Great Escape
The Art of Being Completely Alone
Society thinks it’s time I partner up. I think it’s time to retreat into the woods.
The woman taking my temperature is young, not yet 30. Her skin is tight and glowing in a way I only recognize now that mine is dragging and a little dull, her eyes eager to smile, her whole face nearly smiling already. She wears a crisp white shirt under a teal cardigan. The accents in her gold necklace are the same teal; so are her glossy nails. Staring down at my hands, I notice the coffee stain on the arm of my sweatshirt, a rip in its cotton cuff.
As she inspects my ear, I explain that I’m going away for two months, and though I know it’s probably only a cold, I wanted to get it checked out before I left, just in case it was serious. She asks, sweetly curious and excited for me, a complete stranger, where I’m going, and I tell her a small town in Vermont. She asks if the trip is for work, and I say no, I work from home; I just want to get away. She asks if I know anyone up there, if I’m visiting family or friends. Again I say no, my voice now shaky. I see confusion hit her face, a flash of concern. Alone? she asks. I nod. She smiles, this time not because she wants to, but because she has nothing else to say.
