starting up my favorite running mix on my iPod as
I left the steps.
A thousand little things
underscored how different it was to be outside instead of tied to a machine.
The feel of pavement, unforgiving beneath my feet. The sharp air that felt
prickled, icy, as I breathed it in. The drop in temperature when I came under
the shade of a stand of tall pines. The wind slicing through my fleece.
At first, with every step
I imagined I was squashing Michael’s face with my foot. But eventually I gave
myself to the music, my footfalls synching to the rhythm. Slowly, my stress
melted away as I focused on my breathing. By the time I turned the corner off
the main loop, I was singing along with my iPod at full voice, doing little
hand jive moves when the spirit took me, as if the road was my own private stage.
I had never felt so free.
I suppose I looked funny
to any neighbor who happened to look out their window. But I didn’t care. I
was running, really running, without some stupid program on a machine to tell
me how fast or how long to run.
I kept running, past the
familiar streets into others I’d never been on. They all looked comfortingly
the same. What was that phrase Mom had used once? Safe as houses. Everybody
here is safe as houses.
But no sooner had I
thought it when I began to get a funny feeling that I was not alone.
I slowed down to a trot
to look over my shoulder, but could see nothing.
Unsettled, I started
running again, darting a backwards glance every few yards. The safe little
neighborhood suddenly felt threatening, the dark windows in the empty houses
glaring at me like angry eyes. I picked up the pace.
I had made it back to the
main loop and now the sun was hanging low in the February sky. Only a
little ways left to go , I thought to myself, trying to forget that the last
bit went through an unfinished part of the neighborhood that had been left open
as a preserve.
My unease deepened as I
strode forward. The road was curvy here, swallowed at every bend by spindly
pines that swayed in the stiff wind. My pace became more cautious. It was
starting to hurt to breathe in the cold air, and my side was aching. I didn’t
want to stop. I wanted to get home and out of this cold, but my body was not
cooperating. I dragged myself over to the curb and bent over, wheezing while I
tried to work the knot out of my side.
Everything around me was
silent. I couldn’t even hear any approaching cars. Everyone else seemed
tucked away inside their warm houses. I was alone, in the woods.
But I still felt that I
wasn’t quite alone. The feeling grew stronger and stronger, and even as I
regained my breath I could feel my heart thumping faster and faster.
Don’t look up , the little voice in my head
whispered.
And suddenly there was a
rush of a thousand wings all about me. I grabbed my head, covering my ears
against the shrieking and cawing that seemed everywhere. All I could see was a
wall of black – I was spinning and turning and everywhere black shapes darted
in and out until I lost my balance and fell against the curb.
I huddled in a ball,
pulling my hat tighter and squeezing my eyes shut against the confusion. Then,
just as suddenly, everything went quiet once again. All I could hear was my
ragged breath until a voice rang out.
“Hope, is that you?”
I opened one eye to
peek. A flood of relief washed over me, quickly chased by irritation.
“Michael!” I called out, my voice shaky. “What are you doing here?”
He was dressed a white
hooded sweatshirt and running tights. I felt my heart rate slow as he made his
way toward me, a look of concern clouded his face. My feeling of irritation
grew – I didn’t need anybody’s help. Couldn’t my own body cooperate instead of
acting like it was glad to see him?
“Did you see that?” he
asked, gesturing behind him toward the horizon.
“What?”
“That murder of crows.
It just swarmed
I left the steps.
A thousand little things
underscored how different it was to be outside instead of tied to a machine.
The feel of pavement, unforgiving beneath my feet. The sharp air that felt
prickled, icy, as I breathed it in. The drop in temperature when I came under
the shade of a stand of tall pines. The wind slicing through my fleece.
At first, with every step
I imagined I was squashing Michael’s face with my foot. But eventually I gave
myself to the music, my footfalls synching to the rhythm. Slowly, my stress
melted away as I focused on my breathing. By the time I turned the corner off
the main loop, I was singing along with my iPod at full voice, doing little
hand jive moves when the spirit took me, as if the road was my own private stage.
I had never felt so free.
I suppose I looked funny
to any neighbor who happened to look out their window. But I didn’t care. I
was running, really running, without some stupid program on a machine to tell
me how fast or how long to run.
I kept running, past the
familiar streets into others I’d never been on. They all looked comfortingly
the same. What was that phrase Mom had used once? Safe as houses. Everybody
here is safe as houses.
But no sooner had I
thought it when I began to get a funny feeling that I was not alone.
I slowed down to a trot
to look over my shoulder, but could see nothing.
Unsettled, I started
running again, darting a backwards glance every few yards. The safe little
neighborhood suddenly felt threatening, the dark windows in the empty houses
glaring at me like angry eyes. I picked up the pace.
I had made it back to the
main loop and now the sun was hanging low in the February sky. Only a
little ways left to go , I thought to myself, trying to forget that the last
bit went through an unfinished part of the neighborhood that had been left open
as a preserve.
My unease deepened as I
strode forward. The road was curvy here, swallowed at every bend by spindly
pines that swayed in the stiff wind. My pace became more cautious. It was
starting to hurt to breathe in the cold air, and my side was aching. I didn’t
want to stop. I wanted to get home and out of this cold, but my body was not
cooperating. I dragged myself over to the curb and bent over, wheezing while I
tried to work the knot out of my side.
Everything around me was
silent. I couldn’t even hear any approaching cars. Everyone else seemed
tucked away inside their warm houses. I was alone, in the woods.
But I still felt that I
wasn’t quite alone. The feeling grew stronger and stronger, and even as I
regained my breath I could feel my heart thumping faster and faster.
Don’t look up , the little voice in my head
whispered.
And suddenly there was a
rush of a thousand wings all about me. I grabbed my head, covering my ears
against the shrieking and cawing that seemed everywhere. All I could see was a
wall of black – I was spinning and turning and everywhere black shapes darted
in and out until I lost my balance and fell against the curb.
I huddled in a ball,
pulling my hat tighter and squeezing my eyes shut against the confusion. Then,
just as suddenly, everything went quiet once again. All I could hear was my
ragged breath until a voice rang out.
“Hope, is that you?”
I opened one eye to
peek. A flood of relief washed over me, quickly chased by irritation.
“Michael!” I called out, my voice shaky. “What are you doing here?”
He was dressed a white
hooded sweatshirt and running tights. I felt my heart rate slow as he made his
way toward me, a look of concern clouded his face. My feeling of irritation
grew – I didn’t need anybody’s help. Couldn’t my own body cooperate instead of
acting like it was glad to see him?
“Did you see that?” he
asked, gesturing behind him toward the horizon.
“What?”
“That murder of crows.
It just swarmed
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