I suppose our exit went rather smoothly, considering. When I am grounded for too long and that fear overtakes me--fear of my monstrous former self--sometimes I ignore the real danger. The life of a citizen has a seductive quality I always underestimate. This too, is part of who I am. And although I am distracted by this split, the ones looking for us never will be.
But when I heard the car approach I was ready. I awoke V., and all she said was, "What have you done with Oscar?" I told her I let him go.
For a second I was afraid she wouldn't come with me without the cat, then we climbed out the kitchen window and I waited beside the road, cursing my leg while she walked the rest of the way to town through the fields for a car. Now we are in a cramped city hotel room, tiny faded flowers on the cheap bedspreads and the stale smell of old cigarettes on clinging to the khaki curtains. The sound of sirens outside is amost soothing. V. watches old black and white movies on television while I examine the exits and wait for an associate to bring a doctor to look at my leg.
I feel calm. Strong. In control. Decisions made smoothly. What was happening to me back there?