Judge, Jury, Escape

Dedicated to the love of my life, Sam.

Judge, Jury, Escape

           I’m running through the fields. Eyes watching me, glaring at me with disgust and disdain. They pierce me like knives as I run through the brush. Beating me slowly. I lose energy and my run becomes a jog, my jog becomes a walk, and my walk becomes a crawl. They close in, with the bats of judgment in their hands. I recognize their faces. The ones who are supposed to love me, to care for me, to always be there for me… One puts a boot to my throat… and the rest finish the job.

           I wake up screaming in a pool of sweat. My shirt, my pants, my sheets are soaked. I turn and look in the mirror and I see a ghost staring back at me. Pale and wet, he looks not only distraught but lost as well. I swing my feet to the floor and stand as though it takes all my strength. I continue to the washroom, clean my face, and rejuvenate my soul in a hot bath.

           I’ve never felt more lost in my life, never felt more lonely, never felt so unloved. The aches and pains come and go like tides of the sea. When they crash on the shore it’s like ice water has been poured into my veins. They’ve become more constant over the years. Sometimes I feel like I need to take these baths just to keep myself warm enough to live. If I don’t, I’ll freeze to death, or worse, drown in the instability that is my mind.

           After some time, I get out. Lifting myself with renewed strength, I almost have a determination to set the world right, to put everyone in their place. I walk into my main room and get dressed. My bureau is stocked with clothing of all types, all styles. It may be the one way, the only way, I can express myself. Even that, the world hinders though. I still hide who I am. I don’t express myself to my full capability, to my full desire.

           I walk out of my room, through the hall, and down the steps to the foyer. The maid is cleaning. Nuisance.

           She’s simply a formality for my parents to keep up appearances. You can’t be of high stature without servants to highlight those below you.

           I walk to the kitchen where my mother is making brunch. Snake.

           Her silver tongue slips through the gaps in her teeth while she speaks to me. “How did you sleep?”

           “Well, I suppose.” Lying yet again.

           “That’s good. What are your plans for today?”

           “I’m not quite sure. Perhaps I’ll write. Perhaps I’ll walk. Perhaps I’ll play with stones in the pond. It will all depend on my mood, I suppose.”

           “Oh, you. Always with your fantasies. Your imagination will get you in trouble one day. Whether it be choosing a lack of a career or choosing a lack of a meaningful life. When will you find a woman? You’re at the right age now. You should be finding a wife.”

           “What if I don’t want a wife? What if I want to live alone as a hermit on the sea? Or perhaps a traveling salesman, who goes from continent to continent across the world? Or perhaps–”

           “Enough of that. What you need to do is get your head straight. You need to become a doctor and find a wife. Buy a house and have a child. That is what life is about, you can’t just make it up as you go along. It isn’t like one of your stories. In the real world, you have responsibilities and one of them is a natural duty to bore a son… and you best get to it. The longer you wait the less time you have. When will you learn that?”

           How can I speak to that? There’s no debate, no discussion, no love. It’s almost mathematical to her. I’m a logical man but… some things logic has no place in, and how someone wishes to spend their life is one that it has no business being a part of. What’s the point if you don’t enjoy what you do? If you don’t like who you are? If you ignore the person that you want to be? There’s no purpose in life if that is how someone choices to live it.

“Thank you for your wisdom, mother. As always.” I can see her shaking her head as I walk past her to the back patio. Fresh air can at least sustain my spirit. Whenever I talk to her I feel drained. A constant battle and she always has the upper hand. Seniority.

           Jacques, our groundskeeper, is tending to the bushes. Shame.

           If my father actually paid attention to me at all he may have noticed my awkwardly lengthy stare. I look away as Jacques turns to face us. Then, one of the house servants, Emilia, comes with lemonade for the hot day that it is. Wrong.

           She is a beautiful woman. Full, bright, good wit. I know I should feel something. Lust if nothing less… but, I don’t. She offers me lemonade but I decline. I believe she flirts with me often. Not that anyone else would take notice, and neither would I recognize it. She then walks off to my father, giving him a glass, and then to Jacques. It’s hard not to look. I desire him? Why? Emotions run rampant. I can’t control them. I know who I am, what I feel, what I want. My family belittles me, whether they realize it or not, whether they mean to or not. I feel small in their presence, like a lost child in a city. Strangers surround me… and they judge me.

