Running Toward Yesterday

If not for the deafening beat of my heart, the sound of his footsteps would give me the strength to finish the race. Reality quickly confronts me as I peer over my knee; the finish line is only seconds away. However, my body and my mind have reached their breaking point. The once crisp lines dividing imagination and reality, blur in an instant. Those not blurred beyond recognition, divide in two, three, or even four to skew my perception, and the worst of them do both. With my back against the wall, I push through the burning sensation in my legs to regain my footing. My wobbly knees groan in objection, already bent, now threatening to break. I turn, press my forehead to the wall, whisper my declaration of defeat into the darkness, and then wait. My moment of reckoning becomes moments and time stretches on long enough for the pounding in my ears to give way to the whistle of the wind, which finally gives way to the deafening silence around me. I chuckle under my breath at the thought of his face wrought with confusion when he finds me merely steps away from completing the race and escaping his ill-fated intentions. As the minutes pass, my mind reconstructs each detail of each minute from the moment the courthouse door closed behind me, in search of answers.

I emerge from the empty corridors of justice, leaving work behind me. I take pause, as I do each day, to stare into the lifeless lot across the street. Another day passes and not even a for sale sign, but it is not surprising, considering all the baggage that would come along with that property. The persistence of the unseasonably warm, fall air quickly distracts me. The sun’s retreat below the city skyline has not deterred it from making its invitation. I graciously accept, turn right, and head toward the park entrance. I have lost count of the number of days I have turned left, following my safe, yet numbing routine; what harm could one day do? Besides, I want to see how many laps I can make before the park gates close for the day. By the time I finish, the entrance is absent the bustling laughter of parents and children chasing the last glimmer of sunlight.

Halloween is only days away and the glow of ghouls, ghosts, and frightfully carved jack-o-lanterns dot the neighborhood just beyond the park gates. I'm not big on the whole lore of All Hallows Eve, but the town festivities and young beggars always steal my heart. Without a thought, I start up the street passing the courthouse to follow the well-worn path to the comfortable confines of home. After only a few steps I notice the temperature has fallen off quite quickly. I freeze in my tracks and watch as the eerie night air devours every morsel of light it touches. It consumes all the festive, yet ghostly lights, the streetlights, even swallows every porch light in the blink of an eye. I whisper into the darkness in a feeble attempt to calm my nerves, “Strange conditions for a power outage.” I reach into my favorite Allyn® shoulder bag for my phone, camera, planner, map, alarm clock, and yes, my flashlight, and realize I must have left it on my desk. A sudden thought sends goosebumps racing across my skin, I never let that thing out of my site, I depend on it way, too much; one too many coincidences in a few, short minutes. I consider making a run for it, but reconsider in the absence of a well-lit path. The depth of the darkness unravels my nerves; In all my time in the city, I've never experienced anything like it.

“Great. Now all I need is a man in a hockey mask, wielding a chainsaw in one hand while the other is clad with a knife tipped glove to pop out of nowhere and chase me into the woods.” I chuckle at my own sarcasm, knowing it won't be enough to calm my flaring anxiety. I feel like a child, standing frozen in the dark, petrified to even take a step forward. Janice, run, don't stop until you're all the way home, and send Dad to help me. My brother’s voice seems to echo as loudly down the street as it does in my mind. It's impossible; almost thirty-two years to the day have passed since his funeral.

I can still hear the heavy clomping of his boots as we walk home from the pre-Halloween parade in the park. As we exit the park and cross the street, a creepy looking guy behind us offers us a ride home. Thanks to KidSmartz®, we're prepared to run before the next word leaves his lips. Unfortunately, he is faster than both of us, even more unfortunate for Terry tonight, his boots make him slower than me. I hear his muffled cry again, this time from the other side of the bushes. My head is spinning and my stomach nauseous with fear, but he said he needs Dad’s help. I stand up and sprint as fast as I can, we're only a few blocks from the house. I start screaming for my parents as soon as I turn the corner. They're still on the porch swing, where they wait whenever we are out after dark. I see Dad leap over the porch rail and bushes in one motion as soon as he hears me.

“Dad, a creepy guy pulled Terry behind the bushes in the lot across from the courthouse. He told me to run and send you back for help.” Dad flew past me before I could get the last word out. I have always believed love could move a mountain, but in this moment, I witness it. I know I have never seen him running that fast. I finally reach the porch and stand sobbing in my mother’s arms and can't find the strength to lift my eyes. Her fingers gently comb through my hair, as I watch the blades of grass liter the stoop. Suddenly, her voice breaks the silence. “Richard?” I turn to see Dad walking slowly toward the house, clutching a single boot tightly against his chest. I know whose boot that is, but where is Terry? “Dad?” He doesn't break eye contact with my mother as he climbs the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her start to fall. It all happens so fast she does not even have time to cry. Whenever I recall that night, it is the last memory I own. The rest of the details are fragments from conversations and newspapers. It was the end of my trick-or-treating years and the beginning of my chaperoned years.

“I said get moving, I can’t hold him off forever.” The surreal sound of his voice snaps me back into the moment. If it is his voice, then how? I could dismiss it as another nervous thought, had I not just retreated from one. If it were only his voice, it wouldn't be as scary. However, combined with the alternating sound of a footstep with a clear boot clomp, makes it nothing short of horrifying. My heart pounds in my chest; if his murderer were a child molester then why would he be coming after a forty-year-old woman? The blood in my veins turns to ice as I inhale the familiar scent of Terry’s musty pea coat. Suddenly, I feel his hand in my back urging me forward, breaking the sidewalk’s paralyzing grip. Another firm push sends me into a full sprint. Terry’s muffled cry for help crawls out from behind the bush, just as I had thirty-two years ago, nearly freezing me in my tracks. I want to turn and help, but my legs carry me forward.

I can hear my gasps echo from the neighboring houses as I turn the corner. My eyes widen in disbelief as I find myself running toward our family house. Impossible! Even from here, I can see my parents sitting on the porch. I begin screaming at the top of my lungs, in a voice that belongs to an eight-year-old. They do not even turn their heads, but how could they? They don't even live there anymore. The last time I saw them, they were passing through the doors of the institution. I scream, get up and run, but they continue their conversation as if I weren't even there. Once again I feel powerless, in an act of willful disobedience my legs carry me past the place where I once felt safe. I cover my ears and keep running as their muffled cries for help chase after me.

I can hear the single boot clomp getting closer, but so am I, to my high security apartment complex. Once I round the corner, it comes into full view. I am less than a block away from four impenetrable walls . I grab the nearest light post for support as the burning sensation in my legs and lungs quickly steal my breath. I bend at the waist hoping to determine how far ahead of my pursuer I have raced. However, the only sound I can make out is the beating of my own heart. My back slides down the wall, as I try to catch my breath. I tuck my head between my knees as a sudden gust of wind picks up, blowing the musty smell of Terry’s pea coat straight into my mind.

“Janice, Janice.” I feel his hand on my shoulder, but I can't find the strength to fend him off. Is there anything more you would like to say before I end this... I cut him off before he can finish his sentence. How could you? We were just kids. He kept hitting you with his boot but, you wouldn't stop. Why? I feel the sharpened steel piercing my leg, followed by the unescapable burn. My only anchor in this reality begins to shrink into a small speck of light, while my voice trails off like a penny clanking from the sides of a well as it falls into darkness. Finally, I can rest. It seems so long since I could take a full breath. The air leaving my lungs makes an eerily familiar sound.

If not for the deafening beat of my heart, the sound of his footsteps would give me the strength to finish the race.