The Escape Artist Chronicles
- Part 1 (09.13.00) By: Gayla Walther
gayla17@hotmail.com

i got on my bike and drove away from everything. escape. escaping all the things that i hate. heavy air, ugliness, loneliness, too many small headed people. i looked everywhere for years for someone who could see, see clearly in a wider perspective. none.

i’ve always dreamed of going away. somewhere far, remote and private and beautiful. whenever i drove in a car past big open fields with small forests of old trees, i thought about me going into the middle of the small forest and clearing a space to build a cabin filled with dark cloth and old furniture, jaded art and piles of books. i’d have a trail to take on my bike, leading to a dirt road that goes for an hour to reach the nearest little town. no one would know of my place, my hideout.

then i remembered the hiway that i was driving on. and i wanted to erase it. is there anywhere for me to live out my humble fantasy?

there was one person who saw. he had eyes like jesus. he said he was the only one who really understood him.

i saw him around town a few times and knew that he must know the things that i wanted him to know, the corruption of the morals of youth, the way the world seemed to be slipping through a portal, into a sickening land of wasted truth and thoughtless actions. i met him in the library one day. the first thing that he said was that his life was over, that he ruined it. i knew it wasn’t true, the almost hopelessness in his eyes explained that he needed something to make it go away. drugs weren’t enough, idols weren’t enough. maybe i can make him laugh sometimes.

we talked for a long time about god and jesus, about why we both hated the laziness of society, about why it was

okay for charles manson to have murdered sharon tate. he said that some people didn’t deserve to live. he said that rich snobs were oblivious disciples of evil.

i didn’t agree with a lot of what he said but i did think about it all for months.

we hung out for months, and had strange and incredible talks. my cynical humor and wild expressions made him laugh and be happy.

he was on a slow journey from insecure, nervous depression to reality and small joy.

i saw him today and hadn’t for three months. we went to the library and talked for hours. he seemed happy and fixed. i realized that i missed him a lot.

but i’m far away now, and unsure about whether or not we’ll ever speak again. i hope for it, but won’t wish for it.

this afternoon a friend asked me where i’m going, i didn’t answer, but said somewhere far away and different.

what is it about escape? maybe i should take a pole, but i bet most people will say that they like where they are and don’t want to be anywhere else. some might say that they’d rather die than be where they are, but me, i’m going elsewhere, in search of clean air, and tall trees and no cable tv wires.

Go To Part 2