The Escape Artist Chronicles
- Part 5 By: Gayla Walther


what of the lucky ones?

i see images in my head of a person walking with a bounce in his step, a smile on his face, and the exuding attitude that all is good in the world.

is he a lucky person? what has life handed him? he would appear drunk and diluded if his clothes were ratty and his face unshaven.

what of emotion?

it is all determined by degrees. over-react, react. stoic pain, unexpressed, repressed.

why do some people only experience a small degree of pain during their lives and others much more?

fairmess can not become a factor, an excuse or reason.

pain knows not of reason.

luck if it is you, i hate you.

and what of you planets, alignments, time and space? what is your role in the deternination of one's fate?

a baby born and a new path created. two minutes later in the next room, and another.

do you create the maps? the billions of maps existing now.

what does pain look like on the maps, and death, and misfortunes, humiliations?

i see candid smirks and kicks to the face where humiliation and misfortune strikes.

heads turned away where there's pain.

closed doors for death.

but where there's luck i see ignorance and innocence.

so am i a victim?

he walks at a moderate pace, each step bouncing to the music playing in his head. hands in his pockets and a passive, warm statement on his face.

jeans, shoes and a grey sweater. unbrushed dark hair and dark eyes.

i get up from the bench i sat upon while watching the birds hanging out on the ground, and the wind blowing the leaves, and i follow the man.

he turns the corner and heads towards the library. he enters.

i follow.

i walk up the stairs slowly and do not see him when i reach the top, which is good for making me not look so obvious in my pursuit.

i wind around the book cases pretending to search for something specific. i give a quick glance around the seating areas, then i see him. sitting at a table in the back corner. his head turned away.

i imagine what i'll say when first speaking to him. i could ask for the time. better take off my watch.

i approach.

" 'scuse me, do you have the time?" i ask quietly.

" uh yeah, it's four o'clock." he looks up and then smiles.

" holy shit, that late already." i say. he laughs.

" did you miss something?" he asks.

" if you could call a frontal labotomy, being missed." i say.

he shoots me an overly strange glance, and then i blush.

" kidding." i say. asshole. fuck it.

i begin to turn away, and then he says, " hey what's your name?"

" ana. and yours?"

" will. sit down,"

i sit. i look at him in the eyes. he doesn't say anything but only looks back.

then, " are you from here?" he asks.

" yes. you?"

" i just moved here from out east." he says.

" oh, by chance or mistake?" i ask.

" what?" he seems pretty dense.

" this town is small and it's awful. the only way you could have got stuck here is by chance or mistake, or lack of research and good judgement. unless you're undercover, you picked a bad place to live." i say. and then smile.

" well it can't be that bad if you live here." he says.

" yeah right, well bye." i get up to go. what a cheesehead line that was, fucker. i need to work on my own sense of judgement.

then he apologizes and said that he was just testing that stupid line to see my reaction. whatever. then he asks me to tell him something about myself.

i tell him my favorite color. blue.

he smiles and prods deeper. i told him about school and the people in this town. he wants more.

i ask him the same thing.

he tells me that he came from nova scotia, he hated it there because of the music and the attitude of those around him. he said his dad was a biggot and a drunk and his mom was a mean bitch who didn't listen to reason. so he left, and hasn't spoken to them since. he says that he watched his best friend hang himself in his kitchen. he saw through the small window of the locked side door. he was pounding on it but his friend had the music blaring.

he ran from house to house trying to find a phone. by the time the ambulance arrived his friend was dead.

he blames himself for not breaking a window and using the phone there.

" i figured someone would be next door, it was all so crazy and slow motion, i couldn't think."

i tell him that my parents died in a fire three years ago, when i was eighteen.

and how i was in and out of hospitals for severe depression. my parents and i had a good relationship. they taught me about music and literature and society at a young age. they were strong and understanding. my only other family is my uncle steve who i can't stand. he's kind of perverted and sick. he always goes to grungy strip bars and gets drunk and harrasses women on the walk home or wherever it is he hangs out. i avoid him at all costs.

will looks at me for a long time in silence. then he says " are you good in your heart and your head?"

" what do you mean? like, sane and healthy, or like, the opposite of mean and evil?" i ask.

" mean and evil." he says.

" well, i try to live as humbly as possible. i don't have many friends, 'cause i don't really like that many people, but my friends are chosen with good judgement and they're good people." i look at him.

" okay, but what are your principles? what do you base your decisions on and your judgements?" he asks.

" um, balance, i guess. i'm attracted to people who can communicate about important things, but who appreciate silence. and people who are not limited by a stupid, insecure, dependency on image, but who can live freely and in their own world. i try to be kind and good to others, but have high expectations when it comes to giving them my respect." i say.

" me too." he says, smiling.

" really?" i say, " that's it? that's all you're going to say?" i ask, getting pissed off.

" yep, you pretty much said it all. ...except..." he pauses and thinks. " well if you're good and i'm good, then why do such shit things happen to us?"

" we're unlucky." i say.

he looks down, and sad.


To Part 6