I stepped out my back door at 8:37 p.m. last night, swayed by last year's "shrinking" and unworn clothes in my closet, determined to counter age and metabolism and years of Chick-Fil-A nuggets and fries, to pursue health and fitness and that damnable, elusive fountain of youth. My commitment to exercise surprisingly but delightfully unraveled into a poet's journey…until terror descended.
Treading day like water, my expectation was speed-walking a few miles of routine. I didn't anticipate being perfectly sandwiched between sunset and moonrise, amazing orbs defining time and space, too often overlooked, forgotten because of their familiarity.
To my left the moon, a creamy fire haloed in misty slivers, nearly full, and I swear I saw it smiling. To my right, dimming shades of pink, the sun reluctantly relinquishing its hold on day. I love the long days of Summer but it occurred to me even on her brightest, cheeriest of days, the Sun doesn't smile; the moon is friendlier.
My neighborhood is not the quiet I imagined it would be at early evening. To one neighbor tending her flower bed, I enthuse about the Creamsicle moon; she hadn't even noticed and that makes me a little sad for her. Another trims his smallish yard's grass, he's perched atop a droning riding mower that, to me, makes no sense at all. We wave and I inhale fresh and green and mission accomplished.
I break into a short uphill run and while I feel the jar to my knees and gravity's cruel and greedy tug on lead-filled legs, I hear the night world coming to life. My tired body loses its relevance amidst symphony…these are not white noises I can fall asleep to or ignore; they're sounds that awaken.
…like the soft coo of doves and the call of other birds I can't distinguish but long to. I think about those kitschy bird clocks
The steady hum of cicada penetrates shrouding darkness; crickets chirp agreeably in reply, and I realize I've assigned nonsensical gender to both–clearly, cicadas are all boys and crickets are girls. Of course the guttural belch of bullfrogs signals the male gender. Do I hear the buzz of a grasshopper's wing? What is the night insect whose voice is a staccato, a stutter? I feel like a child who should know his colors by now but gets stuck on violet–is it blue or purple for goodness sakes?
Self amused, lost in thought, and thoroughly entertained by nature's song, headlights rouse my walking somnolence. Uninvited guest, they momentarily distract me and remind me to call my four-legged companion to my side; unleashed and also uninvited, she must've caught wind of my escape earlier and decided I needed company. Now, I'm her guardian and protecter, dim-witted, road-wanderer that she is. That's not what I signed up for.
Darkness has chased away daylight, and I resent the hair on my neck now standing at attention. There are no streetlights in my neighborhood, though some houses illumine their driveways or lawns. Childish fears creep into my mind and seep onto the street and I feel the eyes of a monster lurking in the shadows. My pace quickens–good for heart, good for body, but not so great for the head.
My dog has abandoned me–traitor! She has an insistent need to be the line leader and I shake my head yet again, amused by the thought I find safety in her. She's scared of her shadow (unlike our killer rottweiler waiting at home).
I'm 3/10 of a mile from my house when visions of Thriller start looping in my mind–the fowlest stench is in the air, the funk of 40,000 years…! Zombies aren't real I tell myself, but Very Bad People are, and they're all now hiding in the woods of nearby vacant lots. Their breaths grow heavy and obscene.
A beloved welcome sight, my house now is in view. At steady jog I pass the last thick of woods to my left when I hear a crackling of dead leaves, the swish and crunch of a machete thrashing through brush! My feet leave the ground and I break Olympic speed. I didn't know I could actually run.
As my pounding heart threatens to escape the captivity of my chest, my feet hit the line of our steep-inclined drive. Suddenly, the monster I can't shake speaks. He's hungry and demanding and absolutely incredulous I would exercise before filling his dish.
Stupid cat. He'll probably leave a "gift" for me later….
Small wonder I began my day with a morning walk; reluctantly I give up the beauty and coolness of night to avoid another monster-induced heart attack.
Very creative writing – I saw and felt everything you did, as I read along with this post. Very well done!! **Applause**
And I don’t blame you for trading in your evening walk for the morning walk, I would have done the exact same thing! 🙂
Groovewoman
Oh, I can instantly call up those Southern nighttime sounds in my mind and they are just as you describe them. And also the giant, leering kudzu tyrannosaurs, looming silently along the road sides. We don’t have those intrepid beasts here, so they are actually quite a shock to the system for the first few days when we visit back home. I wonder if y’all who live among them even notice them anymore?
