Instinct

1

Instinct is a funny word with so, so many meanings.

Was it instinct that made me break quarantine to go for a walk in the park? I'm usually as bound to my home as a snail, content with sofas and TV over cold wind and leaves. It was late, I was tired and I had no flashlight. Yet almost independent from thought, I found myself outside with a zipped-up jacket, headphones in, walking away from shelter.

Even though I could barely see it under the trees, the park's gate seemed more impressive now. Less detailed, more flawless. The dull metal bars flanked by trees stretched further than I remembered, and further than I cared to check. I meekly pushed it open and didn't wait to hear it shut; I was well in the park by the clank. It took five steps for the lack of sound to get to me. Five steps and stopping to look around because I though I heard something. Or saw someone. Or both. A perfect silence mixed with the air seemed to reach for me. I blocked it out with "Jingle Bells"; the first thing my oddly trembling hands could type out. As the chorus came on I hummed, throwing some sound into a quiet pit.

After that the walk was calmer, pleasant even. The moon came out and gave some definition to my surroundings. The memories of my childhood seeped back in and slowly but surely hide and seek and tree houses conquered shadows and paranoia. I made a look back, and entered the canopy. Even the moonlight couldn't penetrate that cover, and with nothing to move or use for reference, time dripped. I felt the last human on earth. In a good way. Everything was still, in a way that implied reality was as large as I could sense, and all that mattered was what lied in my limited view. Eventually that was a bridge. It stood long and narrow over a shallow, mirror-black pond. It reflected the moon like the sun on obsidian. The wooden, Japanese-style bridge, tempting as it was, led away from home. I spent five minutes en route debating walking over. At the time dinner seemed like a more pressing choice.

Passing the bridge, I gave it no more than a second's glance before heading home. A second more would have meant wetting myself. Two seconds more would have meant a heart attack. Just that moment's look made my eyes bulge, made my throat swell. It took my breath away to such a degree that I wondered if I was choking. No matter the whims of my head, my body wouldn't let me turn back.

Whistling soon came from the direction of the bridge. Five seconds it took to put my mind in perfect harmony with my body. Over the strange fluctuations in pitch, five seconds was what it took me to recognise the tune as 'Jingle Bells'.