters are. Has Dad ever even been up here, I wonder?

A jagged bit of rusted metal bites into my left wrist, right into the vein.

-"FUCK!"

I can't see the blood because of the wet hoodie clinging to my skin, but I feel it.

Warm pain washes over me.

I release my grip.

I let go.

I hit the ground with a thud. Cold wet grass on my warm face.

Not cold anymore.

-"Zoe!"

Griselda sounds far away.

My eyes are heavy. Fuck it, I'm just gonna lay here in the grass. Just for a little while.

I close my eyes, just for a minute, I tell myself.

Everything washes away in a dark crimson wave....

My Great Escape (Part 1): Chapter 8

I go to school as planned, following along with our "regularly scheduled program".

My Mother drops me off in the morning, & then rushes off to meet Mrs. Porter at Our Lady of the Angels...they'll be sorting canned food for the hunger drive they've been volunteering for. She'll be otherwise distracted all day--PERFECT.

I tell her I'll walk home from school today, so she won't have to leave early. She doesn't have to worry about me. I'll come right home, I say. I flash her a plastic smile. She thinks I'm still taking the meds...drugged into obedience. She's completely clueless. Doesn't suspect a thing.

I ditch study hall today, & put the time to better use, slipping into the computer lab to do a little research. I find out that AMTRACK is running some specials...I can get a one way ticket from Chicago to Houston for $99. I have a little over $200 stashed in my knapsack at the moment...money saved from Christmas, & a few side jobs. This isn't counting my change jar either; which I'm planning to cash in before I jet.

I know what you're thinking--why Texas? My response to that is--why not? The weather is better than it is here in Chi-town, & I can get a train ticket for $99! & --I can board at 11pm. This way--I go to bed a little bit early, tell my Mother I'm nursing a headache or something...& then I'm in the clear. The folks crash out early anyways; their lights are out as soon as the Ten O'clock news wraps up. So I figure I can be out the window & tasting freedom by 10:30 at the latest. If I skate--I can be at the local boarding station in about 15 minutes. & by morning...I'll be gone without a trace, & the 'rents won't have the foggiest as to where to even start. That's why I figured it was best to go to school...at least then I can use the computers. By the time they figure out what I've been up to, I won't even be in Houston anymore...But it was the farthest I could get last minute for my money.

I fidget through my day, the minutes ticking away slower than they ever have before. In my entire life, I have never felt this impatient, but obviously, what the hell do I know?

After school, I stop at a local grocery store; they have one of those green Coinstar machines right in the front. I empty my jar into it; the coins clang all the way down. The machine plays the music of freedom as the coins jump loudly into their designated slots. The jar was filled almost to the top with mostly quarters; I have $177.73.

Awesome.

Griselda chitters in my head from time to time, but for the most part, I just tell her to be patient, & then abruptly push her out. I can't be distracted; I'm afraid I'll forget something.

I have to cover all my bases. I have to make a clean getaway.

I go home & pack my knapsack for the road; it's green denim with brown leather flaps. The thing looks like it's been to Hell & back. I've had it for ages.

I stuff it with an extra pair of jeans, some of my favorite t-shirts, my old, worn out, red "Chuck Taylor" sneakers....underwear, socks, toothbrush. I have my cash folded up & stuffed inside a small green leather drawstring pouch. This goes into the bottom of the bag, under all the clothes. I also stuff an old, battery powered discman, as my Mp3 player suffered a painful demise, into the bag with a few handpicked cds, & my favorite battered paperback book. I've read "The Talisman" so many times, I've practically memorized it, & the cover is dog-eared, & held in place with black electrical tape. I can't imagine taking a journey without old "Travellin' Jack". It's a perfect "on the road" story. I also raid the kitchen before my folks come home, adding a few cans of Vienna sausages, some chocolate chip granola bars, & some Goldfish crackers to the pack. Just in case.

I shove the knapsack under my bed, along with my well worn skateboard. I'd fished it out of the garage just this afternoon.

& now I wait....



..........


The time ticks away slower than it ever has before; my freedom is so close I can practically taste it, yet here I am, crawling out of my skin, waiting for the time to be right.

My folks come home. We make small talk. My mother wants to know about the pills. "Yes, I feel fine." I tell her. "Better in fact." She smiles....a big plastic smile. We eat dinner together. Conversation is dull as usual. She talks. My father pretends to listen. Mrs. Porter, the church food drive....blah, blah, blah. Forks scrape against white dinner plates with green borders on them. Time passes...tick. Tick. Tick.

If I stare at the clock anymore, I am going to scream. Or hurt someone. Or scream.

Griselda keeps chirping in my head; it's like having an impatient child looped in your mind constantly asking "Are we there yet?! Are we there yet?! Are we there yet?!"

Over & over again. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I retreat to my room & crank the stereo. Nothing too loud & obtrusive. Just a little Tom Waits. It helps to mellow me out. Don't want to alert the sirens in my Mother's head.

I read. Or I try to. The impatience is nearly tangible. I read words I can't remember. I focus, & read them again.

I hear the warbling of the evening news through the thin walls. Almost time.

I kill the music. Rain is pattering off the roof. Harder & harder...beating it's own rhythm. My heart seems to be keeping beat with it.

Shuffling feet drag down the hallway. Mom will be off in Dreamland counting sheep in no time.

10:20 pm. I force myself to sit damn near perfectly still for another ten minutes.

-"Griselda! You ready to jam?!" I open the link & call out to her.

-"I've been ready." She responds immediately.

I shoulder my knapsack, tuck the skateboard under my rm, flip the latches, & slowly slide the window up. The rain is coming down in sheets. Skateboarding in this will be more like surfing than skating--but I don't care. I'm going. That's all that matters.

I climb out backwards, feet first, taking extra care; everything is so slick. I slide into my little nook against the garage, surveying my situation.

I toss my skateboard down; it hits the grass with a dull thud. Then I pull my knapsack over both shoulders, drop to my hands & knees, & start slowly scooting to the edge.

My grip sucks. I start to slide...

Oh Shit.