Fear Itself

There was thunder. I was four years old, it was late at night, and there was thunder. I shook and shivered under my blankets for a few minutes, clutching my pink rabbit toy, affectionately named Wiggles, tight in my arms. I clenched my eyes shut as the rainfall slapped the window, thudding against the glass. It will go away, I thought. If I just ignore it, it will all go away.

But it didn’t go away, and I was scared: scared that the thunder would crash through the window, scared that it would break through the ceiling, scared that I might die in that storm. Even at four years old, I was familiar with death. I grew up knowing my mother died shortly after I was born, and while I may not have fully understood the gravity of that situation, I knew that she died. I knew that people died… knew that I too, one day, would die. I was scared of that, then. Death was terrifying, and I thought that almost anything could cause it: especially thunder.

Another clap sounded, sending me flinching and curling up into a tight little ball underneath my lavender sheets. I started crying, sobbing, and my eyes stung with tears. I wanted to cry for help, cry for my daddy, but I knew he couldn’t hear me from my room; I had tried it many times before to no avail unless I decided to literally wrack my whole body with sobs and scream at the top of my lungs. I had gotten quite good at it over the last couple of years; the crying always seemed to bring desirable results, anyway.

There was a blinding flash of light out my window, illuminating the sky. My eyes widened, and I squeaked as I burrowed myself further into the blankets. Bang. Another crash sounded, and I had enough. I rolled out of my bed, quite literally, and went racing down the hall, crashing into my father’s door, sobbing, but knocking—he had always made it clear that one was to knock before entering a room, and I was determined to have manners, even in the grip of certain death. “Daddy!” I cried out, banging my tiny fist against the door, clutching Wiggles under my left arm. I continued banging and banging until finally, the door creaked open.

There stood my father, tall above me. I looked up, tears flowing from my eyes. He was groggy, tired. His hair was a mess, yellow just like mine. His eyes were half-open, blue just like mine. I sniffled and exhaled a shaky breath, my knees wobbled, and my shoulders shook. “Yes, Thalia?” he asked, his voice raspy with sleep, eyes bleary.

“Daddy, there’s thunder,” I explained, still finding it difficult to breathe without shivering. Blinking, tears spilled from my eyes once more, and I watched as my father knelt down a little to pick me up.

“Come along, then,” he replied, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. I hooked my arms tight around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder as he carried me the few feet to his bed. He set me down among the sheets, and he joined moments later. He laid back down, adjusting to his comfort before motioning for me to come closer. I did; I wrapped myself up in the sheets and got as close to him as I possibly could: where he could feel my breath on his skin, and I could hear his heartbeat. The dull, repetitive thud in my father’s chest was comforting. It was enough to lull me to sleep as he ran his hand over my head, whispering, “Go to sleep, Tali. Go to sleep.”

Morning light peeked through the curtains and spilled across the pale silver carpeting as I felt myself being jostled a bit. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” my father chuckled, nudging me softly. I blinked my eyes open, peering through the morning fog in my eyes and the strands of blonde hair that had fallen in front of my face. “It’s time to get up, now.” I groaned softly in protest, and I shoved my head back into the pillow. I heard my father laugh as he grabbed me, lifting me from the entangled mess of sheets I had created through the night. “Oh, Tali, what am I going to do with you?” he mused as he balanced me against his chest and carted me back across the hall, into my bedroom.

He sat me down on the edge of my bed and began to look through my drawers. I sat quietly, patiently, still half-asleep. I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands before my father returned, laying my clothes on the bed. “Arms up,” he told me, and I did as told. Before I could even open my eyes again, I was dressed for the day: a white shirt with pink floral designs and a matching pink bubble skirt. “How would you like your hair today, Tali?” he asked, smiling as he sat down beside me.

“Hmm,” I hummed, glancing around for a moment or two. “Um, braid.” I nodded conclusively up at him.

“Braid it is, then,” my father chuckled, turning me so that my back was to him, and as I watched him brush out my hair in a nearby mirror, I noticed how similar we looked: blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin; he always commented that I looked so much like my mother. I thought that I looked a lot like him, even with the unholy amount of freckles spotting my face. His fingers gently tugged my scalp as he twisted the three separate segments of hair around each other. I didn’t have much hair back then, but I had enough that I could start messing with it, so gone were the days of headbands and little bows; I wanted to be fancy. Thankfully, my father didn’t mind coming along for the ride.

He secured my hair with a small elastic, and he lifted me up again. “Thank you, Daddy,” I said quietly, resting my head against his shoulder as he carted me down the stairs.

“You’re very welcome, Tali,” my father replied, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head.

He sat me down in a chair at the island counter in our kitchen. I traced my fingers along the blue and white marble surface as I heard my father preparing breakfast behind me. My eyes drifted up to the back door: a glass, sliding door, covered by grey curtains. There was a crack between the two sheets of fabric that allowed me a glimpse outside. I saw the grass, our garden, and the sturdy oak tree who’s branches sprawled out in all directions, including in front of my window.

I thought about asking. I wanted to go out, to touch it, smell it, breathe in that fresh air, but I had asked many times before, and the answer never changed. The answer was always no, and it would be for the rest of my life.