THE GREAT ESCAPE

                                                                  THE GREAT ESCAPE

                                                                        By Kati Rounds



    He appeared as the sun lowered in the western sky. I was beginning my evening walk down the driveway, toward the bike path, when I stopped in surprise. He sluggishly walked toward me. Others saw him too. As he walked toward us, unscathed by those watching, people separated like the parting of the Red Sea, allowing him to pass.



    He took me off guard. Hearing stories about him in the past, I never thought he would show up at our town homes.  He certainly was not what I expected. His appearance was deplorable. He was messy, smelly, unkempt, which I suppose explained why we backed away. But, it was his eyes that caught my attention. They did not fit the rest of him. They were so gentle, so bright, and so aware, through his rough veneer. He did not seem aggressive, and seemed surprised that he repulsed us. He was curious, looking around, as if he had never been here before.



    One of our middle-aged outspoken neighbors began to taunt him. “Hey, what are you doing here?”



    “Yeah, you need to go back where you came from. We don’t want you here,” yelled another.



    He looked tired and confused. I was appalled.  What right did we have treating him this way? Sure, he was obviously different from us. Did that give us the right for verbal abuse?



    I wondered why he had come. Had he become disoriented, losing his way? Did he have a family waiting for him? Maybe he was hungry. He certainly looked like he could use a meal. As much as I wondered about him, he seemed to be wondering about us. He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t fight back while people jeered at him.



    “We’re calling the police if you don’t leave,” a woman screamed while backing away from him.



    He just kept looking from side to side, focused, unafraid; seeming to take command of the situation.



    I stood apart from the others, quietly watching. I was amazed at his appearance. He had obviously been on the road for a while. I wished he could tell us why he was here, but knew he wasn’t going to share that with us.



    He went toward the open garbage dumpster, while off in the distance the sound of sirens announced the arrival of  police. I mentally talked to him, knowing he couldn’t hear me.“You should go, before they come. They might hurt you or take you away.”



    The police car pulled up close to the dumpster. Getting out, a tall, thin police officer started asking questions to the gathering crowd.

“Where is he? Have you ever seen him here before? Does he seem aggressive?”



    “He’s in there,” the same woman shrilled, pointing toward the dumpster.



    “Okay, I want everyone to go to your own homes. Please disperse immediately.”



    I went to my home, behind the dumpster he had gone into. I could thankfully still watch. I was stunned and ashamed in the way we were all treating him. Here we were, living our nice, neat, regular lives in suburbia. Had we become so callus, so withdrawn from the real world, that we could not accept anything that was different from ourselves? I had never witnessed anything like this before.



    “Okay, come on out of there, right now,” commanded the tall patrol officer, holding a mega phone. Did they think he was deaf?



      My ten-year-old daughter heard the loud booming voice. She came to stand next to me by the window as he started his escape from the dumpster. He deliberately emerged, looking in all directions, trying to figure out his next move. Three police officers lifted guns and cans of pepper spray toward him as the same one yelled,“Come on out of there, or we’ll shoot.”



      Are you kidding? Was that necessary?  I muttered to myself.



    He was agitated and obviously confused, looking for an escape. My heart was pounding. The palms of my hands were sweaty. I didn’t want him to be hurt. I could barely breathe. He looked like he was about to jump. Then, for no reason at all, he turned his attention on us. We froze. Though there was a window separating him from us, everything seemed too close.



    For a long minute, his gentle, searching eyes locked unto my daughter’s. They were riveted to each other. Both my daughter and he had such large brown eyes.



      As they stared at each other, with no movement from either one, there seemed to be a silent communication between them. They somehow, though not a word was spoken, connected, reaching through barriers that I thought were not possible.

      Before realizing it, my throat tightened. I found tears streaking down my face. I felt drawn to him. Whatever history he had, wherever he came from, it didn’t matter. My fears and barriers broke down. Instead of seeing his dirty, matted body and breathing in his awful smell, I saw beauty, and unquestioning love flash through his eyes. I wanted him to be okay. I willed him to be safe.  I was hypnotized as I watched the exchange that took place between my daughter and him. I did not want him to go, yet I knew he must, and so did he.



    “Mam, please back away from your window.”  I heard the order thundering from behind him. As he looked away, the spell, the magic was over. We backed away.



    “You need to go now. Please hurry. Go back to your family. Hurry!”  I whispered. He seemed to hear me. He scrambled out of the dumpster. Without looking back, or hesitancy of any kind, he took off in a full run toward the bike path, with the police following him close behind. What kind of hold did he have on me, that I wanted him to be free, yet that was exactly what I wanted?



    Several minutes later, many of us collected outside, talking with each other. I was relieved when the police came back without him.



    One of the officers came up to me.“Well, it seems he got away. The golf course, on the other side of the bike path, is a wild life sanctuary. That’s exactly where he headed, as if someone was leading him. It almost seems like he knew we couldn’t touch him as long as he is over there. We’ve called animal control to come and take a look around, but we’re pretty sure he’s gone. Can you describe him for us? What was he black or brown?”



    “I think he was a brown bear,” I choked, once more holding back the tears, this time in relief.