Hope To Escape

by Jack Parker

  "OK, Lisa, he didn't look that bad." Ess replied. "I just have a knack for being unobservant of my surroundings. I've come a long way since my childhood, but I do admit that I still have a tendency not to notice some details.

  "I did notice some things about the boy, though. And I remember him drinking like he was as dry as a desert. Then my dad came out of the house yelling at him to get away. He thought the boy was some gypsy or beggar or something. That poor kid, was so scared he just curled up into a little ball on the grass, like a little turtle hiding in its shell."

  "Oh, poor thing," gasped a more empathetic friend, "What happened?"

  Ess made a face, appearing as though she had to think on it, "I don't remember exactly. My dad was surprised by the boy's reaction. I remember him sitting the boy down on the porch steps and calling the police. They eventually came and drove away with him. I guess they returned him to his parents."

  Manda commented, "Yeah right. They probably put him into foster care where he became a ward of the state. Our tax dollars are spent taking care of the spawn of ignorant people that should never have reproduced in the first place. And the problem with that is . . . "

  Three of the other girls jumped in with annoyed expressions on their faces, unenthusiastically helping her finish her obviously overused, and rather distasteful statement, " . . . ignorant people that don't know how to use condoms produce more ignorant people."

  Manda defended herself, "Well, it's true. The cycle of stupidity spirals onward until the world will be made up of only genetically dim-witted people. It's Darwin's Theory mixed with Murphy's Law."

  "Yeah," the empathetic friend replied, "And that will be Manda's own personal Twilight Zone, won't it?" She added the Twightlight Zone theme song at the end, and the whole table laughed.

  The conversation turned, but the initial dialog surprised Roden. What a small world, he thought; and wondered if it would be proper on his part to say anything. No, he quickly decided. He couldn't say anything in front of the woman's acquaintances. Pushing in his chair, he began to button his jacket.

  Coincidently, Ess chose that moment to excuse herself from her friends so that she could go to the restroom. How convenient. Then, her opinionated friend, Manda, decided to join her. Not so convenient. Still, it was an opportunity anyway.

  Roden, not wanting to cause the wrong impression by appearing to follow her, decided to stop the young woman only a short distance from the table. He stepped in front of her, careful not to block her path. "Excuse me," he said, "but is your name Esther?"

  She looked at him with a shy and confused expression, "Yes. Do I know you?" Her friends were right, Roden observed. Her naivety and awkwardness could be seen in her expression. How strange for a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties, but in Roden's line of work, it was not completely uncommon.

  "No," he clarified immediately. "I apologize, but I happened to hear a little of your lemonade stand story as I was preparing to leave."

  "Oh?" To the shyness and confusion she now added a touch of blushing embarrassment, which, Roden had to admit, was very becoming on her pale skin.

  "I do apologize, but I think I know the boy - well the man now - from the story. The one you gave the lemonade to." Ess then lost the confusion and replaced it with surprise and a small amount of delight at the irony of the fact.

  Roden continued, "It is true," he glanced at Manda, "He was made a ward of the state. He had a very bad childhood before that day, but I won't go into that. Suffice to say, he showed a great talent for art, and is now a fairly well established artist."

  Ess nodded her delight. "I'm so happy to hear that. Good for him."

  "Yes," agreed Roden, "Well, it just so happens that some of his works, especially his latest sculptures, were inspired by you." The surprised confusion came back to her face. "Well, you giving him that lemonade was the very first act of kindness he had ever known, and he esteems that as one of the most important moments of his life."

  Manda commented at this point, "Most important moment? Are you kidding? Getting a free glass of lemonade is the most important thing that ever happened to him? That boy needs to get out more." Ess shot her a quick disappointed glare. Her friend just shrugged and appeared to be annoyed by the conversation.

  "Well," Roden continued, "His works are currently on display at La Donne on 5th. You may want to check them out. The resemblance is fantastic, considering he saw you so long ago, and for such a short time." Looking at Esther, Roden had to admit, he was impressed by the sculptor's memory.

  Ess just nodded, taking the information into consideration. Her friend chose this moment to comment once again, "Sounds a bit freaky to me. Sculpting some girl who gave him lemonade when he was, like, what, eight? Seems a bit obsessive, don't you think?" Then she spoke directly to Roden, "You may want to tell him to see a psychiatrist."

  Roden smiled, but was not privileged to tell her that the man was seeing a psychiatrist, and that Roden happened to be said psychiatrist. So he replied, "I'll pass your advice on to him." Then, looking at both women, "Well, I won't take up any more of your time, ladies. Have a wonderful evening." With a polite nod, he stepped away from them, and headed towards the door. Small world, he thought again, and pondered on the coincidence.

  * * *

  Esther and Manda continued their trip to the restroom, and when they returned to their friends, they found that the conversation happened to be about the encounter they witnessed with the gentleman from the next table.

  "Okay," started Jill, the empathetic friend, "which one of you was the good looking older man hitting on?"

