Below is a short story which I wrote for,and was first published in,the Huron River Review's volume 10. The Huron River review is a book of short stories,peotry and pictures contributed by current and former students of Washtenaw Community College.I wrote this story in the summer of 2010 when I first returned from Iraq and I was having a difficult time sleeping.Enjoy!
Fear
A train whistle , that damn train whistle, that far away lonely train whistle that prevented my sleep for so long. That train whistle that cut through the still night air all those nights. I can hear it, floating across the night air, singing its forlorn song for all the world to hear. That one note slowly repeating itself over and over in that long slow drawl. Like an unwanted alarm clock that you have no power to turn off, bleating in the night, interrupting all the stillness outside my bedroom window. Is that what has woken me this night?
Is it the wind chimes? The sing song of the wind chimes that you actually missed not so long ago. Gently tinkling in the mid summer breeze. The wind chimes that used to serenade me to sleep, that gave me that homey feeling. That sound that used to comfort me. That feeling that everything was alright in the world. Is that what has woken me this night?
Or is it the quiet then? The total and complete silence, that quiet that kept me awake those many nights. That quiet that permeates the night, that lays a dark blanket over my thoughts, keeps me from sleeping. The quiet that can be so loud sometimes, it keeps me awake for what seems like weeks, the quiet that almost drove me mad. Is that what has woken me this night?
Or is it the soft bump at my door, the nervous shuffling of feet on the wood floor. The slightest whimper issued from the throat, labored panting of distress. Is that what has woken me this night?
Then the sound again, that soft rumble in the distance. That sound that awakens the fear in me. The soft rumble that is slowly followed by the deep ripping sound as if the sky is tearing apart. It is a familiar sound, or is it? In that rift between sleep and reality it is hard to discern. Are those explosions in the distance?
The panic hits full force now, the hammering of my heart in my chest as if it is trying to burst through. The cool tingly release of pure adrenaline into the blood stream. My hands start to shake and my mind starts to race.
I jump out of bed in a total and complete frenzy. Where am I? What is going on? Where is my rifle, my helmet, my body armor? Searching the room with glazed, half-asleep eyes. The reality still escapes me. Only one thing on my mind. I have to get to safety, to the bunkers. Those cool, crypt-like shelters that are supposed to keep you safe. Those sandbag fortresses filled with other wide eyed soldiers praying silently under muted breath. The fear is like an electrical charge crackling in the air. So palpable you can actually feel the hair on your arms rise.
In that space between dreams and reality where everything is fuzzy and unclear I can hear him now. Impatient, waiting for me to open the door. As I reach out to open the door and let him in, I am still not sure if all this is real. Is it a dream, a nightmare?
He comes in hesitantly at first not really sure if this is the safest spot to be, but knowing it is safer than where he has come from. I’ve had the same feeling before. He hears the distant noise also and it affects him the same way. That deep rumble that has no origin, that comes out of nowhere.
He feels that same tightness in his chest. I can see it in his eyes, those deep brown eyes that usually hold nothing but innocence and happiness. That deep-rooted fear that starts in the gut and slowly works its way to the rest of the body. Radiating from my center, all my muscles constricting, my body shaking with anticipation. How is it possible that all my muscles can constrict at once? My mouth goes dry and I find it hard to swallow. That fear that seems to coat my mouth and tongue, thickening, overpowering. The weird coppery taste in my mouth, the buzzing in my ears. My eyes seem to grow and everything becomes clearer, crisper. I am the master of time. Yet, I feel as if I am moving through syrup. The kind that is thick and soupy, the kind that slows you down. I get that queasy feeling in my stomach. That loose feeling deep in my belly that makes me feel like vomiting.
He enters the room, it is always the same, those sideways glances, furtively seeking the safest spot. Is it under the desk? Is it under the bed? Is it inside the closet? But it always ends up the same, the safest most secure spot is on the bed next to me. I slowly drift back into the real world, I am not over there. My rifle is not next to the bed, I no longer have a need for a helmet or body armor. There is no need to run to the concrete shelters. There are no explosions, just the soft distant rumblings of a mid-summer thunderstorm.
As my heart rate slows and the immediate panic fades, I climb back into bed. Knowing that I will not be going to sleep any time soon, secure in the knowledge that I am finally home, safe. My buddy looks at me with soft pleading eyes and I pat the spot next to me on the bed. He jumps up eagerly. I gently stroke his head and he rewards me with a wet tongue across the face. Just me and my dog lying in bed listening to the rain.
This story is dedicated to my dog Smokey 2001-2011.
