Me and Escape, or Escape and I

August 27, 2009

Escape and I are tight, like the best of friends from way back when. We haven’t given up old habits, either, like beating the shit out of each other in the sandbox—and over what was it? Who remembers. But I do remember this: In the end, it was always one of us getting our wrists squeezed tight, and then these words were spoken: “Don’t you say one thing. Not one.” We’ve never betrayed each other, not in all this time. You don’t turn your back on friends like this.

And because of my loyalty, I’m good at escape. I’m fast to find the exit doors or a break in conversation, and knowing when not good enough is really not fucking good enough anymore. I know when to close doors and how fast to close them. I know the right words to say and when to say them, the non-verbal cues, the everything. It’s a package deal, but it’s one that isn’t free or easy. It’s one you have to earn, understand all the ins and outs of. Escape isn’t friends with just anybody.

Some people run their mouths off and talk big, make threats. Others do the opposite. They just suck it up and ride it out—take a pill, take a drink—not even thinking to look past what they know, to see what else is there for the taking. Others burn bridges with fires so big and ferocious, it’s, like, seven-, eight-alarm action—a total mess, with lives destroyed.

This isn’t the way to play with Escape. I mean, it is, but that’s not the way to form quality friendship.

First, you need to be willing to take some punches. It’s not pretty, I know, and it hurts, and there’s blood, and there’s bruises.

Second, keep your mouth shut. For chrissakes, just keep it fucking shut—no matter how hard it is.

Third, if you accomplish steps one and two, Escape will show you what it means.

Or maybe I’m just speaking for me. Maybe our relationship is different than others. Still, though, Escape and me? We are like this.

3 Responses to “Me and Escape, or Escape and I”

  1. Chrispy says:

    Wow, you nailed my escapism with the eight alarm fire. I had to give it up, now I don’t know what the fuck to do… I think I might want to learn more about how to do it quietly. Pigging out on movies works sometimes, but those bright shiny days wrack me with guilt when I’m all hiding in bed with the dvds… is that kind of bruising you’re talking about? Cool post anyway

  2. lee lee says:

    escape is quite the drug. the only thing that’s ever cured me is unconditional mommy love. well, quasi-cured. now, i just have one more person with me when i escape…somehow, it’s not quite as addicting…

  3. kfrayz says:

    why I love this post: because “escape” and I, we have an internal dialogue and it goes something like this:

    ESCAPE:
    “Come on girl…you miss me”
    Me: “No…no. It’s not right. I am over all of this”
    ESCAPE: “Just this once…no one has to know. We can be real, real quiet.”
    Me: “C’mon, don’t let me do this again!”
    ESCAPE: “Oh, But the escape feels so good!”
    luckily my voice is louder

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