           I swiftly pivot and exit through the garden, around the side of the house. I stop to take in the freshly planted flowers. Their smell is calming. Always pleasant. Nature doesn’t hurt me. It doesn’t care what a person is or does. It is objective and only does what it needs to survive. I find great peace in that.

           I continue to the front where a coach is waiting. I could walk, but I’d actually enjoy the ride. It would give me time to contemplate my situation, not that I don’t do that enough.

I climb in and tell James to head into town. On my way, I become lost in my thoughts. How badly I wanted to pick one of those flowers and carry it with me… How I disdain my façade. My false persona that dictates my being to the world. They own it… they own me. How can I be set free? I’m a caged bird to their demands, their expectations, their wants, their needs, their model of how things should be. That isn’t my model. That isn’t who I am. I must break free.

           James yells from the front as we stop. I get swept back into reality. Strange when that happens. I exit and walk alongside the car. I thank James before he goes and tell him to pick me up at the tavern around five this evening. At least we understand each other. We’re both outcasts. We don’t fit in here, or anywhere. The world hates us with a passion and they don’t dare try to hide it. He rides off and leaves me in the town center. My first stop is the post office, maybe my joy will be restored there.

           I traverse through the main plaza, always busy with merchants and street-performers and all kinds of vendors. It’s an extravagant and often chaotic phenomenon. To spend a day here is almost a religious experience. If I ever cared for a “higher” purpose or being, this would be my religion… humanity. My mother would surely wish more than that. The life I lead presumes damnation. So, she won’t get what she wants either way.

           Once past the plaza, I turn right, down a narrow street and enter the post office. It’s surprisingly empty for a day and time in which it shouldn’t be. I go up to the teller and ask for mail under the name: Dominic Phisher. I have two pieces. The first is my pay from the bank, some form of sanity that I can still derive for myself. The second is correspondence from Walter Meacher. Love.

I’ve sent and received several letters to and from him before. I first started talking to him through an “aspiring doctors” program. This was, of course, before I decided I hated it and instead wished to pursue my passions.

He’s a smart man. Much smarter than I. Passionate about his work. About life. He gives me hope for what it could be. I feel things for him… I often wonder if he does too. Feelings are hard to convey over words on a piece of parchment. His current letter reads like all the rest. Eloquent and lively. Full of spirit and everything I hope to achieve.

How do I express myself? I don’t know. All I know is that I long for his letters and I often share with him more intimate details than with anyone else.

Strange. His letter has a demand in it. To walk back to the plaza and turn towards the flower shop with the marigolds in full bloom. I often talk about the shops, the flowers, the city life. Interesting how he wishes me to go there. For what purpose? His letter ends. No signage. Strange indeed.

I exit the post office and begin heading where I began. Turning back towards the plaza, to the market’s beginning. I see the shop set up with its marigolds illuminating the market. A man is standing beside it. He turns to face me with a flower in his hand…

“Dominic?”

“Yes, and you are?”

“Walter. It’s extremely nice to meet you. Here.” He lifts his arm and gestures for me to take the orange-colored blossom from him. I look dumbfounded at him but slowly approach and grab it from his hand.

“I… Hello, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to meet you and I had a feeling you wanted to meet me.” I smile at this and look into his eyes.

His eyes. Something about them drew me in. Caressed me as if I were the only one there. What a sensation. I’ve never felt anything like it before.

“Do you want to go and talk somewhere?”

“That would be fantastic. Where do you have in mind?”

“Uh… there’s a tavern just around the corner.”

“Splendid. Let’s go, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s.” We walk side-by-side across the plaza once more and turn left, away from the post office. Down the street, we remain speechless. Walter seems so confident, almost content. We reach the tavern, enter, and sit at a table.

“So, what do you like to drink?”

I look up at him with confusion. “Anything really. How about beer?”

“Lager?”

“Why not?” I smile as I say this and he smiles back. He orders our drinks and we begin talking like in our letters. How surreal. Even more invigorating. Almost intoxicating to talk to him. I am enjoying myself tremendously as it seems he is as well. We finish our drinks and our conversation with a laugh.

“Where to next?”

I look at him, caught off guard. “Uh… I don’t know. I could show you around the city–”

“That sounds great.” He stands and I follow as we exit.

Perplexed, I attempt to appear confident as well, “We can go this way.”

We start to walk towards the capital building, but as soon as the streets are free of people and an opening is seen, Walter drags me into an alley. He pushes me against a wall and kisses me with immense force. My instinct is to flee, but I become comfortable in his grip and allow myself to stay. We remain there for some time, impassioned with our embrace.

