I didn’t go axe throwing because anxiety convinced me I’d drop the blade on my foot.
I almost went painting, arriving at the restaurant early enough to have a meal, a salad with grilled chicken. My healthy food choices were at least sticking, but my resolve didn’t.
As I saw people arriving in twos and threes, smiling and in chatting groups, I realized how pathetic I’d look. Me, all alone, surrounded by strangers.
I fled. I couldn’t stand to sit there and feel judged. Or worse, pitied.
I was a mid-forties woman with no friends.
None.
And I didn’t have the slightest clue how to make any. At work, things were busy. The employees rarely got time for more than hellos and how are you doing. I lied a lot. “Doing fine. How are you?”
Technically, I was fine. I got up, I exercised, fed the cat, fed myself something diet approved. I’d found a few low carb books at the local Salvation Army and, after studying them, found that was the diet that kept me the most sated.
As the weeks passed, the weight came off. I found my energy rising, enough that I started getting a little stir crazy. It had been since before my kids were born that I didn’t want to flop onto a couch at night. Now, eight o’clock hit and I got restless.
Pacing the living room, not able to find a show that kept my attention, I decided to go for a walk. At night. By myself in the dark.
Bravest thing ever.
Maybe the stupidest. My mind had a list of bad things that could happen if I walked out that door.
Grisou eyed me as I put on my shoes.
“Don’t worry. I won’t be gone long.” I feared the dark. However, my need to move outweighed that anxiety.
I locked the front door behind me and began a quick walk down the front walkway onto the sidewalk. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my sweater, my pace rapid, meaning I soon huffed. Yet I noticed I didn’t breathe as hard as before. In just a few weeks, I’d already become fitter. Climbing the stairs didn’t make me pant or set my knee to aching. Getting up in the morning didn’t involve as much groaning.
I’d even noticed the improvements in the mirror and in the way my clothes fit looser. Enough that if it kept up, I might soon have to buy some pants—which I couldn’t afford but I’d find a way. Dropping a pant size was exciting to me. After all, it indicated I’d accomplished something.
Count the small victories, or something along those lines. I’d read that in some self-help book.
My sneakered feet hit the pavement with solid, rhythmic slaps, but in between them, I heard an echoing scuff. Someone else was out. No biggie. People were allowed to walk. That didn’t make them predators out to harm me.
Still, I couldn’t help but quicken my pace, arms swinging, my face turning hot and the sweat running. The only glow I got from exercise was the kind that stank and made me moist. So gross. I’d shower when I got home.
As I turned the corner, cutting my planned square of a walk into a rectangle, I listened intently to see if the other person kept going straight or away from me. I heard nothing. They must have moved on.
The next half a block was lined with front yards, some lit with lights planted in stakes or as posts, illuminating short grass and tended shrubbery. Cars were parked at random, some people either not home judging by darkened windows or their vehicles in the garage. I didn’t see anyone else ahead of me, merely glowing windows that often flashed as if someone watched television. While I didn’t look behind, I heard no signs of pursuit. I relaxed.
Too soon, apparently.
Scuff. The soft noise alerted me to my mistake. My slackened pace picked up again, and I practically ran to the corner. If I turned left, it would bring me back to the house.
In between my pants of breath, the sound almost a whistle as panic set in, I glanced over my shoulder. Something loomed on the sidewalk, dark and hulking. I saw no face, nothing distinct. I wasn’t even sure I saw a person, yet I felt an incredible chill.
Terror filled me. Danger. It stalked me. I was convinced of it.
Sobs tore from me as I kept running, trying to pull my phone from my pocket. I should have had it in my hand. It jiggled as I ran. How was I supposed to call for help if I couldn’t see to dial?
I dropped it then almost ran away and left it.
But I couldn’t afford another phone. I had to stop running and crouch to grab my cell. Tears pricked my lids as I noticed the cracked screen. The pounding of steps approached, and I pressed at the power button then tried to log in.
Nearer and nearer.
Invalid passcode. Try again.
I couldn’t get the passcode right; my shaking hands kept getting it wrong.
Nearer and…
The person went past, their feet moving in a smooth cadence, their head angling to look at me, questioning, yet not stopping.
For which I thanked him silently in my head. I think if the jogger had spoken, I might have screamed.
Instead the man went on his way, soon disappearing from sight, and I walked with my cracked phone, feeling so stupid.
The peeling fence of the house appeared. The yard was less overgrown than the week before, as I’d gotten outside with some shears and taken care of stray branches.
As I turned onto the walkway, the hairs on my neck rose. The temperature dropped suddenly. A chill puckered the skin of my arms, and when I exhaled, I could have sworn I saw mist.
Halfway up the walk to my house, I stopped and pivoted. I looked behind me to the street, dark because the light across from my place had stopped working. The night was quiet. Not even the sharp bark of a dog broke it.
My breath emerged cold again, as if a sudden frost draped the land. Possible given it was mid-September.
I’d have to dig out the warm stuff and see what I had. In previous years I’d stayed in the house a lot. Not this winter. Maybe I’d go skating on an outdoor rink.
Turning, I walked to my door, and the cold deepened, as did the sense of menace. My walk turned to a sprint, and I ran for my door, key emerging from my pocket with fluid grace and sliding into the lock. I turned it. Click.
Relief flooded me. I thought for sure it would fail. The door opened and I fell inside, quickly flipping to slam it shut. I turned the dead bolt then stood there waiting.
I swear if I’d heard a knock, I would have peed myself.
Nothing happened other than Grisou meowing at my feet. As I bent over to grab him, he darted sideways with a growl. He faced the door and his body arched, his fur rising in bristles.
Another deep sound emerged from him, and I stopped breathing. I stared wide-eyed at the door and saw my breath misting again.
Inside the house.
I might have wet myself a bit. Grisou stalked a few cat-sized paces to the door, still uttering that low rumbling noise.
I prepared to die. I imagined the door slamming open and something killing me. Bullets coming through it. Perhaps an explosion ramming splinters into my body.
Instead, the air lost its chill and my cat calmed down. He turned his back to the door and began twining around my ankles, purring.
I scooped him up and noticed everything felt fine. No more misty air. The hair on my neck behaved, and all apprehension had fled. It was the only reason I dared approach the door and look outside. Not much to see with the street still dark. I nuzzled my cat and murmured, “We’re both paranoid, I think.”
He made a tiny noise that made me laugh.
I cast one last glance outside and frowned. “Would you look at that. The light is working again.”