The Escapeartist Speaks

Tainted Halos

I've always equated my dealings with Kevin to brushes with white-magic.
He had this quiet way of conjuring the angel out of me. He emanated this welcoming glow which in turn, made me feel more ethereal in his presence. And for that reason alone, I missed him.

So it was no surprise upon reuniting in Michigan, amongst the averageness of the Marriott, he shined even brighter than I remembered. It was of even less surprise when he referred to the irony of my room number 527, that 5 plus 2 equalled 7, that it had snowed 7 inches on his way over, and 7 years had passed since we last spoke...

Seeing him again was so bittersweet. Like cracking open a dusty journal packed with tales of the real me. A story I was scared to re-visit. I knew this meeting would be as difficult as it was welcomed--Anxious and worried as I was. Worried his vision of a younger, more innocent Midwestern girl with stars in her eyes and a far more open heart had since turned a deeper shade of grey. Stone-like and rigid, and honed by the struggles that the citylife demands.

I feared I had lost my virginity to Manhattan. And Kevin would no longer identify that embedded angel. Folded wings now coated by layers of subway dust. The one who couldn't be held down by the confines of our home town.Who unravelled herself from the city limits of East Lansing Michigan on a quest for greener pastures...

I pictured how his life might be. It was in the cards that he would do nothing ordinary. And to hear that he remained a Michigan local, wether a resident medical practitioner or not, I found oddly comforting.
In my latest fantasy of him I pictured a wife, a home fashioned by Frank Lloyd Wright and a newborn, maybe two--As his life stabilized and his roots twisted deeper into the earth of our secure midwestern upbringing.


But to ease my own discontent, deep down I wished he harbored a dark secret for me, a ravenous desire to break free and explore the world as I had. Maybe we could share that selfish little commonality...

Maybe it would have been different had I been joined him inside the Sparrow Hospital waiting room as he flitted between patients, serious and sobered in hospital blues. Maybe I would have felt my life had even less purpose to share. After all, Kevin was saving lives and I was merely spending cash.
The fact that I had purchased my 1st condo and made a killing on Philip Morris before it split seemed so unimportant. My rent stabilized gem in The Village with the million dollar view of a tree branch and semi scaffolded cathedral suddenly seemed so--not a steal. The idea that I lived in new York and lived my life like a Sex in the City episode suddenly felt so cliche.
But I did have the luxury of freedom unlike my friends, baggy-eyed and saddled with kids. And that,
to me, was priceless.

But when he arrived at my door, alarmingly unchanged from that boyish blue eyed pre med student that I so respected, I was relieved to find the pedestal leveling between us.
Thank God he hadn't changed, at least not physically. And he lingered in the doorway sheepishly,
head cocked to the left with genuine blushed happiness. Not unlike so many eves before outside dormroom 505 of blessed Campbell hall. I smiled as I most likely would have back when we were sophomores. Genuine...Hopeful....
Happy.



Thankfully, 7 years passed between us and he still seemed that impossibly idealistic boy.
Thankfully, we reunited with the same issues we'd harbored and relied upon as marijuana philosophy, back in those hopeful pre-graduate haze. Back when we had excuses to slack. When we had he luxury of time and excuse of youth, and the post graduate world ahead of us to conquer...

Back in the day Kevin claimed to held some sort of candle for me. And flattered as I was,
I never crossed the line to allow for any disenchanting letdown. Had I compromised our bond for some basic beer clouded rationale for "having a good time," I was certain regret would clobber me once the morninglight piercing reality crept through my Bay Windows. It wasn't worth it. I liked Kevin too much to take so him so lightly. More importantly, I was too scared he would see my faults and find me just an ordinary girl.

So I never indulged him as more than a friend confidant and guru. And looking back , maybe the pedestal building was mutual. Enabling us to harbor impossibly idealistic visions of one another.
Less magical truths left safely undiscovered. I held him in high regard because of this.
Maintaining an intimate friendship to a brilliant boy harboring no greater sexual intention was the ultimate compliment. Naively I carried on believing this to be true, until one day, when he grew tired of playing angel to me and gave into more earthly desires with my younger sister.
That was the day Kevin became human.

When a friend oversteps there bounds with a sibling, it's nothing short of taboo. A violation.
A reaffirmation of the male over-sexed who sees no boundaries. So with this dalliance involving Jenny, a slightly less inhibited and more naive version of me, I considered it a twisted compliment and moved on. And over seven years time, the effect of this violation wore thin to the point of forgetting.
At least in my mind.

But Kevin had other ideas.
And somewhere between the welcome back embrace and the celebratory Pinot Noir toast
he unleashed this all consuming desire to revisit his err and somehow make it right.
As if it made a difference now. Truth be told his indecency hadn't crossed my mind in years.
But my guardian Angel insisted on going there. Claiming that this grave mistake was a heavy cross to bare, and after 7 years, his conscience was getting tired.

