A Thousand Ways To Run

Chapter 19

Robert Frost was a great man and poet. He wrote about things all humans could understand; desperation to achieve, to be different, and find our way through this complicated thing called life in one piece. Maybe it’s not very individualistic of me to call him one of my favorite poets. But I would be lying if I said he wasn’t.

One of his most famous poems is called The Road Not Taken, in which Frost writes that two roads diverged in a yellow wood. He went on a short walk down both, being undecided on which he should take. And still when he came back to the part where they forked, he was still undecided and perhaps even more torn. I guess Frost was feeling risky that day, because he chose the road less traveled by.

For a society of followers that we live in today, such a decision seems really quite... stupid. People who take less traveled roads may end up getting lost, driving longer, or not end up where they want to. But sometimes those rare places that have not been trodden by the feet of industrialism, are much prettier. And those risky decisions made with two seconds of bravery, well, they often make all the difference.

I figure that most girls would have seen the boy in front of them; how perfectly he smiles when he’s truly happy, the flop of his hair and the adoration in his eyes. And they would have said to hell with their goals and to hell with uncertainty and risks.

But that would have made me like most girls.

No, I didn’t agree right away to leave. I fought back and tried to lie to him and myself that it would have been better if I would have stayed and never tried to leave. I’d wager we sat and talked for more than an hour before I decided. Warren wouldn’t let me go, wouldn’t let me shrink into myself and push him away. I thought about how nothing in my life really meant anything to me for years. I did well in school because doing badly meant free time and people breathing down my back. All I ever did was run away to find her. I thought about Robert Frost. And I agreed to leave that night because Warren wanted me to, because he’s a good person. I still didn’t want to leave him, though.

As I packed a few essentials in a backpack, I forcefully told Warren, “You’re coming with me.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Why not?”

He sighed but didn’t get frustrated with my persistent arguing. “I’ll get us both caught. I’m not the espionage type. You know that.”

I threw a long-sleeved shirt at the bag harder than I needed to and began to mumble under my breath. “After we just got together, I’m leaving, and you’re making me go!” The words came out louder with my anger. It was simply ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.

“I’m making you see sense, Charlie! You need to do this or you’ll regret it.” His arms were crossed and I could think of a hundred different ways I could have disabled him with just the jacket on my back, but I was afraid to cross him again.

I whispered this time, finally admitting another reason why I was so scared to go. “What if she’s not there?”

He didn’t respond.

“I have no more leads and no way of getting them. What if I get caught before I can even reach the address?”

“You’re too good for that.”

“What if she moved?”

“You’ll find her again.”

“It’s not that simple!” I yelled, my anger untamable. I threw the useless old backpack down on the floor like a child. I wanted to kick it and tear it apart.

The wretched piece of fabric had taken me all across the country, survived the torrents of rain in Seattle, the heat of Miami, and the straps held strong every time I’d been on the run, hurling my body over fenceposts and through alleys. It was my getaway weapon, and I absolutely hated what it stood for in that moment. The selfish Charlie, the loner, the robot who had nothing to lose and no one to hold her together. And I hated how strong it had stayed throughout the years, just like I had. Because that kind of strength is nothing to be admired. It’s riddled with regret and pain buried deep down that can never be forgotten.