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Bare feet clothed in old tennis shoes; bare heart covered with clouds of doubt and indecision.
I stand in the middle of the street. It's just a street; it's just a Sunday. No one is coming here today. It's just a street, but it's my street, my home, the basis of all that is familiar and normal.
It is an unfriendly street. Cold, empty, and showered with fallen leaves, it is a street where every house has a fence and a security system. It is a street where no one comes out, because everyone wants to get out of it as soon as they can. The cars speed; the walkers start to run. The bikers turn the corner too early. I am not welcome here; no one is but the postman, bearing good news and forgetting the bills.
There is little sun; but there is sun. I'm pale, washed out from the cold and the yellow artificial lights; I have to be outside, I can't be trapped anymore. I need somewhere to stay, somewhere solid to put my feet and rest my head.
My backpack is on my back, but I'm not going to school. Inside it, there are clothes, books, a blanket, things like camping supplies, my diary. I'm escaping; I'm a runaway.
I tighten the straps and start to run. North; north is better than south, although it doesn't really matter which direction. I have to escape the Street, where silent malevolence watches from behind the designer curtains; I have to find a place that would welcome a runaway.
There are many, I know; but when I think of where to go, only two choices remain. I don't need food and shelter; I don't need parents or anything material. I need stability; and what little I have is slipping away--I need it fast.
I stop at the corner. It's a busy thoroughfare usually, but today everyone is sleeping and silent, hibernating through the worst of the winter. I dash across the street and step onto the grass median, hugging a lamppost as I make the biggest decision of my life.
East...or West?
I gaze east; the road twists and turns, trees shadowing every bend. I know what's down there, I've been there a hundred times. More residential streets, more trees and shadows and calm, quiet little houses, each a world of their own; then the concrete begins, and the brand-new street cuts across what used to be forest, leading to stores, groceries, the mall. This street, unlike the others, would be busy, always busy, as mindless masses of housewives and teenagers, each with their own story of pain and deprivation to tell, travel to the mall or department stores in search of sales or shallow conversation.
Down there, I can find my school, my past, a safe and steady life; if I look on a map, I can see prestigious east coast schools this way, schools that would take me if I devote my life to them; I can find New York, the publisher's haven, and Harvard, if I ever chose to go there. There, if I can only work hard enough and forget my fantasies, I can have almost everything I want. If I settle for my mediocrity--to others, more than they could ever dream of--I can choose a life of looking back, wondering, dissatisfaction, and above all, stability--financial, marital, but never emotional. If I turn down a side street in a few miles, I can find Bryant's house, one of the few places I can find a small fraction of the things I need. I can run there, stay for a little while, and when I'm ready I can face my life again.
I turn around. West. West is the highway, the old part of town; west is the way to absolutely nowhere. When I look I see tangles of concrete, and I know that the only thing there is the hospital, a church, and a maze of old, decrepit shrines of the past. Admittedly, my best friend's house is somewhere there...I could go there. I might, for a time.
Why would anyone choose West? why would anyone just run out into the desert, unprepared and unable to find shelter, food, a stable, normal life?
The West has sun. The West has sea and sky; the West is a treasure chest, waiting to be opened.
"Where your heart lies, there also lies your treasure; where your treasure is, there also lies your heart."
Unpredictability versus a stable, steady life; chasing a dream versus chasing memories; happiness versus unhappiness. Life versus death.
I smile and start to run; from the east to the west, following the path of the sun.
I'm coming.
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