  Manda rolled her eyes, and Ess just laughed. The thought processes of this group of single friends always entertained her. Everything led to, and most conversations were about, landing a man. Each and every one of them was scared that they would end up spending their life alone, no husband, and no family of their own. Not that Ess saw herself as an exception. At nearly twenty-nine years old, she had had fewer boyfriends than any of her friends. She was just as afraid of spinsterhood as the rest of them – and her few relations already teased her about being an old maid. Apparently, they thought it was unnatural to be unattached at her age.

  One thing that Ess noticed, and her friends seemed not to, was that all of the friends in their slowly diminishing group that did marry, never had time to join their friends for the traditional girls-night-outs. Giving up such freedoms scared Ess only slightly less then being the only girl left in the group that could attend the girls-night-outs. So, she told herself that she would just go with the flow. Que sera, sera. Right?

  "So?" Lisa prompted.

  "So, what?" replied Ess. A few of the girls let out grunts of frustration at this.

  Manda decided to answer their question for them, "The guy wasn't hitting on either of us," she answered. "He was telling Essy here about her stalker artist."

  The whole table stared at Ess in wonder, and seemed to be waiting for the punch line. Of all the people that could have accompanied Ess to the restroom while the 'good-looking older man' stopped her, it had to be Manda.

  The only thing to do was to put a stop to this before it became the theme for the night. "I don't have a stalker, thank you, Manda." Then she retold the conversation she had with the man about the sculptor that had apparently dedicated a collection of his work to her for the kindness she had shown him with the lemonade.

  "Oh, I'm going to see this!" cried Lisa, and was accompanied in the idea by the rest of the girls at the table. "Where did you say the sculptures are on display?"

  "I didn't say," replied Ess, "and I'm not going to say either. Let's just leave it alone." She was ready to be done with this conversation.

  Manda, on the other hand, proved to be her disagreeable self once again. "It's at La Donne on 5th." She beamed, with a not-so-rare look of mischief in her eyes. "Apparently, the likeness to our Essy, here, is 'fantastic'."

  "Thanks, Manda." Ess was being sarcastic, of course. These women were ma
n-seeking missiles, even on the occasions when the seeking was not for their own benefit. Ess knew she would be dragged to La Donne on 5th before long.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It took less time than Ess expected to execute an excursion to La Donne on 5th. The next day, in fact, she found herself reluctantly dragged into a taxi van with four of her friends. Manda, of course, was present; Jill and Lisa, too. Beth came to be moral support for her friend who was being forced into something she appeared to dread; but also, out of her own curiosity.

  The cab ride from 78th street to 5th avenue would be a long one, and the car reeked badly of cigarette smoke and, what was that? Garlic? Sickening stench. It didn't help Ess's stomach, which already churned because of the oddness of her current situation. She sat in the front seat, and tuned out the excited chatter amongst her friends by pondering her circumstances.

  So far, her life had been uneventful. She had always been a quiet girl. Never popular, but never an outsider, she just floated her way through high school without much notice. Afterward, she attended college, and earned a communications degree. She never tapped into a special skill or talent, and had no job offers waiting for her after she finished college. She hunted for work like all the other average people with a standard education and little experience, and found an opportunity with a hospitality company, where she became a project manager. The pay was barely decent for a single girl who didn't live extravagantly, but it got her through from month to month. She unhappily found that she had to be on the telephone seven out of ten hours each day. At first, her shyness made her job difficult, but she did what she had to do, and eventually, became passive to it.

  Esther understood her life to be unexceptional. She dreamed of making it more, but lacked the ability and know-how to go about it. So, she waited for change. What kind of change, though, she didn't know.

  People probably don't even know just how ordinary and miniscule they are until a life-altering experience occurs. Then, their small lives may become interesting, possibly scary. Ess wondered if she would be able to handle any changes that could disrupt the fragile balance of her existence.

  She thought it must be that people who actually did great things were driven. They did things not simply by chance, but by will and by choice. When an event occured in life, they stood on the precipice of life-altering decisions, and had two directions they could go: leap into the unknown, or back away into their small, safe lives. Walking along this precipice only stalled for time and left a person vulnerable to outside forces that could push or pull them in either direction without their consent. They had to act quickly so that the decision could be their own.

  And all around, in every direction – regrets! But Ess once heard that more painful were the regrets of what we didn't do in life, than of what we did do.

  Ess waited, Ess stalled for time, Ess regretted. She berated and she chided herself for not doing or at least searching for something better in life. She was disappointed, but secure in her unimportant existence.

  Her mind wandered and twisted on the subject. At any length, it shortened the cab ride, and distracted her from the smell. They arrived at La Donne on 5th, and the five friends divvied up the cost to the driver.

  Ess's recent train of thought left her dejected, and now came a moment that would most likely make her feel worse. Someone out there deemed her worthy to be immortalized in art. She would now have to discover for herself what that meant.