Strange to me, how one instance in time could carve such remorse in someone's psyche.
And although I assured and reassured him the past was of no consequence, he refuted my plea.
And stuck me right back on that pedestal where I didn't belong. Maybe it was his way of maintaining that impossible ethereal quality that I was sure I had lost. Maybe he needed something to pine for...

"Well, well, well....my Guardian Angel has arrived." I announced as we embraced hello.

"You always used to say that." He reminded me.

"I did?"

"Yes--Everytime you were about to leave...."

(To Be Continued)

Going Green

The view from 1,000 feet above was dismal. Compartmentalized. Lackluster gray. Far different from the brilliant sea of lights I was accustomed to-- It was always a bittersweet reunion coming home.

Time to take it easy. Get back to basics. Realize my roots. Go Green. Catch up with the old friends and their new families. Questioning whose grass was really greener--

In a valiant attempt not to stand out too much as the typical New Yorker, I packed whatever was left in my urban wardrobe that was not too provocative or not too black. Which was not that much. I abandoned my stilettos for snowboots and ruled out anything involving metallics or Swavortski Crystals or designer labels displayed on the exterior of things. It wouldn`t matter here.

In East Lansing Michigan, folks were more impressed with how much you saved rather than how much you spent. Proud to display their Prada knockoffs from Target and declare "Can you believe it?...$11.99!" A New Yorker wouldn`t be caught dead shopping for a replica let alone disclosing the savings. Tres gauche.

But where I came from, appearances never mattered so much. We had the time to get to know you, pry beneath the cloak of contrived wealth via Italian branded handbags and Swiss timepieces whose discounted price far surpassed the down-payment of a home.

Folks from Michigan were simple, yet intuitive people. Unimpressed with image, they preferred to take you in wholeheartedly. Like good friends catching up over coffee. To an image obsessed New Yorker, this deconstruction can prove far more revealing, and consequently, far less comfortable.

The stewardess bid the Midwestern passengers an enthusiastic
"Happy Turkey Day!" And proceed to make it worse by adding the perfunctory, "Gobble Gobble!" People laughed. Nobody in New York would have laughed at that. They would have rolled their eyes in embaressment for her. Tres tres gauche.

As my foot stepped from the plane onto the skybridge the frozen air sobered me, painfully. My breath expiring to white smoke even before I hit the gate. Jesus--how did I ever exist in this? 19 degrees felt like 20 below zero in my Bebe mock anorak with mock fur. I cursed my hasty decision to abandon the undergarments previously purchased for snowboarding in Vermont. If outdoor conditions ever called for Capilene, it would be now. Although in NY I had seen colder days, somehow it always seemed violently cooler in Michigan.

Once inside the terminal walking NY fast, dodging and weaving between lethargic Midwesterners, I was quickly reminded why carrying that heavy residue of super-sized burgers and bloomin' onions was so acceptable here. That extra layer of "padding" came in handy on days like today. Days the Michigan folk would claim, were just like any other day. And rather than battling wintry dreariness with luxury jaunts to Aruba, the folks here simply rolled with it. Making the best of their first home, and "2nd Cloudiest City In The Nation." They accepted their fate without resistance, and gingerly headed to the Cheesecake Factory for refuge.

Although the ever-smiling members of the Hertz # 1 Gold Club were quick to accommodate my high maintenance NY ways, I quickly shunned them all as they sent me and my overstuffed NY bags packing on a solo journey. "Valet?" I wondered in vain as I headed begrudgingly, 27 paces that felt like miles to the bay marked E-32. Naturally, the car parked furthest from where I had been dropped by the "courtesey" bus.

When I came across my assigned upgraded Luxury SUV, I considered someone must be playing a cruel joke. The alleged grade higher promised to me was apparently in mass, not in class. This monster truck disguised as a Ford FREESTYLE was an ironic vehicle in more ways than one. Behind the drivers seat, the van could easily seat 8. Awesome. I mentally calculated the additional 140 dollars for gas this complimentary upgrade would run me. How this family sized maxi van translated to "Freestyle"--I have no idea. Suddenly I questioned whether the effervescent Flo, my Hertz #1 Gold Club Customer Care Representative, held a stealth grudge against me. That she secretly knew I was 33 and harbored a guilty child-free and single and I don`t care complex. Come to think of it, she did call me ma`am...

After cranking up the heat to 90 I began to defrost, both physically and mentally. Out of sheer necessity, I forwent the desperate attempt to appear tragically un-hip and reached for my oversized NY sunglasses. Not to shield my eyes from the sun, but decipher between the blinding grayness of road versus sky that lay infinitely monochromatic before me. A scene so bleak, it was enough to hurl any naturally optimistic college grad with the world ahead of her into a Seasonal Affective Disorder downward spiral. Check. Another reaffirmation of my escape from the Great Lake State.

Heading west on the I-94, I took full advantage of the 70 MPH speed limit and then some. Anxious to meet my demons and get it over with. In less than 90 minutes the Prodigal Daughter would return to her roots. The reconciliation of my past...a mere 88 miles away.

(To Be Continued)