THE ESCAPE

       It was a small house in a tidy neighborhood. On the ground floor was a large front room with polished hardwood flooring, marked by a central rug of Native American design. A brick fireplace dominated the left wall, along with appropriate wall hangings and other embellishments. Ceramic pieces were smartly placed in just the right locations, giving the room a pleasing balance of well-thought-out color accents. Near the front windows, there was a small wooden table with four chairs that served as the dining area. A little further back from the main room were three smaller rooms: a den, an office, and a bathroom. Up front and to the right of the main room was a nicely remodeled kitchen that included a back door area that led out to a fenced-in backyard.
      Also in the back of the house, there was a nicely polished wooden staircase that led up one flight to attic space converted into a large bedroom. The two of us were just coming down those stairs, buttoning up and tucking in our clothes, when we heard a car door slam out front. I turned to look at Gloria, but she was already running to the front door, crossing the foyer with leopard-like speed. I watched her look out the small windows in the door and felt an escalating panic in my chest, a heart-thumping panic actually, paralyzing, except for my fingers frantically attempting to button up my button-down jeans.
       Still looking out the windows, Gloria whispered, “Get your coat. It’s David. He’s home early.” I had already come to that same conclusion, but I didn’t think validating my perception skills was all that important at the moment. I grabbed my coat off one of the chairs and whip-fast put it on, but before I could take a step the braking thought occurred to me—-to what end? And to where? Any second David would be coming through that front door and there I’d be, standing right in front of him, wild-eyed, breathing heavy, unable to speak, blubbering incoherently, with untied shoelaces and an overall disheveled look that could only enhance the guilt written all over my face.
       Then, again, I heard Gloria confidently command, “Go to the back door, but don’t open it until you hear me say, ‘Hi David’. That will be your cue to know I’ve drawn him to the front door and not the back.” She said this with remarkable calm and a certain tone that seemed to say, “Don’t worry. This will work. I’ve done it plenty of times before.” Had she? Really? How many times? With whom? But again, I didn’t think this was the opportune time to reflect on these potentially troublesome questions. So, following her instructions, I turned fast toward the back door and tripped over my untied shoelaces. My knees hit the floor with a dull thud, dislodging the sneaker from my right foot. I whispered, “Shit,” as quietly as the pain in my knees would allow; at which, Gloria, still at the door, whispered, “Hurry!”, with no small measure of scorn in her voice, which by my lights, was totally unjustified.
        I grabbed my sneaker off the floor, scrambled to the back door, and gently grasped the doorknob, twisting it quietly into position to open without a click. Waiting for my cue, I readied myself to execute my escape with the precision of animal instincts firing on all cylinders. Just at that exact moment, I heard the creak of the front door open and I almost leaped out of my other sneaker. I spun to my right and saw Gloria disappear out the front door, leaving it partially open to give me the advantage of being better able to hear the signal. Sure enough, half a second later, I heard Gloria’s perfectly audible exclamation of delight when she said, “Hi, David.”
       Without hesitation, I soundlessly pulled the backdoor open and slipped out onto the small back porch. I could hear muffled conversation coming from the front door as I pulled the back door shut. I was as quiet as a burglar closing a safe.
        Stepping off the porch, I began a soft tiptoe across the lawn toward the back fence, but after a few steps, I broke into a sprint. Visions of David coming out the back door, screaming, “Hey! You! STOP!” propelling me faster than I’d ever run before. Arriving at the fence, I quickly found the gate that led to the other side. Grasping the gate latch trigger, I gently pressed it down, forcing the lever to flick up against the metal casing and clang loudly. My heart skipped a beat as I turned back to look at the house, fearing the worst, but I saw nothing to indicate danger approaching. I slipped through the gate and pulled it quietly shut behind me, and as fast as I could, pulled on my sneaker, tied the lace, and disappeared into the shadows of the trees, my escape aided and abetted by the soft pine needles cushioning my footsteps.
       The more distance I gained, the more my breathing relaxed and calmed my raging heart. A couple of minutes later I crossed out of the little copse of trees and onto an old suburban road. I had roughly a four-mile walk ahead of me, and as it was still light out. I felt the need to walk as inconspicuously as possible, to appear nervous in any way could generate suspicion.
        So, shoving my hands in my front pockets, I began to walk and whistle nonchalantly as only a 15-year-old boy can, kicking loose rocks as I went. I made it home without incident just under an hour later, to a house silent and empty. In my room, I lay down on my bed, leaned against the headboard, and wondered how I’d gotten so lucky.
       It was a quiet night. And it stayed that way.
       Lucky indeed.