It seemed ridiculous that I was uncomfortable, afraid to stay alone in a beach house that isn’t even big by today’s mcmansion standards. But our property adjoins conservation land and the sounds that I hear in the stillness are something out of “wild kingdom”. The snorting of deer, the scurrying of skunks and squirrels, and the echo of frogs create a cacophony of noise.
Last week, I decided that my time had come. This would be somewhat of a maturing process for me, a testing of my inner strength. Last month, I even read Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood”. His book is an impressive piece of prose but more than that, it was a way for me to face my demons. Years ago when I lived in a sleepy, rural suburb and was often alone with my three young children, my life was threatened. I tried pretending that the threat was against my whole family so I could expend plenty of energy protecting my children. Yet the female detective assigned to my case by the town police, aptly pointed out to me that the threat was very much against me. Twenty-one years later, the fear lurks in the back of my mind.
I made sure that I was home before the sun set, and even watched the pinks and purples streak across the horizon. It was a particularly lovely night with shooting stars and fireflies. I carefully latched each door and every easily accessible window. The summer evening was sultry even on this island, and I needed a cross breeze to move the tepidly humid air. At 10:00 p.m., I let my sheltie, Sophie, outside the front door for a final pee. The local meteorologist had forecast afternoon storms, but apparently they had simply passed us by.
By midnight, I had fallen asleep with my transistor radio blaring 70’s rock, and my copy of “March” by Geraldine Brooks open beside me. The wind whipping the trees, the thunder rumbling in the distance, and the lightening that illuminated the interior of the house didn’t immediately rouse me. What finally jarred my sleep was Sophie crying at my bedroom door and the stillness over my head because the ceiling fan had stopped spinning. It took me a few seconds to digest the fact that the power was out.
I grabbed a flashlight from my nightstand and dashed through the living room to the kitchen to see if our land phone had a dial tone. Cell service is spotty in our area. A neighbor later commented: “Weren’t you thinking that someone had cut your wires and was coming in to murder you?” Fortunately it hadn’t occurred to me that I could be starring in my own horror movie. My nervous, elderly dog had to go outside again, so I ventured outdoors in the darkness with the pouring rain pummeling my cotton nightgown and my bare feet. I called after her: “Sophie, if you get lost honey, I can’t find you!”
Until 6:30 a.m. when the power was restored, I lay awake with my mind racing. But I managed alone, and I figure that if I could survive that night, I can face any other forays on my own.
