im tired of being scared

scared that one day when

i forget my own name

i’ll still remember yours

- deathetix

I am alone.

It never crossed my mind that it could come to this. I have had nightmares all my life, but not one touched the reality of my life today.

It happened slowly at first.

Everyone stayed inside so much, no one really noticed when friends and neighbors stopped coming out of their homes; when the city streets overflowing with garbage and rodents stayed empty of people. With the recent, ongoing plague, everyone assumed when they stopped seeing someone on Zoom or at their window, stopped hearing from them, that the worst had happened. That death had arrived sooner than expected. No one realized the slow, insidious, relentless tendrils of Death were reaching out across the globe, choking all life in its path.

Overwhelmed hospitals and clinics closed their doors, one by one, as medical staff gave up or perished. The sick and the dying, died at home.

It took a while before I realized the problem was greater than I had imagined. Garbage collection ceased. Happily living in a small town, I composted what I could, burned some and stored cans and such things in the garage. Within weeks of each other, gas and electric were shut off for reasons unknown. No one, not even an automated voice, answered my calls. Constant busy signal. Water continued to run, and for that, I was grateful.

And then, death arrived at my door: I lost my entire family within a month and by the time my beautiful daughter closed her eyes for the last time, there was no one to call to remove the body, no cemetery or crematorium, no morgue or funeral home had anyone still working. My calls went unanswered. I reached out to neighbors to help, but no one answered the door. I dug a grave as best I could, and buried her in our back garden.

Not soon after, news programs stopped running; only constant streaming of old programming became available. Radio stations went dark or played the same playlists over and over. No one but me was posting on social media.

For a little over a week, my calls for food delivery have gone unanswered. Websites have had constant error messages and have stopped accepting orders.

For the first time in a year, I left my home today. I was hungry.

I walked the empty streets in awe of the utter and complete silence save the sound of birds chirping.

I arrived at a market whose doors were open: Food on shelves was sparse; what little produce and meat remained was spoiled and smelled; the aisles, empty. No cashiers. No manager making the occasional announcement. No one. My footsteps echoed loudly. My heart raced and I began to sweat.

I found a few cans of tuna fish, some baked beans and a jar of peanut butter. I serviced myself and tried to pay with my credit card. It gave an error message. I had no cash. Feeling guilty, I took my purchases and left.

I walked quickly, ran really, my heart pounding. How was this possible?

How is this possible?

Am I the only person left? And if I am not, how will I find others? And if I find others, who is to say I would not be safer alone, in my home?

Night will fall soon and I don’t know if I will sleep. I was always afraid of the dark and the nightmares that peppered my dreams. Of the shadows that hid monsters. Of death awaiting.

Now I am just afraid, because...

I am alone.

It’s been a while.

I’m glad you’re back.

Don’t fake the smile.

Let’s stick to facts.

You protect me.

I’m trouble free.

"You seem surprised to see me, though I was always here. And why do you look so petrified? I am only your worst fear. You've always known me, so why are you so scared? I am just a part of you, the part where you are scarred."

"If you are a part of me, than why are you out for my blood? I know it's just a shadow there, hiding beneath the hood."

"Aah, so you finally realize who you truly are. Good job there dear, together we'll go far."

Just type. But what if?

It's your words. If they like it, cool.

If not, well...can't please everyone.

I want to be seen as a writer.

Then write!

But...I lose focus and I can't

What can you lose?

I want to show people I can do it.

I have the imagination

I write music lyrics with ease.

I can create a fantasy world like *snap* that.

The fear of the unknown is what stops me.

It lingers in my mind: the "what ifs" and "shoulds"

I just want to get a book published.

I want to write a movie and direct it.

I want..I want..I WANT!

But...the fear is more superior then that dream.

As an elemantary school child back in the 90s, I used to run around telling people my uncle worked on the movie You've Got Mail, until I got older and realized what an absolutely terrible movie it was.

For those of you who haven't had the privilege of seeing this topical but now anachronistic romantic comedy using 90s technology and the soothing sounds of AOL, there's a scene where the protagonist, a middle aged, "dad bod" sporting Tom Hanks, gets stuck in an elevator with his girlfriend, his doorman, and a wealthy woman, presumably of the Upper East Side. After what appears to be hours, as denoted by sweat induced frizzy hair and limbs flopping over, as if sitting itself has become exhausting, the dialogue turns to a game of "if I ever get out of here." A classic movie gambit -- have characters contemplate the future.

Tugging on moviegoers heartstrings begins immediately. The wealthy woman wants to talk to her mother again. The doorman tells a heartwarming tale of getting out of the elevator and proposing to his partner. He loves her and declares it definitively. Obviously, the audience seeing Tom with the one and only Parker Posey, who I will never hate on because her typecast East Coast attitude and dark features will always hit slightly too close to home for me, is waiting for his reaction. Does Tom feel the same about his partner? Is this his true love?

Ever irritated in a way that only New Yorkers understand, Posey's character rummages through her purse and states if she ever gets out of the elevator she's getting her eyes lasered. In an effort to hit the viewer over the head that she's a vapid narcissist, she cuts Hanks off screaming about whatever she can't find in her purse right as he says the line "If I ever get out of here..." (Spoiler Alert: Meg Ryan is also in this movie.)

We are all in our own Elevator Scene during this quarantine and playing "if I ever get out of here" with friends, family and strangers. Thankfully technology as progressed since the filming of You've Got Mail and we are playing this game via many social media and internet platforms.

What I'm most afraid of is that I'm sitting in the elevator rummaging through my purse. Granted, I have rescheduled a botox appointment already, but I'd like to think telling people that plays up the ridiculousness of it. I'm self aware of how insane I sound...sometimes. Posey's character isn't.

Nonetheless, I don't currently have a great ending to the line, "If I ever get out here." I don't have a momentous moment of professing my love or reconnecting with someone I've lost at the end of this quarantine. Maybe that's ok though.

If I ever get out of here, I'm going to hug the people I love, again. If I ever get out of here, I'm going to stop beating myself up for things that happened years ago and accept that people evolve and change, even me. If I ever get out here, I'm going to try and do a better job at articulating my feelings as compared to deflecting with humor. (Note the emphasis on try.)