Entry #17

Escape?
by Church Lady


The boy scoots inside the rusty recess of a car because Papa has told him to hide. He counts breaths and waits. He waits and sleeps and eventually he wakes. The boy has learned to be a good listener. He lifts the trunk the length of his ear. No pop-popping of a worn-out knee. No wet, phlegm coughs. No hushed murmurs of love and dreams and life and skies.

Where are you, Papa?

The boy hears beyond Papa’s silence. The familiar wind loops around the desert brush. Aimless feet shuffle in the distance. His own heart struggles beneath his breath. He is scared and curious and hungry and alive.

He opens the trunk and scrambles out. The brown sky is pushing into the brown earth. His hand fumbles for the sky-paper and upon contact, comforts him.

“Hey! You there!” A Gatekeeper sees him.

The boy walks faster.

Where are you, Papa?

I’ll help you as long as I can. Remember what we talked about. Focus on the gate.

I’m scared, Papa.

Focus on the gate.

“Halt!”

The boy runs. The gate is near and the Gatekeeper is near.

“I said, HALT!” The Gatekeeper fires a warning shot.

The boy is a good listener. He knows he will get no further warnings. Whether he stops or not.

I’m focusing, Papa. I’m trying real hard.

You’re close. The earth, the sky. You have a right to them. You have a right.

Will I see the sky, Papa? Will I make it?