"It's not my fear to own," I thought to myself.
It felt like an act of defiance to march out of the house and pile into the car. While other parents were huddled in their homes, carefully guarding their words from small children, I was out and about. Alexis and I were on a mission to eat dinner together and go shopping, even as other parents and their children discussed bullets flying through the neighborhoods of their city that was completely shut down.
It wasn't my fear to own. I could borrow it, but I wouldn't keep it.
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As Alexis and I walked into the crowded Eat 'n Park, my eyes were drawn to the mass of people at the front of the restaurant. The flat screen TV that hung on the wall was surrounded by eyes and attentive faces. Fear intermixed with curiosity flowed between the group as they watched the news coverage.
They stood transfixed as they awaited an outcome. If I had stayed there long enough, I could have been drawn into the scene, but there were little eyes by my side. I didn't want her to see. I didn't want her to borrow that fear.
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As Alexis and I chatted and ate, I occasionally glanced at my phone, eager for news. "Finish it," I thought to myself. It seemed like the end was just moments away, but then it wasn't. And then it was. And then it wasn't.
It was madness, neatly summed up in 140 characters over and over again. Between news organizations and the people I call my friends, there was no escaping the manhunt. Every once in a while fear would leak across the screen as friends in Boston would relay something that had happened just outside their door. That fear was mixed with the fear of others who were hundreds of miles away. They were spectators borrowing the fear of another city.
That sort of stuff is contagious. I shut off my phone so that I wouldn't catch it.
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Alexis and I walked into the mall. It felt like another act of defiance. I selected that mall because it has Alexis' favorite store, but I knew it was recently evacuated after a bomb threat. "Screw fear," I thought to myself.
I am so very tired of threats left on notes for no reason other than so that some loser can stand around and watch the reactions.
Alexis and I marched into her favorite store and I stood back and waited as she spun in circles searching for the perfect outfit. She grabbed a bright pink skirt and then a shirt and another shirt and before I knew it, she was standing in a fitting room making sure it all worked.
As she tried on one thing and then another, I returned to my phone. I furiously refreshed the updates again and again. And then I saw it. The end.
Fear had been captured.
"Mom, the yellow pants fit!" Alexis joyfully reported just as I started to go down the rabbit hole filled with news and speculation. Her cheerful declaration ripped me from that rabbit hole and I rejoined her in my version of reality. My reality was hundreds of miles from the source of the fear.
It was borrowed fear, but it was still too close.
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Later, Alexis skirted around the issue. She, like all kids, notices everything. She is smart enough to pretend she doesn't when she senses that it's better to leave things alone.
I skirted back. The story is too complicated and too filled with evil for me to find a good way to explain it all to her. She is carefully balanced atop that mountain where children believe the best about everyone. I'm not quite read to push her off that mountain. We talk about it sometimes, but mostly I let her keep viewing the world through rose-colored glasses.
Just as we pulled into our driveway, I heard it.
The bang.
The sound is a familiar one as we live in an almost rural area. There is a farm nearby and the landowner clearly owns several guns. Whether he is hunting or what, I don't know. I just know that from time to time, shots ring out in our neighborhood.
It doesn't matter how much I know the sound is meaningless, it still startles me.
"Momma, was that fireworks?" Alexis asked as she tried to adjust her rose-colored glasses.
"I don't think so, Alexis," I told her. I don't lie to her. I just sometimes hold out on the full story.
Alexis paused for a moment and then began to cry. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"I think that was a gun. I think a farmer just killed an animal," she said through tears.
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The line between borrowed fear and real fear is starting to blur. I wish I knew how to make it stop.