  * * *

  The interior of La Donne on 5th was an expansive modern minimalist design, with exposed beams, pipes and air ducts, and blue white lighting. Near the entrance there were skylights, but the dreary overcast morning did nothing to add illumination. The walls were high, and painted a uniform shade of pale blue. The only furniture in the room were a few strategically placed white washed cement benches in odd shapes. For all Ess knew, the benches may have been part of the art displays, because there were a fair number of people in the gallery, and no one was sitting on them. Maybe Ess wasn't the only one who questioned if they were really for seating or were part of the artwork.

  "The funny thing is," Manda reflected to her friends, "this simple décor probably took the designer months to accomplish." The comment effectively made her friends laugh.

  "Okay," started Jill, "Let's see who can spot Essy's mystery man's artwork first."

  Oh great, thought Ess, now they were making a game out of it. Better and better. Let's play with Essy's little life. She shuddered, less sure then ever if she wanted to see herself captured forever motionless in stone.

  "Oh, oh, oh," cried Lisa, "statues in the rear." Sure enough, multiple stationary bodies were positioned on white pedestals in the back of the room. The four friends rushed towards them, but Ess made her way across the room slowly, her stomach turning in tighter knots with every step that drew her closer.

  Her breathing became shallow; and she could feel her heart as it beat in her chest, through her temples, and in the palm of her hands. It was very similar to the feeling she got before, during and after any speeches she had ever been forced to give in high school – or college for that matter. She had never gotten used to it. But now she felt this nervousness from the notion that someone, unbeknownst to her, had modeled a whole collection of art after her.

  She didn't look at the statues as she made her way to the display. Instead, she stared at her feet; aware of each step she took. It was silly that this situation made her so uneasy, but nevertheless, her nerves were on end.

  Ess couldn't understand why she didn't feel the curious excitement that her friends felt. Who wouldn't be honored to be a subject of some artist's renderings? Who wouldn't be flattered? Oddly enough, Ess had to admit that she felt neither honored nor flattered. What she felt was anxiety. She wasn't used to being noticed, to being the center of attention; and now that she was, she didn't like it. Better to be the observer, than the observed in her opinion.

  As she walked on, she knew that, eventually, she would have to look up. When she did, what met her eyes made her shiver. It was her. Or rather, they were her. There were several of them.

  The first one was a white chalky plaster-like stone; and the lighting in the gallery made it glow almost incandescent. The figure looked rather angelic. All it lacked was a halo and feathery wings. It showed Ess as a child, and the title "Exquisite Esther" appeared on the sign plate at the statue's foot. The child statue's hands were cupped together and stretched outward, as though it were offering the observer something, but there was nothing in the hollows of its palms. If Ess stood right in front of it, it smiled good-naturedly and looked as though it bestowed its benevolence directly on her. All together, it was magnificent and unsettling.

  After a moment, Ess stopped gawking at this peculiar white youth with its familiar features, and turned to the next stone statue. There, once again, her own face stood before her. It was a bust, which extended from just above the line of the breast, slightly larger than her actual head. The figure seemed young, but not a child. The stone looked like pale blue quartz, and lent itself well to the subject of the work. The young adult was weeping, obvious by the gentle touch of its fingers frozen in time as it attempted to wipe a tear from its cheek. Its eyes were closed, and brow slightly furrowed. The faintest pull downward of either end of the mouth conveyed its sorrow. Ess observed it until the gravity of the melancholy seeped into her. She felt as though a tear would well up and fall down her own cheek. "Inconsolable Esther". The grief of the work made her turn away.

  She stepped over to the next piece, positioned near a turn that went into a deeper room of the gallery. This one made her smile. It was an adult version of Esther. The fact that the likeness uncannily had her face did not concern her as much, because the hair was long and wavy, where her own was just below shoulder length and chemically straightened to rid her of her bothersome curls. It had been that way for years, so the very idea that the artist may have possibly stalked her and knew what she really looked like didn't seem so likely.<
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  This statue was a full body work, just like the first, but smaller than a true adult. Ess decided that it must be some kind of soapstone. As for the subject of the piece, it seemed . . . pensive? The brows were arched in such a way, and the pointer finger of its right hand was lightly touching its chin, as though it was captured in mid-contemplation. The inscription read "Inquisitive Esther". Ess wasn't sure why, but this one made her giggle a little. She couldn't imagine that she ever really looked like that while in the middle of a thought. She could linger longer at this statue, because it didn't affect her as much as the previous two.

  Finally, she moved on to see if there were any others in the collection. Situated around the corner, the last one was a little removed from the rest, so she didn't notice the final theme until she approached it. Upon taking in the sight, Ess exhaled sharply and could not force herself to take in more air. Lounging on a raw unfinished stone slab was an adult Esther in black stone. What sent Ess into stunned distress was the state of the statue. It was naked.

  Looking very modest and unsure, it rather unsuccessfully covered its breasts and nether-regions with its hands and arms. It looked down through half closed lids rather than gazing at the observer, ashamed to be witnessed in such a state. Ess didn't know rather she should be embarrassed at seeing herself lifeless in the nude, or if she should be ashamed of spying on the ashamedly naked. Either way, she became dizzy with the situation and her sudden inability to inhale.