No Junior League

You are sure you want to do this?  

Running away. Starting over.  It’s not as easy as people think. You have to give up everything. 

Oh, that part’s easy. Everyone thinks we are all traceable, that you can’t really hide. But, see, everything is tied to your identity. Your papers. If you change those, you are a different person. 

Fingerprints? If they’re in the system, if you’ve ever been fingerprinted, it’s a little trickier. But it can be done.  

Oh, that’s right - you’re a teacher, so of course you’ve had background checks. Well, you’ll never teach again, so it won’t matter. What? I told you, you have to give up everything. 

When changing identities and dropping off the radar, you have to change what you do. Whatever habits you had, where ever you went, do elsewise. You won’t be hanging out in bookstores anymore, and you can’t join the Junior League in Denver if you were in every Junior League of every city you ever lived in.  Change your appearance, of course, but even as a brunette you can’t join the local improv group or historical society. That’s where they will look for you.  Join the Corvette club, and build a persona as an expert in 1972 Flybird Corvette transmission modifications, or whatever might be a car thing that you know nothing about and could care less about right now. 

You can join the quilt club, or the Daughters of the Mayflower, I guess. If the most important thing to you is dropping out, disappearing, disconnecting, and avoiding the consequences of what you did, you have to truly start over.  You cannot be the same person, because when they come looking for you, they will look for her. 

Changing your papers and license and online trail are just technicalities. Harder technicalities, of course, given the internet and government, but just a technicality. But you have to be willing to change, and I’m really not getting that about you. What is the good of posting misleading social media content like faking a trip to France before abandoning it all if you are just going to go to the city you’ve talked about since you were a kid? 

Oh, now you’re upset?  What did you think this would be like? You would change your name from Emma to Emily and go live your exact life somewhere else, just without going to jail? Were you going to get a husband named Jason, too?

Oh, that was cruel? I’m so sorry. You poor thing, dealing with the consequences of your actions one way or the other. Look, I don’t think you are cut out for this. You haven’t really thought it through. What? No, I won’t return the deposit. 

Hmm, I don’t know. That puts me at risk, if I get you transplanted and then you show up at the first community theater audition and get nabbed.  Yes, they will. They will be looking for you. Once they follow the dots back to you, you are a goner. They need someone to pin this on. Look, lady, it’s not like you are skipping out on a credit card bill or a boring husband. A flashy murder like this, there will be a manhunt. Your picture will be out. You have to go somewhere you never talked about and have no connection to, change what you look like, lay low for a while, and then don’t do anything you’ve ever done before. 

What kind of life is that? What kind of question is that?  A life out of jail, I guess. You know what, we’re done. I’m out. If you can’t –

Ok. Ok, calm down. Yes, fine, I can still help you. But Jesus, lady, I’m not a psychiatrist. You do this or don’t. I don’t care. You go home – the back way, please, with your GPS and location off – and call the police and turn yourself in with some kind of sob story, or you give me your license and credit cards and goddamn library card – everything – and take this airline ticket and this ID and catch the four p.m. flight to Indianapolis.  

Well, why not Indianapolis? Have you ever been there before? Well, then, that’s why. Go home and – No, you can’t go home and say goodbye! You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Get out and –

Oh. That’s better. Good, small bills, at least you listened to one thing I said. Let’s see - yep, that’s all of it. You’re going through with this, then? Gimme that – no, the whole purse. You can have back anything that doesn’t have your name on it. Take this. You are Sarah Jackson. There’s a airline ticket, driver’s license, birth certificate, and one credit card. Here’s the info and pin for the credit card. Set up an online account, change the address as soon as you get settled. 

No, no passport. You didn’t pay me enough to leave the country. 

In a year – you hear me? Wait a year – you can apply for more credit. You are an orphan and a widow, and have no kids. There’s a paper with your history and family – memorize it and destroy it. Do NOT be found with that. No one keeps around a paper to remind them who their grandparents are.  

You’ll pass a state background check in Indiana, but a federal might get tricky. Try not to get fingerprinted.  

Yes, you can work. Any job you can fake. Work for cash if you can, but don’t draw attention to yourself. Well, just make up a resume that you can do. There’s one more service I provide. If you need a reference, call this number, Jenny will set you up.  You’ll get a number for them to call and get a good reference. That’s the ONLY reason to call this number – I can’t get you out of any other bullshit.  

Well, congrats, Sarah.  You have three hours to get to the airport. Walk about four blocks before you catch a cab – no, I don’t care, any direction.  

No, leave your car. No, you can’t take your car to the airport! Are you kidding?  They find your car, check cameras and manifests, and it takes them about five minutes to figure out Indiana. No, we can’t sell it for you. Get everything you need out of it now. Listen – leave anything with your name! Don’t take a receipt or Starbucks cup, for God’s sake. 

It has to be abandoned.  We’ll take it out State Route 6, they’ll have to dredge the quarry to make sure you didn’t off yourself. Oh my God. Yeah, you’re welcome, lady. 

You’re all set. You kept about a thousand cash like I told you, right? Split it up, put it in different places. All right, good luck.  Remember, don’t catch a cab right out front, walk a ways first.  

Oh my God. What a piece of work. Jenny? I’ll be out, I have a deposit to make. Have Mario take this Corolla out to the quarry, the usual. Her? Naw, she won’t make it. I give it about a month, someone will spot her at a bookstore. Some people just can’t handle change.