Nashville is not only the “Home of Country Music,” but also can be the place of severe weather. Flood waters of 2010 not only blocked roads, but also interstates, like the famed I-65. Tornados rocked our musical town just two months ago, causing $1.1 billion in damages, leveling churches, historic landmarks, and homes. Over the weekend, storms with 71 mph winds mimicked a category 1 hurricane and ripped through our area leaving 131,000 people without power. I was one of those people.
If you’ve ever lived in a townhome, you might know that unless you have an end unit, the only windows available are at the front and rear of the unit. With electricity snuffed out in the entire subdivision, nightfall brought with it an eery blackness. Standing in this unexpected predicament, I became re-acquainted with an old trigger–I’m afraid of the dark.
I’m not afraid of darkness lit by streetlights or a sound stage or a carpet of stars, but by inky, black darkness. The kind where the only light available is what one might find in a junk drawer and where innocent shapes like a chair or sock can appear to be something sinister. While scrambling for better lighting other than my battery-operated candles and a small cell phone, I felt my throat tighten and my eyes sting with the tears. All self-talk to get ahold of myself and to snap out of it did little good, so I did what any self-respecting adult would do. I called my ex.
Thankfully, we are still on good terms and he came right over, bringing a high-powered flashlight and extra batteries in case one went dead. Then, we headed out to his warmly-lit apartment far from the cauldron that had become my “safe” neighborhood. As one pitch-dark day stretched into another, I tried to put on a brave face and deflect offers of additional help, but, ladies, I caved. I gave into the care of a man and visited his apartment until the lights flickered back to life three days later.
So what about you? What is your unusual fear?
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