The Fleeing

Sounds of hurried footsteps echoing down hallways, moving with fleeting purpose, juxtaposed with the relaxed stroll of a holidaying traveller. Announcements ringing and calling those to prepare for their journeys, going unnoticed by others; lounging and lazing in familiar bars and cafes. Fingers tapping away on laptops, families browsing through the overpriced, eye-catching shops covering every terminal. Beer and wine being poured. Coffee being brewed. The clockless world of airports eliminating time itself. 

It’s fast paced. Bustling. Full of goodbyes and new, exciting hellos.

Journeys about to begin. Heartfelt reunions and tearful farewells. Beautiful chaos erupting every which way. 

New lives possibly starting.

But not this time. This airport experience felt different. 

It was different.

No exciting new journey or adventure. But tension while praying for a safe escape. No transient meetings with friendly strangers. But a solemn and stoic silence, waiting to feel safe once more. No eye contact. No smiles. No faces to watch while you sip your beverage of choice in this time-free world. 

Just tension I could feel in the air. Deafening silence from the others around me. Huddled around their ticket to safety. Their ticket to family. Their ticket to the unknown world that pandemic life brings.

The fear emanating from the silent passengers seated around me. I was among other escapees. Others forced from lives and homes without a choice. 

I was among the fleeing. 

*****

The plane ride was a complete blur. I remember staring out the window most of the time, watching the world below me pass by. Thoughts of the future flew through my mind. Will I ever be back? Will I find work soon? How will my family feel about my long, overdue return? Will I ever have my nomadic lifestyle back? Will I ever move abroad again?

What will the future be like if this pandemic continues for much longer?

For the first time in my life, I felt as if I had no control. For years I had the freedom and luxury of deciding where I was going to live, bouncing around from country to country with nothing but wandering inhibitions. I chose what job I wanted, and which apartment I was going to live in. I decided how to spend my days. Where I would go on weekends.

I had an exciting and unforeseeable future, with an endless number of roads to go down. 

But then, there I was. Saying a forceful goodbye to the country and home I loved so much. Being trapped into no real choices, but to escape. Everything I did was determined by a very clear set of rules. Waiting to hear what I would be told to do next.

I was flying back to my home country, back to Canada, with no prior intention of doing so. I left everything I worked so hard for, just to go back to the beginning again.

*******

Day 4. Horns and wheels yelled below my window from the never ending traffic. I brought the warm, comforting tea to my lips and felt my body instantly warm up. Springtime in Canada was cooler than I remembered. The sun was beginning to set and the warmth from the daylight was slowly creeping away behind the distant mountains below. I glared out at those mountains, Canada’s grand mountains, as their enormity became more and more apparent as the sun set behind them. They reminded me of the Andes from back in Chile. Just one week ago I was staring out through my window watching the sun set behind those instead. 

Just one week ago. Oh what can happen in a week.

The military men stormed up the street, shouting at everyone around them. I was too high up to hear. They were probably telling everyone to go back inside their home. Get off the street. A deadly virus is among us. I gripped my tea cup tighter as I watched them marching closer to my building. A gunshot was heard in the distance. I decided to step away from my window. 

I walked back into my kitchen, and looked in my cupboards. I had enough food to last me two more days. I would need to hit those streets then and wait in line at the grocery store; hopefully there would be enough food left. People seemed to take home as much food as their arms could carry. Whenever there was a crisis, throughout all of history, food seemed to be people’s number one priority. But there was just one of me. Only me in this apartment. One bagful should suffice. Just then, I remembered the government permission slip rule. I would not be allowed to leave my apartment complex without one, even for grocery shopping. I thought of the military on the street, and a shiver ran up my spine. 

I will apply for one now, I thought, just in case.

I shook that memory out of my head. I fled that place. That once beautiful, colourful, lively place full of street markets and vendors selling fruits and vegetables from all the colours of the rainbow. A once daily trip to the farmers market for bags full of luscious fruit and handsome bread loaves, turned into a weekly line up outside the store hoping to leave with a few cans and boxes.

I walked over to my phone and dialed the number for delivery. No. I fled. I am okay. No more worrying about food. I will not have to worry about food here in Canada. 

