A Thousand Ways To Run

Chapter 16

My preoccupied mind lead me quickly to the room. I was back before I even knew it. It felt like the phenomenon of highway hypnosis, driving for miles without realizing it. I should have been discovered, just like thousands of people should get into accidents every day as their minds wander anywhere else but the road. But I didn’t. And neither did they. And maybe that in itself is just another miracle people choose to ignore.

I flicked my eyes up to the ceiling, searching for the tiniest glint of a camera lense. Moving me to this new room had been a rash decision, and yet the wires were already fitted through the wall, waiting to watch my only exit at all times of the day and night. It was a bit foreboding to see. I’d wiggled my way out of almost everything, accepting the punishments and blows as they came. Now I finally had something – or someone – to lose.

That is the one fatal flaw of any agent—attachment. Get too comfortable in your office, start redecorating, and you’re moved to a new branch. Work with the same person more than a handful of times, and it’s time to say goodbye. If you sleep with a civilian woman and have her bear your child, there is no way in hell either of you will see each other ever again.

Maybe it’s the human downfall. People do crazy things for those they love; run into burning buildings, dive into freezing oceanic waters, fight against everything they have ever known. And all for an idea. There is no way to hold love in your hand, to keep it safe, or lock it up when you just don’t want to remember it anymore. We fight for an idea, a mindset, a . . .feeling. I couldn’t think of a better cause if I tried.

The key I’d snatched still worked, and I set off to hide it.

When I was three and my dad took me to my first preschool, the ladies who worked there tried their very best to teach us games we could play amongst each other. Some couldn’t quite grasp the concept of ‘Red Light, Green Light’, even more pouted during tag because they hated being ‘it’ for too long. But at that particular preschool, Hide N’ Seek was a favorite. The architect had decided to have a little too much fun with a building meant for play, and made it octangular. The place was a mess when it came to buying furniture and arranging classrooms, but for those who couldn’t care less about practicality, it was the work of an emerging genius.

Resident children would squeeze in the numerous tight corners, forcing their bodies into acute angles. They were always found easily, because – as they would only later discover – covering your face in your hands doesn’t constitute as a good hiding place. I chose a different direction. Steaming hot and facing the danger of overheating under the folded pile of naptime blankets, I was never found.

I was still really good at Hide N’ Seek.

My room was unpacked, suitcase atop the folded bed, an empty closet reminding me of how few belongings I carried. With the steak knife I took from the kitchen gripped tightly in my hand, I took an edge of my comforter, the one nearest to my head. Along the sewing line, I carefully fitted the edge under a single feeble thread, and nibbledit in half. I plucked the sewing out along a two-inch line, and then fit the card – still coded – inside, under the thin layer of padding. The only needle I could find was a cut paper clip, with which I sewed a poor covering for the key and tied it with the stray end. I made sure to re-make my bed perfectly as it had been before. My pillow covered the hiding place and my horrible excuse of sewing.  

I wanted to give the molds in the freezer time to really set up. I wandered around the apartment, expecting the space again. It was so early in the morning; I was sure I could have seen the peak of the sun over the horizon. . . if there had been any windows in the room, that is. I missed the sun. I missed the freedom I had to walk around on the wide open schools grounds, to do my homework in the shade of a tree, feel the wind carry strands of hair across my face, or cool me off as beads of sweat dripped down across my forehead. I longed for the burning sensation on my skin, like it was a tangible thing to feel my skin becoming darker. I actually missed the way the old stone buildings never aged like others did. How they could be over a hundred years old, and still standing tall? It was as if they were just too stubborn to let time do its job.