Fear is a Memory

The world is trying to kill me on my run. Three figures walk toward me from the crest half a mile ahead, and my feet stop. My breath catches in a sustained, silent hiccup. Before, the black road under me is my focus along with the oncoming headlights and poetry podcast in my headphones. The winter darkness is ticking in fast.

I am a stopped clock waiting for the power to return.

I breathe in, but my black jacket seems heavier and I repeat out loud: “I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.” Inside my head, I berate myself for being afraid. There is nothing to worry about. The people I occasionally encounter are midwestern pleasant with a nod and a wave.

The fear shadows me when I perceive no escape routes. I am sandwiched between private woods and the highway.

My exhale is steam. My hope is I burn extra calories with my panic.

What is it about the dark that scares us? Is it what we cannot see? There is much hidden even in the light.

Many times the dark is a comfort for reflection as in morning writing sessions after the time change are in the dark. I write by the light of my phone on the page. It is easier to be truthful in a cloud of black.

When the pattern is broken by sight or sound, I become full of alarm.

I question people's intentions, their desires, and their true colors when their patterns change.

A memory returns of running at sunrise five years ago. There are three teenagers ahead of me who make a ruckus. As I run closer, every part of me sings with panic. I want to cover my ears and escape, but two fences prevent this plan.

I am not in danger. I am alone on the road like I am most days. Protection mode is the state I am constantly in. My brain makes a bridge, but I have never been attacked. At least not in this life. I embody an algorithm of factors of my weight, level of self-confidence, and the circumstances. All the scales are nuanced and not logical, but I have learned to not ignore the twang in my gut like I’ve swallowed something sour. My body puckers and I try to remind myself of where I had been before. Flight, fight, or freeze is my multiple choice and freeze wins.

Today, I see no people walking toward me. It is a mirage created by the outlines of black evergreen trees backlit by an orange and purple sky. Even though the trees are friends, the fear that crept in with the cold did not dissipate.

I declare I am safe out loud to no one, but it is a lie.

Tammy L. Evans is a writer, teacher, and coach living in a tiny house on a peninsula with her husband and adventure cat. Her location device is her loud laugh.