Heightened Fear

My legs tremble as I hear an exasperated sigh from my sister holding the ladder beneath me. My hands quiver as I make an attempt to reach above and pull myself onto the fourth step.

“Just GO UP the god damned ladder, Rebecca!” screams my sister. “It’s freezing out and you’ve been on the third step for ten minutes.”

“SHUT UP! I’m freaking out, okay?! Just let me get my bearings here,” I say back.

I feel every muscle engage in my body as I pull my weight up onto the fourth step. My heart beats faster as I hug the one thing that is keeping my body from flailing to the ground. The steel cools my warm face as I try to catch my breath between heart palpitations.

“I will freakin’ catch you if you fall, okay!?” My sister urges.

“More like I will break your face when I squash you,” I reply.

Every inch of my skin starts to tingle and crawl with uncertainty. I reach above one more time to crawl onto the fifth step, but I can’t do it. Tears well up in my eyes as I place my left foot back down and I begin to get frustrated with myself.

“Why can’t I do this?” I mutter to myself.

“WHAT?” my sister screams back.

“I’m NOT talking to you,” I yell.

My sister’s impatience agitates me. I’m in a frenzy. I feel stuck. My body is in lock down. My joints feel seized as if I’m the TinMan from the Wizard of Oz. I can’t move a muscle.

“I can’t do this,” I say. “I’m coming down – move.”

“As if,” replies my sister. “Get up on that roof or I’m going to chase you up the ladder.”

As she goes to put her foot on the first step, I realize she’s serious and is not about to let me get off. With a deep breath, I pull myself onto the fifth step with only two more to go. My whole body is tense.

“One more step, and you’re up,” says my sister.

“I KNOW,” I say. “Stop effing talking to me and let me do this!!”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I quickly take the last step and finally pull myself up onto the snow-covered roof. On all fours, I slide my body up into the middle of the roof and take a glance at the picturesque river that runs just below my home in Prince Edward Island.  Shivers run down my spine as I gaze below. The scenic view looks as if Claude Monet painted it himself.

My sister makes her way up the ladder flawlessly to join me.

“Look at the view,” I say.

“I know,” she replies. “I told you it’s beautiful from here.”

“We should come up here more often,” I say. “I mean, getting up the ladder wasn’t THAT bad. It just takes me a couple of minutes…”

My sister looks at me with a smirk and then looks away to the river.

Wednesday evening with Judith E. Mack

Her silver bob falls perfectly in place as she shakes her head urging the cashier to keep the change. Every Wednesday Judith stops in at Zaney’s Knitting, a hole in the wall off of New York’s busy Broadway Street, to purchase discounted yarn.

“Thanks Judy,” said the sales clerk. She hated when people called her Judy. She assumed people associated it with unintelligent, overweight kindergarten teachers. But, she had been coming to Zaney’s Kintting for twelve years and Claire, the sales clerk, has always called her Judy.

“Have a good night Claire,” as she smiled while pressing her ruby lips together.

Evelyn was her first name, until she formally switched her first and middle name, Judith.  She had always hated the name Evelyn, but, it was her mother’s name – so she felt bad getting rid of it entirely.  Her husband Stan had never quite understood her why she wanted to change her name so badly.

“Large tea with skim milk?” says the bistro service attendant. “Huh? Oh, yes,” smiles Judith as her piercing blue eyes come back to life. She always tends to space out when thinking of Stan.  Judith fishes for her wallet in her medium sized Coach bag pushing aside newly purchased Tic Tacs and Werthers candy, staple items in her purse.

As she presses on the heavy glass door to leave the bistro a gust of wind pushes her petite 5’4” frame onto the busy street on New York City. Her Chanel pantsuit flaps around her legs as she makes her way to her parked Lexus.

As she enters her elegant two bedroom flat she is greeted by photos of her three beautiful grandchildren who have all moved away to Israel, Brussels and Atlanta; and a bittersweet surge of pain ignites in her heart. You see, Judith has long harbored a fear of planes, and all the psychologists and Valium in the universe can’t fix it. Her grandchildren grow so much between each visit that it is like getting to know a new person all over again.

She hangs her keys upon the key rack and locks the door behind her. As she flicks the light on, the room becomes alive. The walls are ivory white with large colorful contemporary paintings covering them. Everything has its place in Judith’s home. Her tabletops and floors are spotless. Fashion and baking magazines are piled neatly beside her faded peach orange couch in her livingroom.

 As she makes her way to her room she stops and admires the armoire Stan had built her almost twenty years ago. Although he was a businessman he had always had a talent for carpentry. He built it in his friend’s garage, as an anniversary gift for her. She remembers the day he surprised her with it. With tears in her eyes she thinks about him whispering in her ear “I love you, you’re my soul mate.”

And then one day, Stan was gone. A quick peck as she sat at the breakfast table with toast crumbs still on her lip. He had a sudden heart attack during his commute to work. Judith received a phone call telling her to come to the hospital immediately only to arrive and hear the unbearable news.

Stan had taken care of the details as always, so she had no reason to worry about the bills. But financial security just wasn’t enough. Judith was alone. Really and truly on her own. She cried as she lay in bed, sleeping or with magazines piled all around her. And, then one day, a month after the funeral, she got up, put on her lipstick and pearls and made her way to the bakery on 6^th and 18^th.

Judith has been working at Suzies bakery part-time for seven years on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, not for money, but merely for something to occupy her time. The people there have become like a second family for her. She smiles to herself as she thinks about them.

Out of the corner of her eye Judith sees a blinking red light indicating she has a message. “Hi Mom, it’s just me, Alyssa. I just wanted to get in touch with you about possibly coming to Atlanta for Thanksgiving this year. Let me know what you think. Love you.”

The Train

The bitter cold stings my lungs as I pound my feet onto the concrete bridge and zig zag through the crowd of commuters. I can see the light in the distance of the dark Calgary morning sky. Thousands of pounds of metal are barrelling down the tracks, and it certainly has no intentions of waiting for me. I fling the heavy metal door open, fly through the station and down the escalator, pushing my way past the daily travelers. I feel like a soldier, running for my life, in the war against time. Finally, I arrive at the designated slab of concrete.

Here I am. Just like I am every morning. The doors open and the cows start herding into the small compact cattle truck. The repugnant stench of wet clothes and garbage immediately fill my nostrils. The same horde of half-awake, half-dead creatures in ties and skirts fill into the cable car, stealing seats as if they were the last loaf of bread during the apocalypse. The same elbows jab me in the side as their owners flip through a ‘Metro’ paper.

The space is too small for all of these people. As we continue to make stops, I visualize the cab expanding at the sides – growing and growing as if it's had too much turkey dinner. Another passenger squeezes in beside me and I choke as their strong cologne creeps in around my nostrils, down my windpipe, and lingers on my tongue. My eyes water as I work hard to keep my cough in.

The connected cars move in a snake-like manner down the foothills. I catch a glimpse of the city skyscrapers illuminating the dim sky. A surge of electric pain ignites in my left foot, as a woman wearing six-inch heels looks at me sympathetically mouthing the words “I’m so sorry.”

The doors open and I can feel the cold air place its hands on my cheeks. I feel resistance as I try to push past the travelers through the doors. At last, I stumble onto the platform, overwhelmed by all of the space now around me.