Ruminate

Darkness

As a kid, I was always afraid of the dark.

I guess, more accurately, of what was hiding in the dark. The monsters. The unknown.

I remember a small girl with bright blonde curls, fighting her parents as they begged her to sleep. Turning off the light, pleading her to comply.

She curled under her bright pink covers and silently prayed that her father would forget to turn the lights off. Monsters are afraid of the dark, after all.

She watched the darkness carefully for any sign of movement.

Sometimes she saw things, sometimes she didn't.
This time, she did.

Could it have been her pretty black and red dress folding from the fan-blown air? Possibly.

Could it have been a big, scary monster ready to pounce and do unspeakably terrifying things at a moment's notice? She thought so.

Was it? No. And that day, that little girl learned that her fear of the dark had no logic or reasoning behind it. No proof. It wasn't a real problem. And since it wasn't a real problem, she had to face it on her own.

So here we are. That little girl is now a 19-year-old with dark, crazy curls, who is only mildly uncomfortable in the dark.

Until one night, her 30-year-old, newly-moved-in, male, housemate was awake, shuffling around his bedroom adjacent to her's.

Just prior to this night, she had heard him conversing with their landlord about how much he couldn't wait for her to move out. How much he hated living with her.

And as she lay in her bed, scrolling Instagram and texting her friends, she heard her door squeak.

She quickly turned off her phone and was careful not to move a muscle.

She watched the darkness carefully for any sign of movement.

Sometimes she saw things, sometimes she didn't.
This time, she did.

In the doorway of her room, she saw a figure.

A man. Watching her.

Could it have been her harmless roommate, checking on her or seeing if she was home? Possibly.

Could it have been a big, scary monster ready to pounce and do unspeakably terrifying things at a moment's notice? She thought so.