...for the Frightened

Lying in bed at 12:47 last night, everything was still. My breathing, I can assume, was slow and consistent and the air outside was thick, filled with humidity that made even the crickets slow their bluegrass tunes to a lullaby pace. I was tangled up in my sheets, kept warm by my body temperature and the thin layer of fabric that bunched unevenly around my waist.

At 12:47 in the morning, I was suddenly jolted to consciousness. My breathing was jarred and my heart rate increased, a mixture of fear and shock. The sheets that kept me so warm just seconds ago felt distant and useless, my inner being now ice cold, craving for something to cling onto and hide underneath. A loud, distinct crack sliced through the night air and echoed just once, repeating the sound that now rang throughout my entire body. 

To the right of my quaint, suburban neighborhood is a bustling freeway, fenced off by braided wiring and separated from the sleepy doldrums by a bike path and a thick wall of trees. The sound of a gunshot, however, cut through the trees like a machete and landed in earshot of my tiny town home.

I waited for what seemed like minutes for the familiarity of police sirens, the comfort of help along the way to replace the uncertainty. I repeated a prayer and repeated again, trying to conjure up a response. An answer. A saving grace to the gaping time that stretched, holding with it the uncertainty of who was out there and what I could not see.

The minutes passed, and that was that. No one came. No sirens rang out. The rustling of my sister next door was the only response to the wake up call, and as I sat there, frozen, afraid that my movement would provoke another unwelcome sound, I pictured Alana was mirroring my same stature; eyes glued to the window, arms perched on our pillows with the slightest crevice in the blinds to peek through-our perch above the fort, the almighty protectors of our make-shift worlds. 

She stopped rustling, drifted back into a silent slumber, and life moved on. All but the hum of electricity had ceased to conjure up a noise. I wanted to assume everyone in their own cozy homes was mimicking my actions, acting as guardians of whatever the rest of the night held. Sadly, this was probably all make believe. Timers were set and whatever the real world held in its grips meant nothing to the suburban, cookie cutter perfection that we relied upon.

The sprinklers turned off and houses remained heated; timers counting down the seconds until the next rotation occurred. 

My fear in that moment, although initially provoked by the gunshot, was extended through the night by the fear of the unknown. It is all too simple and safe to assume that as a Woodbridge Village Association resident, danger cannot seep through our perimeter. That as one of the safest cities in our nation, havoc and mayhem wouldn’t dare cross our borders, afraid of what our “pleasantville-esque” society threatens to use against all evil.

The truth of the matter is, in that moment I had never experienced so much fear and so much doubt. I played worst-case scenarios in my head, envisioned all escape routes and the speed at which I would cram Alana and my mom in the closet to protect our family and defeat the monster that broke down our door. 

Fabricated and child-like, the scenarios never came into play and I talked myself down, reminded that we are once again, safe and sound. 

I woke up the next morning, groggy from a few stiff hours of forced sleep, but once again, safe and sound.

I was fearful, yes. But I am blessed beyond measure. I’m blessed that my fears were only worst-case and that this once in a blue moon occurrence would probably never happen again. 

Fear comes most commonly in my life when paired with the unknown. 

Fear is different for everyone, but it is always, always real. 

Fear is a feeling most people don’t choose to experience, unless right before an adrenaline rush, an exciting adventure approaching closer with each step. 

You may laugh at my fear, may scoff at the state my mind regressed to, but I know I was afraid. And blessed. And another experience wiser after 12:47 that morning.

Because at 12:47 this morning, I realized that fear stops for no one, and comes uninvited to dinner parties, sleepy silences, and next big life steps.

I welcome the fear, however, because with fear comes one more situation to conquer and learn from. 

I hope you welcome your fear, and I hope you know that your fears are your own, never too small or too large, as the mind creates what it will, a sea diving far beyond the measures of our wildest dreams.