I was doing time at Erie County Medical Center, a psychiatric hospital on the East Side of Buffalo. I was into my second week. Some patients, a few staff members, and I were hanging around the heavy exit door. Suddenly I noticed a set of keys stuck in the small orange locker on the wall, which was, to me, like finding a diamond in a landfill. A plan went through my mind very rapidly. I wandered quietly and inconspicuously over to the locker, and pulled out the handful of keys. I saw that the people around me were still engaged in conversation. I approached the exit door, and was sure I was unseen. I found the right key immediately, unlocked the solid vinyl barrier, and walked out. Before heading down the long hallway to the escalator, I had an afterthought: I inserted the key into the tarnished metal lock on the other side of the door and turned it heartily, locking everybody inside. Then I continued on my way to the main lobby. Even though I was wearing blue hospital pajamas, I carried myself with confidence and authority, as a doctor would, and made it past the security station without incident. I breezed through one of ECMC's many glass doors at the front of the building. I was impatient to take a breath of clean, fresh air, and inhaled deeply into my lungs.  Freedom.

I proceeded to walk several blocks down the street, and found a small deli that was still open. No one inhabited the store except for a sixtyish-old man from Eastern Europe. He looked at me. I was breathless and shaking. I didn't say a word, but he knew that I'd escaped from the nearby hospital.  I asked him to call a taxi. He was eager to help. My mouth was dry, so he handed me a bottle of water, insisting I pay nothing, then gave me two or three complimentary cigars. I was grateful for his assistance. The cab arrived, and I told the driver I had no money, that we'd have to make a stop at the bank.  The irritated  cab-driver refused to give me a ride.  Angry with myself, and discouraged, I returned back to the store.  "Don't tell them you have no money!" my trusted friend yelled at me. "Don't tell them!  Don't tell them!" "I know!" I tried to interrupt. "Call Fillmore Cab," I said. He calmed down substantially, and located it in the yellow phone directory. The Fillmore Cab Company provided transportation to people in the ghetto, on the East Side where the psychiatric dungeon was located. The taxi man was outside honking in a matter of minutes. I looked at the store clerk, wanting to say something more than thank you, but he smiled as if amused, waiting for me to make my escape.  This time, I didn't tell the driver I was lacking funds.

Once I reached home, I talked to Dan, my house sitter,  told him everything that had happened. He was overjoyed that I'd escaped from the disgusting cesspool, and quickly paid the driver twenty bucks.  I put my favorite boots on, and put a breathe-right strip on my nose. Since I felt I had reclaimed the freedom I was entitled to, I no longer needed a sitter for the house and dog. Dan and I headed towards my car in the driveway.  We were halfway across the lawn, when a police car pulled up on the street in front of us.  I knew it would have been futile to resist, so I approached the car. "Aww, aww, don't go with them," Dan droned sadly, "No - awww - don't." But what choice did I have?  I didn't want them to become rough with me, or put me in handcuffs. They opened the rear door, and I entered the back seat. The two officers drove me back to ECMC; neither cop spoke a word the entire way.

When I was on the inside again, the staff told me that it had been a long time before they realized they were all locked in, and that I was missing.  Fay wanted her keys returned, but I'd put them on my keychain at home. They were my trophy - always a symbol of power to me.  I berated myself: 'If only I hadn't spent so much time fucking around, I might have lasted longer, I could be a fugitive in Canada or Florida right now.' 

I knew that escaping might be considered juvenile, but I did not care.  I wasn't concerned with what other people thought.  I had always wanted to abscond from the nuthouse, and finally I'd accomplished a longtime dream.  It had been my fantasy since I was fourteen.  The glory was mine.  

Incidentally, the hospital staff made me relinquish my boots, since they were so large and clunky, but I never did get them back.  A nurse, aide, doctor, or other dirtbag on the unit had stolen them.