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Cassie is good at running. She always has been. Something inside of her makes her hate everything, and running is the only way to get away.
(When she was little she used to blow bubbles. Round bubbles of vapid perfection and she watched them catch the wind and drift away, so delicate that one stray breeze could cease their existence. She wants to be that fragile, that perfect. She wants to be so light that she can float through life and never stop moving, never burst.)
At fourteen Cassie discovers that running is a good way to both escape the drab normalcy of the world, and a way to lose weight. It lifts her stomach, firms her thighs, leads her away from the food. But, it leaves her hungry. It leaves her starving. It leaves her wanting more.
In the end she decides that running in her head is easier than covering ground. So she stops running with her feet and starts running with her mind.
(One hundred and ten, plus sixteen multiplied by seven, plus four is two hundred and twenty-six. Plus fifty-six multiplied by.... )
The hospital isn't bad the second time. It is comforting (for the most part) and quiet (usually). Cassie isn't allowed to run—mentally or physically. She has to stay in the present. The here and now. It is harder than it looks.
(She doesn't beg to be sent to Scotland. She doesn't beg and plead. Really. She thinks it is for the best. It isn't running away...it is running toward a future. Looking back she tries to believe that.)
Cassie is an adult and she isn't sure what is happening. She is eating now (usually) but she can't stop hating running. She is searching for something she doesn't hate; for something that doesn't exist. Chris may have been a free spirit, but he was the most grounded of them. Sid might appear grounded, but he is really off in space orbiting.
She isn't surprised when she finds herself at the airport gate—very little would surprise her now-- a ticket to New York City, New York, United States, North America clutched in one hand. She's looking up at the boarding gate sign a little lost, a little uncertain. (What is one ocean?)
A flight attendant, with kindly eyes and too much lipstick, comes over and asks, “Are you old enough to fly on your own?” Cassie wants to laugh. She wants to cry. She has never felt so old before, so ancient. But, she has never felt so young either, so lost. She is running because it is all she knows how to do. It is all she has left.
When Adam leaves, abandoning her in an empty apartment in a strange city, it is like he has given her life. Given her permission live. To live and like and stay. When she runs down the streets of New York City, Cassie isn't running away from anything. She isn't running toward something. She is just running, feeling the sun, breathing the polluted air. And it doesn't hurt as much as she thought it would. It is beautiful, almost. Tangible. Real. Here.