back THE PLAN by Megan Baltimore From the time I moved out of my mom’s house, in all the places I have lived, I’ve had an escape route. Not for fires or earthquakes, but for The Murderer that I always feel will be breaking in. I can’t sleep well at night until I am sure there is a plan of escape from wherever it is I am living. There is a side to my bed that I refer to as The Murderer Side. That is usually the side by the window or the door. Or sometimes it can be the side nearest the hallway. Wherever, my boyfriend always sleeps on the side I deem, The Murderer Side. The Plan always ends with me getting to safety and going to sleep; not calling for help, filing a police report, seeing if I was burglarized, just going to sleep. That ending never really fits with the initial panic that creates The Plan in the first place, but when I imagine the whole scenario unfolding, it always has the same ending. When I think back on each escape route, they all seem hopelessly flawed, but I always feel that any weak point in a previous plan, just leaves room for improvement. The Plan that seemed to have the most weak points was at my apartment on Palos Verdes Blvd. in Redondo Beach. It was a unit on the second level. When The Murderer broke into the living room through the side window, I would fly into action by jumping out the bedroom window. Since it was on the second level, I would most likely break one or both legs, but that wouldn’t be a big deal since my parking space was just steps from where I’d land. It’s easy to get to your car with broken legs when it’s that close. The Plan when I lived on Gramercy in Torrance sort of makes me sad to remember. When I first walked through the house, I deemed the bedroom at the front of the house, The Murderer Bedroom and quickly offered it to my new, unsuspecting roommate who was more then happy to take it. When I moved my furniture into my bedroom, it was arranged with the premise that The Murderer would check the front room first. My thought was that I would escape while they were struggling. On Vista Del Mar in Redondo Beach The Plan was two-fold. It always had me hoping The Murderer would come in through the back. And I felt confident that he would, because the front was too obvious and the pervert who lived next door kept such a close eye on my front door that he would surely alert me. While escaping from The Murderer out the front door, I would just get in my car, drive to my sister’s house and go to sleep. If I had to escape out the back door, things got sort of fucked. The wood that made up the deck (that I would have to run down) was really old and made so much noise when you walked on it. I figured I would have to jump over the railing to avoid making the noise and land in the trash dumpster, then lay still until I didn’t hear any more foot steps. I hated that plan because I would have to shower before I went back to sleep, which would wake me up, making it difficult to go right to sleep. I also felt I would be freaked out about the dumpster juice that might get on me and not be able to get to sleep at all. The apartment I live in now has the most elaborate plan to date. It involves breaking, then jumping out of, a window that is about 10 feet above the ground. When I land, I have to quickly hurdle a four foot cement wall, then run through a gate that is hopefully unlocked that night—I always feel confident that it will be. The only time any plan has ever stressed me out is if I’ve been drinking wine. Wine makes me tired and will most likely effect the energy needed to execute The Plan properly. But, usually, if I have been drinking wine, I lay down and am asleep so quickly, that by the time I wake, I’m just glad The Murderer didn’t show that night. Maybe I should drink more wine. This story originally appeared in Bend Project #019, "Good Night." ©2003 Megan Baltimore