Okay. I went out and had a smoke. Now I'm thinking rationally. I have a plan... I have to tell it to her. I think she'll go for it.
Tomorrow, it's me and you. We pack up tonight--don't worry, I'll take care of everything. I have your food--the power supply fits in the pocket of my maroon backpack, just like it always has. We'll find a way to steal some connectivity along the way--I'm not gonna sweat the small stuff. So just get ready. You get some rest, right here, on the arm of the couch, while I get our stuff together. Watch a little TV; you won't like it much. It's boring compared to where we've been. But just stay with it until sleep mode kicks in. Trust me on this. I'll take care of the rest.
By midnight I'll be ready. Have my meds, my t-shirts and jeans, my folders, my phone--I'll have it all together. I'll get gas in the car on our way out of town. And we'll drive. Just you and me.
Up into the North Georgia mountains, nothing but green buds unfolding in thick woods, nothing but red clay and open roads, and that smell with the window rolled down just enough, nothing but the ashes flicked out the window of the Escape, our escape, making our escape, drive until night, when the sky unwraps the stars for us and puts on the shock and awe show we deserve. And we'll keep going. Winding our way up into the mountains--can you feel it getting cooler--nice, and you can smell winter taking its leave, leaves dissolve into the ground still, dampened from the cold and rain they continue their journey home.
When we get to the cabin, don't say a word. It's what I've learned. Act like you're supposed to be somewhere, have something, take something, and its yours. Just let me handle it. If anyone asks, it's a weekend vacation, up to enjoy spring in bloom up that trail to the cabins no one bothers with. I'll carry you, you just relax. When we get there, I'll sweep away the dust from the old pine table, give you a nice place to rest for a while before we turn on.
As soon as they can get away unnoticed, George and Jenna will meet us there. They have to go quietly, the next night or the night after. People will be looking for us. George can handle them. Leave the bills and the house, bring the dogs and the cat, some firewood, some stuff we need. Jenna will bring her toys--we'll hear her voice soon enough, leaping and jumping from the hearth to the chair--"I can FLY!" she'll chant from mid-air.
I think we can pull it off. What choice do we have? I'm not letting you go. Can't. Not yet. Too much of me in you, too many files, to many places and nooks and crannies filled with my words, voice, poetry, prose, loss, life--your keys welcome the shape of my fingers. Your screen welcomes my eyes. You are one of us.
See you at midnight.
