Thanatophobia (fear of dying)

Thursday

Thursday

Rain was pounding the window like miniature falling anvils, repeatedly hitting the worn out pane as the seconds dragged by.

And, it seemed that I’d have to face those anvils head on when I ventured outdoors to get to class.

I looked at my bike, and bit my lip. The chain had fallen off without my noticing it after I’d gotten off it coming home yesterday. It seemed like I’d have to spend even more time outside in the miserable weather than I’d wanted. There was no way I’d be able to fix the chain. I was technologically challenged – even when a bicycle was concerned. David would have been able to help, but he’d left early for the weekend this morning on his way to the mountains. He took his snowboarding weekends seriously. Deadly serious.

I rubbed my temple, trying to drown out the now irritating din of the raindrops. I contemplated just skipping class. But, my English professor had warned us that he’d be giving out important information about our upcoming midterm today. I was already struggling in that class with all the extra community service I’d been taking upon myself. I really couldn’t afford missing a day like today on top of it all.

I went over to the small, slightly yellowed window and moved the thin white curtain out of the way. It was certainly pouring, but I gazed up at the sky, and though the clouds were an ominous black, there didn’t appear to be any thunderheads. No lightning in sight.

It looked like I’d have to brave it –on foot.

I bundled up enormously in an astounding six layers and grabbed my black and white polka dotted umbrella and matching pair of rain boots before heading out the door. I was extra careful to lock it securely on my way out.

I couldn’t be too careful now, could I?

I stomped through the various puddles that littered the ground, and clutched my forearms for warmth. My teeth chattered. “I hate the damn cold. Fuck rain.” I muttered under my breath, glaring up at the sky for a second, under the cover of my umbrella. The sidewalk was fairly narrow and a bit cracked, and it reminded me eerily that I didn’t necessarily live in the best part of town.

I saw headlights in the corner of my eye a couple of times as cars came around the various street corners; and, as each one passed, I felt the hair on the back of my neck bristle in anticipation and fear. Oddly enough, I felt like a sitting duck. I thought about that little boy from the other day. If anyone was considered a true sitting duck, it would be him.

Halfway there, and already discouraged, I stopped in a small little café next to a sketchy mini-mart. There I picked up a steaming Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate and sat down to a blueberry muffin and the day’s newspaper. I flipped to an article about Medicare, and read for awhile before I flipped through the rest a bit nonchalantly until I came to the obituaries. A myriad of faces, joyful, in a sad sort of way, stared up at me in black and white. It was an overview of the past couple of weeks, up until the present day.

It made me feel even worse to know that they kept running the same names and pictures for awhile. They appeared at least once a week in our local newspaper for this side of town. And, that to me, made it seem like the spirits weren’t allowed to rest – that they had to keep living through these black and white pages awhile longer. Why couldn’t they make their deathly debut in the paper once and just get it over with?

I shook my head at the paper’s practices, and was about to turn the page when a name jumped out at me.

Abigail, Myra. It was the older woman from the news. She looked so frail and vulnerable that it almost brought a tear to my eye to think that her death may not have been a peaceful accident after all, that it possibly had a more sinister circumstance surrounding it.