Runaway
I waited until the boys
in the dormitory slept.
snores, whimpers, children
snuffling, crying in their sleep.
I dressed in the dark,
crept downstairs, opened
the school’s back door,
moved silently to the gates,
and climbed over them.
I stood at the roadside,
stuck out my thumb
at the cars that passed,
not many at one AM.
A cloudless night,
bright stars, dark sky.
A sense of imminent freedom
washed over me.
The fourth car stopped.
A man and a woman.
They opened the door,
let me in, turned around,
and drove me back to school.
I stood in the hall watching
the swing of the pendulum
as the head master, in pajamas,
thanked the couple
for bringing me back to school.
That night, he led me quietly
back to bed. Every night,
for a week, he removed
my clothes from the chair
beside my bed.
I ran away again and again.
No matter where I went
my own face stared
back at me from the mirror.
One day, I realized
I was running from myself.
When that happened,
the running finally stopped,
and I confronted my demons.
Comment:
I guess we are all motivated by flight or fight and I have always believed in the powers of flight – per ardua ad astra – through hardship to the stars, the motto of the Royal Air Force, I believe. Yet running really does no good, especially when we are running from our own interior demons. I hated that particular boarding school, my second, even more than I did my first one. I hated it with a deeply rooted inner loathing that still seethes inside me when I think about it. And that particular ‘first escape’ remains printed indelibly on my mid, every footstep, every floor board that creaked, every shadow that threatened.
Much later in life, while attending my fourth boarding school, one of the slightly better ones, with a strong emphasis on the slightly, my cousin, an unarmed combat instructor, took me in hand. For three weeks we went to Swansea Sands and he put me through basic training. How to break fall, to leg throw, to arm throw. Then he taught me the sacrifice throws, where you go to ground and your opponent follows, you prepared, your opponent not. He taught me about power points and the pointed or sharp edged bones that could do so much damage to the unprepared. He taught me all the multiple choke holds, how to apply them and then the secret of squirming out of them. Monday – Friday, four hours a day, total immersion, three weeks. I learned so much.
After that, I had the choice of flight or fight. However, I no longer saw myself as a victim because I saw those bullies and predators as potential victims. All the vibes had changed. Older, bigger boys no longer bullied me. Everything, in the end, turned out all right!
rogermoorepoet 