There is a place I've found just beyond the playground. I call it a forest, but it's a patch of trees really. There is a perpetually full-of-water ditch I call the pond.
I like to sit in the forest by the pond and plunk rocks in (bits of gravel from the parking lot about five feet away). I drop them in with wishes, allowing them to fall just as the breath of an exhale tips over my lower lip.
Anthony found me here once and laughed. He sat with crossed legs and dropped a handful of pebbles into the pond at once. "What are you doing?"
I had no answer. I was there for silence, I suppose. An apartment building is a bit like a beehive, always buzzing with life. The spot reminded me of a complex I lived in as a kid. It backed up to a real forest with a real pond, until a construction crew set up shop and mowed the place down. Turned it into a minimart. Cheetos, slushies, diapers and a cruising lot for my unfortunate teenage neighbors whose parents now had a way to keep them in sight.
Silence. It's a funny thing. In my so-called forest, I could hear chatter from the complex. Radios, the occasional car alarm, and the whistling of a family of birds who set up shop in the tallest of the five trees.
But it was quieter there than in my living room. Quieter than my bedroom or shut up in my car at the edge of the lot. Was I hiding? That's what Anthony said.
"Remember," he smiled. "I found you. Now it's your turn to find me." He jogged back to the complex, throwing me a wink over his shoulder.
I stood and dusted the butt of my jeans. I thought of chasing after him. He was headed to his place. He'd made it clear the door was open for me anytime. I leaned against the rough bark of a tree. It scratched an itch between my shoulders.
More than Anthony's door was open. I wanted to follow him and slide into his arms. He is always warm and clean. He is up for more than occasional movies, popcorn and sex. But I'm not ready. I wasn't as I leaned into the tree and I'm not now.
I'm not in the forest by the pond. I'm in my bathtub shivering uncontrollably. I went to work fine, saw my ex's name online and a growing dread spread through me like poison. I've been cold and numb. Panic is blooming. By the time I got home, I couldn't bear the thought of looking anyone in the eyes or making a sound. So I ran the bath. I took of my socks and shoes and stepped in with my clothes on. The water was warm, and it is good to feel again. To feel comfort.
My clothes are itchy.
I should have brought a book.
This isn't how you take a bath. What am I doing?
I need an escape.
Up and down like a seesaw. Fine. Not fine. Sure of myself. Completely lost. I'm told this gets easier. The fear eventually slides off like fat pants on a skinny day. I don't know if I can believe it.
Someone is knocking on my door. I hold my breath and close my eyes. Like a child who believes if she can't see you, you can't see her.
Don't see me. I want to fade out of this life.
Don't see me. I'm tired.
I'm tired.
New to Dani's story? Read the previous installments:
Solitary Chill
Calculated Risk
Image from pixabay.com
