Fear Itself

I was seventeen when I finally did it. I finally got out.

It had taken mere moments, but I had to abolish all fear and hesitance from my mind. As I crouched, perched in the open frame of the window, I knew that fear was only going to hold me back. Besides, what was there to be afraid of, anyway? It was just outside; people lived out here. People walked, talked, and lived out in this world, a world I had never set foot in, and I wanted so desperately to join them. Leaving the house was a whole other world, I was sure of it, and the thought of getting a chance to set foot outside to talk to people was both nerve-wracking and enthralling all the same time.

Nerve-wracking wouldn’t do, though. It served no purpose in aiding my leap to freedom; if anything, it would only prove to hold me back, so I ignored any trembling in fingers or knots twisting in my stomach as I eyed the sturdy branch in front of my window. It wasn’t far, I reasoned. It was just within reach. All I would have to do was push off against window and thrust my body toward it. It was really that simple.

I took a breath to calm myself, and I only took a moment to close my eyes. I visualized the leap in my mind. I saw myself making the jump. I saw myself swinging from the branch to the trunk of the tree. Most importantly, I saw my freedom right in front of me. I opened my eyes with a satisfied smirk on my face, but the expression quickly melted into one of concentration and determination as I shifted my weight evenly between my feet and hands, gripping the surface of the wall behind me.

With a swift push, I flung myself from the window, throwing body out into open air. My heart pounded as I flew toward the tree, arms hovering out in front of me, waiting for the moment to grasp. I moved an inch before fingers hit the bark of the tree, scraping the soft skin of my hands. I tightened my grip on the branch, and my body swung like a pendulum for a moment. I caught my breath and waited for my body to steady before I pulled myself up, swinging a leg over to straddle it. Content, I leaned back against the trunk, heaving a sigh. A smile crept up on my face as my eyes traveled down to the garden.

It was just a few feet away: lush and green with color and life. It was waiting for me, or perhaps I had been waiting for it. The prospect of finally feeling blades of grass between my toes had me grinning like an idiot, but as my eyes peered down at my bare feet dangling in the air, I felt compelled to look up. My eyes fell upon the open window to my bedroom, and though my door was closed, I could picture my father sleeping soundly, unaware that I was outside, sitting in a tree, considering escape.

My face fell at the thought. He wouldn’t have wanted this. How would he feel to wake up to his daughter’s empty bedroom with his little girl nowhere to be found? A frown forced my lips downward, and I furrowed my eyebrows and looked back to the garden, wondering if I really wanted to do this anymore. I sighed and dropped my head as I began to shimmy my way up the branch, crouching on it and priming myself to pounce back toward the window.

To this day, I’m not sure if it’s a decision I was proud of.

Nevertheless, I tumbled back through the window, rolling to lessen the impact and the ensuing sound. I lifted myself with slight remorse as turned to close the window.

The night ended much like any other: I collapsed into bed and tried to forget the fact that I’d live my whole life in this house. I didn’t like to imagine it, but I knew I would still be trapped in here when I was well over thirty years old…

As long as my father was in the picture, I’d be here. If I ran, I could get out, but I didn’t have the backbone or the bravery. Melancholy washed over me at the realization that my father was right: a scared little girl couldn’t survive in the world on her own. I bundled myself in my blankets and tried to sleep, trying to run away just like always did.

When could I stop running?