It's Not Real

Dafna Fliegelman                                                                                                   

July 9^th, 2023

Writing contest #206

It's not something that's easy to talk about or to explain or even to feel, but it is real.

If you were to look up the definition of the word phobia you would get something like this. “Phobia; noun, fear of spiders is just one of his many phobias:  irrational fear, obsessive fear, dread, aversion antipathy, revulsion; complex, neurosis; informal thing, hang-up.”

My story offers another perspective. A perspective that demonstrates how even the smallest forms of physical terror can produce emotional limbs instantaneously and, that those new arms and legs can drastically change the course of one’s life, and the way they live it, forever.

It’s not something I like to talk about. My life was already folding at the seams and I was only halfway through my eighth year of life. At that point my parents were in the middle of getting a divorce, (and in 2002 that still wasn’t in-vouge to do yet!) My best friend moved to another state and my sister had been awfully mean to me that whole week! Let’s just say this was the pick-me-up I really needed, something I could really depend on and it turned out to be anything but…

 It happened on my bus ride home from school. At the very end of the school day, a Friday so also the end of that week, everyone in Mrs. Vicky’s second grade class was granted permission to pick one piece of candy from Mrs. Vicky’s candy jar. I knew immediately which candy I would choose the moment Mrs. Vicky’s information turned into a concept that included a prize for me! And for everybody else. I was selected eleventh in my choosing and my beloved not-actually-candy, but chocolate egg was still there! It could have been because Easter was nearly ten months ago but it could have been pure luck. (I personally choose to believe the latter.) I walked up to the jar and reached my elfin hand inside and enclosed on my heart’s desire. Feeling the security of the little chocolate egg in my hand I rebounded all of me back to my seat and waited. I waited and waited and waited. I gawked at my winnings. The foil was stained yellow and pink with the smallest bunnies painted right there on it. It was amazing to me and I simply couldn't wait to open it.

           When we were less than five minutes from the final school day bell, my classmates and I scattered and scurried about, cleaning up this day to compose the next. Art supplies away, papers in the desk, chalkboard empty, bookshelves full, jackets on, lights off, and we were free. Well, almost! I waited on my bus line for what felt like ever. Like the clocks forgot to tick. Finally, my neighbors and I were led by our line leader to bus 210, mine. Once seated I waited for my bus driver Woody to gas this bad boy up and take off! After about 10 more minutes of waiting and of other children loading up and on the big yellow mobile, we did just that. Trees swam past my half open window. It was a warm February afternoon and I sat in my seat peeling the layers off of me. I had on a coat and a hat, (just in case as my mother would say). I was careful to keep my hand clasped tight around my chocolate egg. But that wasn’t where the focus of my care should have been. I first saw the brown fudge dripping through the openings of my fingers like blood, marking my skin with its hue. And I knew in that moment my selection was dying. I opened my hand to my now almost melted fortune. I had been so concerned with the welfare of my chocolate egg that I didn’t think about the idea that I could be my own opponent! A backstabber too. It was clear now that time was of the essence, that it was now or never. I had to unwrap my chocolate swiftly and briskly to place it into my mouth and into safety. I hardly had time to chew but chew down I did and next came the cousin of pain dressed as fear.

A piercing feeling through my miniature molars, my tiny teeth so sensitive to the electrifying feel of their direct contact with the pretty pink and yellow foil. How deceiving it truly was. All at once I lost my chocolate, the sensation in my teeth, and my pride. And it was as though it was never foil that coated my cholate egg after all but rather Fear the entire time. I was astounded at my own self destruction. How could this have happened to me? I believed in God. More than that I trusted Mrs. Vicky and my intuition and my choice of reward so much. I never felt more betrayed and I never felt more affected by an outcome of a situation that seemed only capable of promising me joy. I felt denounced and that’s exactly when a deep-rooted phobia firmly formed. I knew it to be true diametrically in the moment the fable colored foil adhered to my back left tooth. My prediction was affirmed six days later when my family went out to dinner at the local pizzeria and my Mother ordered garlic knots for the table. I was so hungry I thought I couldn't wait. Traditionally I was such a garlic fanatic that I would lick the garlic remains right off the tinfoil guard that contained them. However, on this night, six days after my very own kiss of death, when I saw my own Mother carrying the tray of Pizza to my table, alongside it the most terrifying shade of faux silver you could ever conjure up. I wanted my mother to take all of the food right back into the kitchen and say, “sorry chef my baby’s not about to let that invade her ever again, so thanks, but no thanks!” Except that didn’t happen at all because, what happened to me on my bus ride home was only felt by me. And when I shared my horror with my family, they couldn’t help but encourage me in their own believed lies telling me things like “it’s not real”. But it was real. It was real that warm February day on the bus, when I had a few too many layers on, and it was real that night at the pizzeria when I was so hungry I thought I couldn't wait, and it's real still today, and every time I start to sweat at the thought of being entangled in something else's mess again, confused by the power of love.

I was only halfway through my eighth year of life and I learned what it meant to be robbed of something beautiful.

[Authors Note: This was my first and only phobia I have generated in my mind. The reality is that it’s not real but your thoughts are. I am however proud to share that after 17 years I can now tear open a foil wrapped Hershey’s kiss all on my own, but never again a chocolate egg.]

Based on a true story.