I’m confused, frightened, worried… What is happening? Is my life a perpetual storm? This is what I want, but the journey to uphold this will be one of great adversity. Am I ready for that?

“I want to go to your house, Dominic.”

“Why? To see my mother?”

“That, and something else…”

I think for a second before moving away from the wall and telling him to follow me. We walk back to the tavern, just in time for James to pick me up.

I suppose I will take Walter with me, a new friend I've made. That is all my family needs to know about him.

We climb in after Walter and James exchange pleasantries. The ride is short… and filled with intimacy. I can’t help myself anymore. This is who I am, this is who I want to be, this is who I am happy with. Me.

Walter and I compose ourselves before we reach the estate. When the carriage pulls to the front door of the house, we exit.

It is bright as always, but this time I have a sense of impending doom. Walter still seems so confident though. I think he has a plan…

We walk in and go to my mother’s study. She’s sitting in her reading chair by the imposing bookcase that overshadows the room with an overwhelming touch of inadequacy.

“Hello, mother. This is Walter. He’s a friend from when I was in the future doctors program.”

“Oh, how nice to meet you! Hopefully, you can convince him to become a doctor, finally.”

Walter says with a smile, “I think I’ll be able to do that easily.” He looks at me with intent and it causes my heart to throb aggressively.

“Fantastic! Well, let us–”

Walter cuts her off, “Actually Mrs. Phisher, I’d like to go to Dominic’s room to convince him to submit his applications.”

“Oh, well that sounds like a splendid idea. You may just be the best thing that has ever happened to my son.”

“Of that, I have no doubt, Mrs. Phisher. I’ll get him out of this house before you know it…”

We leave her, walking up the foyer stairs, through the hall, and to my room. The door is shut immediately and we fall into ourselves… It’s all a blur, but afterward I know what must come next. I have to decide… Walter wants me to leave with him. I love him, but I love my mother, too. How can I choose?

I will give her one last chance. One real conversation to prove that she cares not just about my success, but about who I am and what I want as well.

I go back downstairs. My mother is again in the kitchen, this time sitting at the table.

“Mother. I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, Dominic?”

“If I were to not leave… if I were to stay instead, and perhaps take on a different career… Perhaps law–”

“Dominic, law in this small town? Hardly a career. I thought Walter was going to convince you?”

“He did, but I’d be leaving you, father, and–”

“This is your life, Dominic. You need to improve it. You need to succeed. Becoming a doctor and leaving is how you do it.”

“So, you want me to be happy? To live my life?”

“Happiness is success, Dominic. Money is how you achieve happiness. Comfort and status are what life is about. You need to strive for it.”

“So, if that’s not what I want. If I’d rather live poor and happy and in love that would make me unsuccessful?”

“What a stupid question, Dominic. How could that possibly be considered success? You can’t live happily without money, and you don’t need love. You need a good job and a wife, kids. Sometimes, I swear you are hopeless.”

“I see…”

There is a long pause as I dread the next words to come out of my mouth.

“Well then, mother. I will leave you.”

“Thank God above.”

So… it’s decided? I have one person who cares for me? Only one who loves me? Yet another odd sensation… Almost like I’m floating above my body, staring at it from the sky.

“Goodbye, mother.” I stand and leave after saying this. She didn’t respond. I like to think she contemplated my words and emotions and realized her mistake… but, I don’t believe that is what actually happened.

I walk back up to my room. Walter is sitting on my bed, waiting for me. I go right up to him and kiss him as he did me in the alley. Passion beyond any frame of meaning. This doesn’t mask my crushed spirits, however. When my lips move off of his, the tears form. I walk to my bureau and start packing.

“Are you alright, Dom?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He could tell through my intense effort not to hint at emotion, that I wasn’t.

“Dom.”

I ignore him as he walks towards me.

“Dominic.”

He turns me around and I collapse into his arms. He falls with me and holds me, I can feel the resolve in his grip.

“It’s going to be okay, Dominic. We have each other and that is all we’ll ever need.”

I can only respond with more tears as I bury my face deeper into his chest.

“I love you.”

This gets my attention. I look up at him, into his eyes, and I see that he means it. This fills me with a new emotion, one I haven’t felt in a long time. Hope.

My whole life has felt like a trial and society has been the judge and the jury throughout it all. It was soon to be the executioner as well… Then, Walter forced his way into my life and presented a new possibility. A new way forward. An alternative to what the world had in store for me… Escape.