(6/11) “I cleaned out my locker before I went to sleep. I...

(6/11)  “I cleaned out my locker before I went to sleep.  I wanted to leave nothing behind.  No phone numbers.  No addresses.  Nothing they could use to find me quick.  Because I worked at the radio station, I was allowed a single pair of civilian clothes.  I put those on beneath my prison garments and wore everything to bed.  I didn’t sleep a wink that night.  Every three hours the guards did a head count, and I kept seeing that flashlight shine on the wall.  When the sun finally came up, I jumped out of bed and splashed water on my face.  Then I glanced out the window.  The careless guard was stationed at the gate.  The one who never patted down the prisoners.  So I said: ‘That’s it, I’m leaving.’  I got on the bus and went to the very back row, right next to the emergency exit.  It was a five minute drive to the wooded area.  As we slowed down for a stop, I swung open the back door, and I was gone.   I could hear the alarm blaring behind me, but I didn’t look back.  I peeled off my green clothes and just kept running.  The sweat was coming off me.  I looked like trouble, so I did my best to keep out of the white neighborhoods.  Every time I passed a brother, I asked for directions to the Greyhound station.  Everyone kept telling me:  ‘Keep going, keep going, keep going.’  When I finally got there, I found a brother in the parking lot who agreed to buy me a one way ticket to New York.  I waited until the last minute.  I jumped on the bus right as the driver was closing the door.  Then I slunk down in my seat while we drove out of Raleigh.  Once we got on the highway, the girl next to me started making small talk.  She asked me my name.  I thought for a moment, and said: ‘Bobby Love.’  And that was the death of Walter Miller.”