Through The Window

I remember that night like it was yesterday, the night you broke in through my window. I wasn’t boring but it’s not like I lead a very extraordinary life. I went to work, I went out with friends, I would drink just enough to have fun and then come home and go to bed. My wildest nights were in my senior year of high school. I rode on strangers motorcycles and danced in the rain of hurricanes. That petered out when I went off to college and made myself fit into the shape everyone expected. Good grades, job to support myself, and a simple group of friends. I had just fallen asleep after a night out with those friends, when the thud of your body hitting my floor woke me up… and everything changed.

Your eyes were pull of panic, and you would tell me later that I looked like I was ready to fight you, even though I was scared out of my mind. I definitely wasn’t expecting an escaped convict to stumble in from my window trying to evade the police, so yeah, I was a little on edge. I didn’t even know you were a convict at first. I flicked on the lamp to see, and you weren’t dressed in the stereotypical orange that people always see in the movies. You were in khaki, well groomed, and frankly you were the most handsome guy to ever make his way into my bedroom. Though I could have done without the breaking and entering.

I remember how you held your hands up and kind of crouched down where you stood. Your eyes darted back and forth from me to the window. I put two and two together when I heard the whir of helicopters flying over and police sirens blaring in the distance. That, and the fact that your clothes were branded with the name of the correctional facility you’d just escaped from. I guess I must’ve looked like I was either about to scream or take some sort of action because you backed up and started pleading with me, “Please, please be quiet. I’m not here to hurt you, I swear. I can’t go back.”

Those piercing blue eyes of yours looked scared, not like a hardened criminal. You looked like you could’ve even been a fellow college senior, though maybe a few years older. To this day I don’t really know why I agreed. Maybe it was the way you looked at me, or how you looked in general, hell maybe it was because I was still a little tipsy from going out and the situation alone reignited a spark in me. Maybe it was all of those things, but I said yes, and you sighed with relief before slumping onto the floor holding your head in your hands. The police sirens still sounded close by and every few moments the light of a search helicopter would shine past my window.

I threw my covers off and tentatively walked towards where you were sitting, just so I could close the blinds. When you lifted your head from your hands and saw me standing there, you immediately swiveled around turning towards my closet. I’d totally forgotten I didn’t put on pants before bed. “Oh my god, sorry,” I said, and fumbled to slip on the closest pair of pajama pants. You called over your shoulder with your eyes still closed, “What’re you sorry for? I literally just broke into your apartment.” I could practically hear the smirk on your face as you said it, and it made me laugh. “Okay, you can turn around now.”

I sat down on the floor in front of you, still keeping a bit of distance between us. My curiosity was certainly peaked, and I didn’t hesitate to bombard you with questions. You told me your name was Jack, and you went to prison after you robbed a gas station with a fake gun. You did it because your sister had leukemia and your parents had shitty insurance. You were young and dumb and felt helpless. You didn’t know the clerk had a real gun behind the counter, and you didn’t know that when you dove as soon as he raised it, that the young guy behind you would take the bullet meant for you. You’d never meant for anyone to be hurt and when somebody was, you panicked and ran.

You cried to your mother, who’s heart was already breaking for your sister. When you found out that young man was fighting for his life in the hospital, you turned yourself in the next day. They expedited you to a federal prison across the country, citing it was for your own safety. Your family stayed in Colorado for you sisters treatments, while you were shipped off to Connecticut. The day before you escaped was the day your mom called to tell you they didn’t know how much longer your sister had. The cancer had progressed to a point the doctors said she just couldn’t come back from. So, when you saw the opportunity to break out, you took it.

I remember thinking how this could all be an elaborate lie you’d created, but when I saw the pain on your face as the story continued, I knew you were telling the truth. It was a pain I knew, since I lost my own sibling when I was five. He was older, and I didn’t understand what had happened, but that pain would be rooted in my heart for life. A contributing factor to my wilder years, and then to my ultimate domestication. I listened solemnly to your story and inched closer to hand you a t-shirt for the tears.

You’d tell me later that my kindness and understanding was your demise, in the best way of course. You’d also say that in the dim light of my messy bedroom, as I reached towards you with that shirt, my brown eyes looked speckled with gold, and I had the prettiest bedhead you’d ever seen. After you’d wiped the tears away, I told you to wait for just a moment, and that I’d be right back. I had a male roommate who was, thankfully, out for the night at his girlfriend’s place. I jimmied my way into his bedroom and took some jeans, t-shirt, and a hoodie. I came back in and tossed them to you, saying you should probably change. You filled the clothes out way better than my roommate, and you definitely caught me staring.  

After you’d changed, we sat on the floor together and talked even more. You asked me about myself, and I opened up to you in ways I hadn’t opened up to anyone in a very long time. There was a sense of vulnerability between us, both knowing we were on the edge of something dangerous, but that room was the bubble that kept it all at bay. You told me you just wanted to get to Colorado to see your sister one last time, and then you’d go back. I asked what happened to the guy that’d been shot, and guilt clouded your face. You found out later that while he did live, the shot had nicked his spine and he wouldn’t walk again. I asked what you would do if you could go back in time, and you say you would’ve just stood still.

 

“You wouldn’t go back to before you decided to rob the place?” I’d ask.

“Knowing what I know now, I don’t think I’d deserve to.” You replied.

 

A firm knock at the door startled us both, the police calling out for me to come to the door. I told you to stay in the closet, that it would be fine. You grabbed my hand before I could walk away and told me that if they came in you would tell them you forced me. Those eyes of yours looking deeply into my own. I took that hand in mine and told you to just be quiet and stay here. I left and opened the door to the police, and they informed me of a criminal on the loose, telling me to stay inside, and lock my door. They suspected he was somewhere in the area, and they would be setting up roadblocks and told me not to panic. I thanked them and shut the door. That small spark in me was now a fire, and I grabbed a duffel bag shoving everything important to me in it. You had to go, and I was going with you.

Six months later I feel the sun on my skin as we drive through down an open highway in Mexico. Your skin is tan, and you look over at me from the drivers seat, smiling. I’d convinced you to stay with me, that we could run away together, in love and free. You ask me where to  go next, and I just say, “Anywhere.”