************

Day 7. The days were going by quickly and monotonously. It was hard not to think about walking through the park and feeling the grass between my toes. After so many months of hiding out in a concrete jungle, I couldn’t help but yearn for nature.

No jogging. No walks. Parks are closed. No hiking. No visiting anyone. No sitting on benches. Stay on your route from A to B and go right back home.

Oh how I could not wait for nature again. Maybe I would go on a hike next weekend? Maybe I would have a picnic in the park? It was hard to keep from dreaming of small yet significant things like that.

I arrived in Canada only a few days beforehand, feeling lost and alone and incredibly solemn about leaving my adventurous life and sense of freedom behind. My priorities once felt huge and worldly. I had endless possibilities and dreams that reached the stars. I was a traveller once.
But then? Then, I dreamed of being able to leave my house on my own account. I dreamed of grass, and parks, and friends. I just wanted a taste of normality again; to be able to make my own decisions and see the people I wanted to see. I didn’t want to be scared anymore. A walk to the store felt as freeing and exhilarating as a flight to another country once felt. I couldn’t help but realize how much I had taken advantage of once, and how happy one could be with such simple things. And I wanted all those simple things again.

*********

Day 12. It’s amazing what someone can accomplish with such a small space. My small apartment, a space consisting of one bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchen, and one living room, became my gym, work space, after hours hang out spot, and my writing studio. I had everything I needed and nothing more. 

It was noon, the sun was high in the sky and at its hottest. I pulled the window pane down as far as it could go and stuck my head and arms out. The sun felt warm and comforting on my skin. Oh how much I wish I had a proper balcony. Oh how much I craved the outdoors. Only two more days until my next shopping trip, and I would take the long way to the store. I found a way to trick the military men. I would walk a few blocks away and slowly circle back to the store. When they checked my permission slip, they didn’t know where I was coming from, but only where I was going. I could soak in a bit more fresh air and spend extra time walking through the warm sun rays. It became a time of blissful escape for me. Just a stroll through town. Just some time soaking up the warmth and feeling the breeze on my face. A time to forget what was happening in the world and just enjoy the moment I was in. Those small moments of freedom and normality was what I lived for then.

The best spot in this place was the balcony. Oh how I loved my outdoor time. My lunches were eaten on that balcony, I sat and read out there when the sun was out. I stood out there and watched life below; so normal. People bustling down the street off somewhere important; off with fleeting purpose. People jogging. People pushing strollers. People out shopping. I felt like I was a part of their normal world again. 

I sat down in the chair overlooking the street below, brought the cold white wine to my lips, and felt the last of the orange sun rays warm my face as it slowly sank below the distant mountains. The sky was transforming into a soft pink hue. My favourite time of the day. And only two more days to go.

***********

Would today be the day? I had no idea. I was holding the phone to my ear as I stared out the window, day dreaming and trying to keep my anxiety down. Would today be the day? I glanced over at my suitcase leaning against the wall; my whole life packed up and ready to go in one sixty-by-twenty-four inch box. I swallowed down my worries, and ignored the aching feeling in my stomach. Perhaps there would be room for me on the plane today. When the dreadful monotonous music finally stopped and I heard a human answer, my heart jumped in my chest. “Hello! I was calling to see if you had any more space left on your flight to Miami tomorrow?” I waited in agony for the answer. “I’m sorry miss, that flight has been cancelled, but perhaps you can check again for next week’s flight?” I fought the tears building up and tickling my eyes. I never thought I would crave getting on a flight this much before. I never thought I would want to flee this much before.

Day 14. This was it. This was the day. I did my time and was now free to wander again. No foreign lands or adventurous new cultures to explore, but just the park across the street I had been glaring at for two weeks. This was finally the day.

I walked out the door and quickly crossed the busy street. Cars and people raced on by, ignoring my presence. I finally felt like I was in the world I had been watching from way up above. I stepped onto the sidewalk and walked towards the park. The feeling of peace and calmness overcame me as all my stress and anxiousness slowly left my body. I felt suddenly lighter. I walked over to a tree and placed my hand on its hard, solid truck as I pulled off my shoes. I took a few steps through the grass, feeling the soft, prickly blades between my toes. 

That was it. I was no longer the fleeing.

I was the free.