In a manner quite resembling Thoreau, William Raft dreamed of escape, of fleeing society for the splendors of the remote Canadian wilderness. Raft’s fantasy found its inspiration in the ailments of society, which he believed must soon culminate in utter collapse, and in disdain for the so-called rat race. Indeed, Rift was exhausted and caught in a paradox, the paradox keeping the whole deteriorating system chugging forward as if against its will. His job, manual labor of some sort or another, drained him of body, soul, and mind, replacing love with hate and peace with anxiety. However, his job was such a triumph of regularity and structure as to present a disguise of fulfillment: in the cycle of work, Raft’s brain could disconnect – a toxic indulgence reviled and revered.
He dreamed of Canada – surely a remote place somewhere in those woods would be the perfect place to escape the horrors of impending collapse and to start over. He’d invite all his friends and family – maybe even an open invitation to all, but he’d go alone if he had to – and they’d subsist on farmed potatoes. In his visions he saw a commune, all for one, one for all. Yes, surely it’d be proper miserable at first, but utopia would rise from community: ramshackle huts would become generational housing, law would test the extremes of empathy, and labor would be voluntary – nobody would starve. Fire? Clean water? All surmountable obstacles.
Recognizing this dream as delusion, Raft decided to entertain it regardless. Books long unopened would be ravaged: annotated, organized, and digested. Works like The Potato: Spud Impeccable, Civilization 101, and Communal Living for Burnouts filled his library, his mind. He studied cartography, meteorology, crop science, emergency medicine, and still the dream felt feverish: something he obsessed with but never felt closer to reality: his knowledge increased but so did his desperation: he knew he’d die, frozen and alone, within a month if he ever took the essential step and abandoned society.
To further still entertain his delusion, Raft decided to write: a hypothetical walkthrough for starting a new life. This, he reasoned, if he could complete, would be evidence of his readiness. Yes, similar to the mathematician baseball coach, Raft clung to this hope.
Years passed, and Raft’s manuscript grew with his knowledge, until eventually, 10 years after his first word, the document grew to a thousand and more pages, a dissertation on potential, sourced, proofread, and theoretically plausible. Raft did nothing, and the document sat dust-covered out of site, until a conspiring confidant and consultant, with the clarity of the reader, saw the brilliance of the completed manuscript and presented it to a publisher. Raft never noticed.
A year later, Raft, deep in the throws of growing despair, received a phone call. The confidant, one Mr. James Townsend, said “Willy friend, do I have news for you – check your texts.” And there it was: clicking on the link, William saw it: A Dissertation on Potential, the number one book on the New York Times bestsellers list. Emotion of all sorts flooded him: love, anger, horror, foreboding, realization.
The next day, without notice to anyone, friend or family, Mr. William Raft had disappeared. His mother, seeing the news and unsuccessfully phoning Raft, came to see her son. His house was immaculate but otherwise the same, little noticeably missing, as far as she could tell, with the possible exception of some sentimental belongings. Shortly after this, it was concluded by the general public that Raft had left. His disappearance skyrocketed book sales even more, and Raft became a myth. People agreed shame or hypocrisy must have driven him, and they read A Dissertation voraciously, attempting to decipher possible clues and hints of his whereabouts. Raft’s fantastical ideas of harborage in Canada were obvious, of course, but as for exact location, Raft had only detailed several hospitable forested valleys as the ideal locale for such a commune. Still, hosts of readers and adventures set out in search of William Raft, as in some bizarre retelling of the presumptuous Dr. Livingstone, though all returning unsuccessful: his hints vague and the acreage enormous.
Without answers, Raft’s Escape, as it was most often referred to by the media and the public alike, became the shadow of memory as an unforgettable uneasiness: Where had he gone? Does he live? Is he happy? This was the brooding status quo of the Escape, until five years after publication and disappearance, widowed Mrs. Charlotte Raft vanished as well. However: she’d left a note (or a will as some saw it) simply stating that she’d received word from her son saying his actioned theories could now provide the basics, and that she’d gone to join him. How was speculated wildly, both Mrs. Raft’s means of travel, young Raft’s survival, and what it all could possibly mean. Shortly after, Raft’s siblings and friends, including Mr. Townsend, all disappeared, too. The shadow of uneasiness flared wildly, and the zeitgeist of the Raft Escape dominated the culture once more: more search (and rescue) parties set off for the Canadian wilderland, but all again returning fruitless. That is, all except for one, known as The Joint Expedition. It’s members were academics and scientists: Jason Archer, MD; Dr. Rachel Wesley, biologist; Vanessa Brand, Dr. Wesley’s graduate student; Dr. Bronson Child, psychologist; and Drs. Jessica and Oliver Fairbanks, a couple specializing in philosophy and engineering, respectively. Their disappearance shocked the world.
Then, indeed, society did collapse, and people forgot about William Raft for a long while.
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