Great writing!!! I have monster sized coyotes and grizzly bears here.(well we do have coyotes and there was a bear sighting a mile away)…therefore, I always take my husband with me for night walks (I can run faster than him)
Brava! Brava! Bravissima! 😉
Do you read Koontz? Your writing isn’t quite the same, but it certainly called to mind many Koontz-like scenarios in which the grass itself came to life and sucked the unsuspecting victim into a deep dark hole for compost to feed it’s greedy appetite — or somesuch awful fright that seems implausible and plausible in that moment when the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. I kept thinking of his books for some reason as I read through your story and I hope you take that for the compliment that it is because he’s one of my favorite authors!
And what the heck were you thinking going out for a run after dark, missy?! This is 2009 (not the “innocent” days of yore!)
Stopped by, based on the Twitter recommendation of @noveldoctor. I agree with him: your prose is positively poetic. Kudos to your color-savvy web designer as well.
I love how descriptive you were, and the creamsicle color of the moon especially made me smile. I am glad you are taking morning runs, but now I’ve got the Thriller earworm 🙂
Pretty story! I had to laugh at the Thriller moment…I myself have been known to freak out in the dark – even in my own yard!
VERY well written, Robin – so much so that I felt the prickles on my neck! You have a way with imagery – it seems to flow & float & do your bidding. (And I’m glad to know I’m not the only intelligent adult that still gets spooked in the dark.)
Ah, Robin! You had me riveted till the end! There’s no skimming when reading such exquisite writing! That feeling is so funny, though, when everything inside you wants to run as fast as lightening to get away from some imagined evil.
I love it!
🙂
But I sure missed the night air…! Not the night terrors, mind you, but I was sweatin’ like a sailor!!
I see their beady eyes and shiny and oh-so-pointy teeth. They ain’t foolin’ this Ga turned SC turned TN girl for a skinny minute!!
{{giggles ’cause Rachel made a funny!!}}
For the record we’ve had coyotes, foxes, hawks, bunnies, turkeys, snakes, vols, moles, squirrels, birds, spiders and raccoons invade our premises. You’ve got me beat on the bear, though. Thank you! 😉
You compared me to an oft-published author? OF COURSE I’m takin’ it as a compliment!! Thank you (as I blush & grin).
As far as the evening walk/jog/walk? It was light when I began; dark-thirty came too quickly!
Ahhh, welcome Doug! You’re the only one who’s popped in and let me know, so thank you! (And thanks to Steve). I loved writing this and I think a good editor could tell I must’ve been smiling as I penned this Very True Account of my ordeal.
Far be it for me to embellish!
😉
Did Michael Jackson not invade your ears for WEEKS?? Just when that was dying down, I have to go and start it up again :).
Thanks, Frelle (it’s so hard for me to call you that, lol); as I’ve said, this was too stinkin’ fun to write; wish all my posts penned themselves so easily :).
My son told me today he was scared of “outside dark”; he totally understood my zombie aversion, lol. I thought it was cute he made the distinction between outside and inside. 🙂
I LOVE YOUR COMMENT, JENI!! It’s downright poetic itself!!
Real (wo)men admit to their spookcifity factor. I’m not ashamed :).
Gosh, Sarah, between you and Jeni, my skirt is a’ flutter with all the air your swishin’ my way :). Thank you!! You know how it is when you write something you LOVE and no one mentions it? I’m so thankful to you (and others) for taking time to enjoy this piece with me…it makes it triple the fun.
🙂
THIS is your gift! I want a book of this. Beautiful.
I love you.
Amber
Great story! 🙂
I’ve never heard nights so loud as when we moved to Texas two years ago. Fewer chatty critters in Oregon. 🙂
And by the way, I live on a well-lit, tree-less suburban street, and I still feel this kind of terror at night. I think I’d rather face a bear than some of our neighbors sometimes. (yikes!)
Robin, what great writing…I was there with you, saw it, heard it, felt it all…ran from the monster with you too, just so you know you weren’t alone, lol. 🙂
Brilliant work, my friend.
^ (What Jenny said.)
Well I figured if Jenny praised your post, it must be interesting. I am blown away. THIS is what I’ve been talking about brings me back to peoples blogs…great writing!
I swear, girl, you paint a “word picture” like nobody’s business! Wow!
Great post, Robin.
I can hardly get past the title which has me wanting to pull out my CD’s of Phantom and sit in the dark with a glass of red wine and just enjoy.
I love your writing, Robin.
It’s a balm for the soul.