Fear (Following George Floyd’s Death — June 2020) (Part 1)
Hands shaking, heart pounding, mind racing, stomach wrenching fear. The type of fear that makes you want to bite your nails until they’re all gone. The fight or flight response kicks in and the adrenaline starts to rush. My skin is the personification of people’s fear. It wraps around me, suffocating me. I have done nothing wrong yet my skin coats me, covering me from head to toe. People are coming to fight me for I am the personification of their fear. As my stomach churns I know that I am afraid of what my skin means for me. I am afraid of their fear of me. It is a vicious cycle of never ending fear.
Time could not go any faster or slower. As I sit on my couch, I am hyper aware of everything that is going on around me. My mind starts to go through the worst case scenarios. My couch, my home transferred into the middle of a warzone. Hands shaking, heart pounding, mind racing, stomach wrenching fear. I have so much energy I can’t sit still. There are so many thoughts spinning through my brain I feel like it’s going to explode. Trash bins were pulled into the garage to remove easily accessible weapons or containers for fire. Pots and pans sit on random tables to scare intruders and get attention for help. The cars face forward in the garage for an easy escape. I check social media searching for a distraction only to be overwhelmed and enraged by all that is going on outside my own bubble of fear. My parents rush around in and out of the house, preparing for the long night ahead. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing can fully distract me or transport me to a different place. I am awaiting my own execution.
During the day it is all a lucid dream, something that can not actually be happening but as the sun sets it brings with the dreaded darkness. The one place anyone can hide. My body is shaking and my stomach groans with fear. I climb into my parent king-size bed and hide in the comforter that in my mind is bulletproof. My parents creep around all night in and out of doors, protecting us. My ears hone in as I try to eavesdrop on every conversation knowing my stomach can not handle it. Desperate for a distraction my sister and I decide to watch a TV show. It starts to play and eventually draws my attention. I am still on edge, constantly aware of every creek and bang, as I keep track of when my dad leaves the house and when he comes back. Hours go by but sleep can not pull me in, I will not let it. I am afraid that closing my eyes is welcoming my death. I am afraid I won’t wake up in time to scream. Hours go by and my adrenaline slowly winds down and sleep heavily lures me in. I try to fight but the silence in my house and the warmth of the bed wrap their arms around me and draw me in.
In my dreams I am no longer trapped in the cage of my house, I am far away from the protests and riots. I am no longer searching for out of town license plates. I can’t hear the fireworks disguised as gunshots and gunshots disguised as fireworks. I am floating, in a place of peace. I do not want to shed my skin because I can admire its beauty when I’m not seeing it through the lense of others’ fear. Fear is powerful. It can cause so much pain but it can also build so much strength. As fast as I run I can not escape it, mine, or others. It’s inevitable, I can let it swallow me whole or use it as strength. Strength to grow and create change.
The sun peeking through the window wakes me up. My parents are exhausted from their long night and eager to crash into their bed. Energy drinks fill the recycling bin, pillows and books sit on the couches as a reminder of their night. I am hit with reality and fear rings in the back of my head. I can’t sit still any longer. I move the pots and pans to grab my paper and pencil. I draw to remove my bulletproof covers and step into the unpredictable dark. I will take some power back from fear and use it to challenge itself. While I draw I enter a place of peace no longer drowning in all of the bad. Hands shaking, heart pounding, mind racing, stomach wrenching fear.
This piece was originally published in the This Was 2020 book project with Ramsey County Library. https://mlpp.pressbooks.pub/thiswas2020/chapter/michael-crushshon/
