/yesod

Tag: panic

  • early morning

    Pushing through the soft fuzz of the baby monitor, my daughter’s cries jolts me awake: “Daddy, daddy, daddy…”

    I’m up and across the hall before I have a chance to clear the mist from my head. Standing over her crib, I pat her back and tell her it’s okay. Once she settles down I head back to bed.

    I make the mistake of checking the time. 5am.

    Just enough time to slip back to sleep before it’s time to get ready for work.

    My wife curls around my back — familiar and comforting, this shape we make together.

    Just as I’m drifting off, I hear my daughter again, fainter this time: “Daddy, daddy, daddy…”

    I raise my head and listen.

    Silence.

    Then, again: “Daddy, daddy, daddy…”

    I sit up, my wife asking me what’s wrong.

    I can hear her calling faintly, as though from a distance . . . as though she’s moving further away.

    “Daddy, daddy, daddy…”

    The light on the monitor is dim. No sound but the white noise buzz.

    “Daddy, daddy, daddy…”

    Faster now across the hall, at her crib in an instance.

    She lies there asleep, content. Safe.

    I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the faint cry that still pierces in the air, just barely audible.

    “Daddy, daddy, daddy…”

    My wife asks me what’s wrong. I shake my head, embarrassed and apologetic for disturbing her sleep. She puts up with so much of my insanity. Too much.

    “Daddy, daddy, daddy…”

    I get up and go to the little window, just open a crack to let in the hint of spring.

    Outside a bird calls, lonely in the early morning dark: “Daddy, daddy, daddy…”

    I shake my head, kiss my wife, and head downstairs to get ready for work.

  • daycare rescue

    Somehow, I have become two people. There is the adult version of me, as I am now. And there is the teenaged version of me.

    Together, we are plotting to rescue my youngest daughter from her daycare. The details of why she needs rescuing aren’t explained but, armed to the teeth and sick with worry, we make our plans.

    (Even in my dream, the proximity of guns and children disturbs me. My younger self tries to reason with my older self, to convince him that it’s better to go to the police. But he/I refused.)

    We sneak into the school one night — something else that isn’t explained, why it’s nighttime — doing our best to bluff our way past the receptionist. Explaining why there are two of us is difficult.

    My older self is relieved when my teenage self says “I’m her older brother” — good thinking, kid.

    We do our best to keep the guns hidden as we make our way through the halls. But one of the kids sees the sawed off shotgun my younger self carries under his/my trenchcoat and we’re off to the races.

    Teachers and parents and children scramble everywhere in a panic. With the police on the way, we rush into a classroom and get my/our daughter out safely. No one has been hurt, no one has been caught.

    But back at the house, the police are waiting — painting the cheap stucco walls of our neighborhood with screams of blue and red.

    My older self says “Take care of her for me…” leaving my younger self to hold onto his/our daughter while he/I (the older version of me) leads the cops away. He doesn’t get far. And neither do we.

    It is terrifying, stressful, and heartbreaking. And I am relieved when I wake.

  • statues

    …and we’re walking together, my son and my youngest daughter, on the grounds of the local university. It is late afternoon, the sun just beginning to set behind the hills.

    I stop for a moment to inspect a statue. My son continues on, leading his sister by the hand up the pathway.

    After a few minutes, I catch up with him only to discover that he is alone. My daughter is nowhere in sight.

    I panic. He tells me she’s fine, that he can see her up ahead. He points to where people have gathered at an archway leading into the amphitheater.

    I cannot see her.

    I tell him that he has to be more careful and then I rush to find her, elbowing my way through the crowd.

    She is there, on the edge of the gathering, and I pick her up in my arms . . . relieved, still furious with my son.

    He joins us and I give him an earful.

    He is sullen, silent.

    A woman next to us overhears and says “You’re being too hard on him. There were plenty of people here to watch her.”

    “I don’t think this is any of your business.” My reply is all teeth.

    “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She moves out of range of my anger.

    Beyond the archway, people are gathered in small groups along the floor of the amphitheater. I set my daughter down and take her hand, wandering among them.

    Some socialize, chattering and gossiping together… Some play music together on handmade instruments — lyres, carved pipes, tambourines… Some squat around antique game boards, moving stone pieces back and forth and casting dice…

    We make our way up a sloping ramp to one side. At the top, we find a bust of Persephone set into a little alcove. There are little offerings on the ground in front of her — candles, bowls of flowers. At the center is a large silver bowl holding a pomegranate split in two. The seeds like jewels in the evening sun.

    We continue on through a smaller archway, finding more statues and offerings. I recognize Hermes and Athena.

    I kneel down next to my daughter. “Mama would love it here,” I tell her. She nods and we have a little moment there with our gods.

    Behind us I hear a woman snort. I turn to see a small group of people accompanied by a security guard.

    “I’m not sure this is appropriate,” she says, interrupting our quiet moment and not caring one damn bit.

    The guard shrugs. “There was some controversy when the idea was proposed. They thought some people might be offended.”

    They move off.

    I think of the pomegranate and suddenly I remember: “That’s right,” I tell myself. “You’ve been here before. You left that for her, the last time you dreamt of this place.”

    A brief, lucid moment before I wake…