Terror

I had a nightmare last night--one of those rare, awful ones that take hold and won't let go. I kept waking myself up to end it, just to go back to sleep and right back to the dream. When the alarm finally went off, I wasn't left with many of the details, but a residual sense of terror.

Terror used to be a regular companion in my waking life. Even when things weren't out of control, and there was no screaming, or hitting, or throwing things, terror was nearby. We were always careful, being sure to have friends over as often as possible, eat the right things in the right order, and watch what we said--we somehow thought we could keep the explosions from happening, if we did everything right.

But the explosion was always inevitable. I knew when it was coming. The air would thicken. There was a familiar metallic taste in my mouth. He would get louder, threatening. Her alto voice would get higher, panicky but trying to hold her ground. I always wanted to intervene, but knew better.

Instead, I put it away. And when it was all finally over for good, I really put it away. In a box, with packing tape, inside another box, inside a vault with many locks.

Now here I am, keys in hand.

Shaking in my boots.