Running

I didn’t know where I was going. Just away. That’s all I knew. And if I ever got out of this one-horse town, I was never coming back.

That’s how I ended up in the wrong place.

I was just driving. Maybe I would see the entire U.S. before I figured out where I was headed. I just knew that as long as I had an exit every few miles with cup of coffee and a few bucks of gas, I could keep going, and I never had to look back.

When I crossed into Tennessee, I thought maybe it was time to take a rest. The lights were bright in Memphis. It wouldn’t mess up any plans if I checked out Beale Street. The next thing I knew, I was in a dance club. Strobe lights were dancing all around me, and he and I locked eyes. Oh, those beautiful eyes. I’d have never guessed in that moment that five years later I’d be running from those eyes.

But there I was, five years in. I couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black. As hard as I was trying to be silent, the sound of my breath sounded like a million-decibel echo in my mind. My trembling hand touched the mattress of the bed in front of me as I tried to silently glide down to the floor and slip under the bed.

I could see his shadow pass by the doorway, backlit by the hall light that was seeping in through the under-door crack. He was in one of his moods again. I didn’t know where he had been or what substances might be running through his system. I just knew the crazy look in his eyes that told me when things were about to get out of control. I couldn’t survive many more repeats of three nights ago. All I could do was stay as quiet as I could and hope he’d think I’d left the house and wait it out ‘til he passed out so I really could.

How did I get myself into this? Oh, yeah. From running. That’s the problem with not looking where you’re going. It’s one thing when you have an idea in your mind but no idea how to get there and you’re not really paying attention and you hit some hang ups along the way and get a little bit derailed. But it’s entirely different when you set out across the country and you don’t even have an idea. That’s when you’re bound to end up hiding under your bed, trying to silence your breath, and praying you’ll get out of your own house alive.

They say five moves is equivalent to a house fire. When I left Mississippi, I had nothing with me except a couple of outfits and a box of photographs. This time if I made it out, I’d have less than that. I’d take the fire. Burn the whole place down if it would give me another chance to start over again. But had I learned anything yet? If I ever got behind the steering wheel, would I have any better sense of direction than I had when I started the road trip?

Right there in that moment, under my bed, trying to silence my breath, I made the decision that if I got out, I would go someplace deliberate. I didn’t know yet where that would be. It’s hard to paint a vision for yourself when you’re not sure you’ll survive the night. But I had enough clarity to know that by the time I put the car in drive, I had to have a destination.

I suddenly realize that everything was silent. It seemed like maybe he had passed out. I slithered on my belly out from under the bed and slowly, very slowly, pressed my ear to the door. My heart was racing ninety to nothing. Other than my heart, I couldn't hear anything. I looked across the room. The window on the far wall was my only hope. Could I get to it without making a sound? My life depended on it. I began to crawl very slowly. It was like being a contestant on a challenge show, except the only prize was my life. I expected that at any moment, the door would open and I would be prey. Game over could mean death for me. He had promised me that three nights ago, and I was still bruised from the promise. I didn’t want to challenge him on it.

By a miracle, I made it to the window. Now I had a choice. Keep moving at a snail’s pace and try to silently open it, or throw it open with a bang and throw myself out and then run like hell.

I had to get out of there. The racing of my heart was reverberating so loudly in my brain, I was sure it could wake him up from even the deepest heroine-induced coma. What if the window stuck? It didn’t matter. I had to push it. It was a one-shot chance. As soon as I made a sound, I had to be out of there fast. With everything in me, I pushed the window open and threw my body out into the cold night air.

Then I ran. I ran faster and harder than I had ever known my legs could carry me. It wasn’t until I got to the stop sign three streets over that my legs gave out beneath me and I tumbled to the wet grass. I lay there for a minute, too shaken to go any further. My legs were too sore, and now that they had stopped for a break, they rebelled against moving again. I felt paralyzed, just for a moment. That’s when I was able to listen to myself and begin to make sense of what was going on.

Lying on that wet grass three streets over from the home I left behind, I remembered that I couldn’t run again until I knew where I was going. So I decided on my first destination. I checked into a hotel.

Have you ever noticed how the hotel pillows are softer than the ones in houses, and the comforters are all fluffier, and if you take a warm bath, you can pull all that fluffiness over you and cuddle up with yourself and get warm and fall into the deepest sleep you’ve had in weeks and you can finally relax because you’re not at home? Maybe it’s just me. I was sleeping so cozily, but I got up before dawn because I needed to get out of there and leave town before daylight. So I decided on a destination.

I Ubered to the train station and bought a ticket to the city that I envisioned as the farthest in my country from where I was. Portland. Why was I going to Portland? I knew nothing about it. I just knew I needed to go somewhere. It looked like a good place on the map. For the first time in my life, I had a destination.

And that’s where I met you. We didn’t do things crazy like I had done in the past. I didn’t run into your arms to save me from my neurotic memories or tragic wounds that wouldn’t heal. We met because of shared interests doing healthy things like hiking, we took it slowly, and we did things right.

And I’m so thankful because I can’t run anymore. My legs have reached the end of their race. The lesions on my brain have somehow made their way down my vertebrate and into the very tips of my fingers and toes to stop my body from being able to move. I think when I got to Portland, my body felt safe to finally collapse. Maybe the Multiple Sclerosis was there all along but just waiting until I reached safety before it said to me, “It’s okay to just be still now.”

I’m still now. And you’re still here with me. And we still share the same interests and still do healthy things like eat organic. I just do them in my wheelchair.

I’m not going to say all these things to you, and I can’t even write them in my journal anymore. I just needed to think them all through. I have a lot of time for thinking now that I can't go anywhere. Even though I’ll never say it, I say it in my mind. I need you to be there for me, to love me, to be my wings, and to keep me safe. I know you will. I just sometimes need to think it through so I’ll remember. Tomorrow I’ll tell you thank you again for catching me when I fall. Now help me in the bed. Let’s go to sleep underneath a comforter that I now believe is fluffier than a hotel's. Maybe if I had never run, I'd have never come to Portland. I'm thankful I'm here now where I feel safe. Good night.