Horror Story

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I do not watch horror movies anymore. There have been requests to hear the story behind that.

It was a dark, stormy night in rural New York (ok, maybe it wasn’t stormy or completely rural, but it was dark and…suburban).

I was visiting my best friend. Her husband, two children, and dogs had all retired for the evening, and we were up drinking wine and talking. We decided to choose a movie.

We thought a horror flick sounded fun. We chose High Tension from the list and settled in, ready for the adrenaline rush of boogey-men and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night.

It was the most banal, chilling, and frightening shit I’d ever seen. I think I lasted about a half hour before I insisted my friend turn it off.

It was e-vil. Like the fru-its of the de-vil. (Bonus points for anyone who recognizes that quote.)

I was scarred – for life, apparently.

When we decided to throw in the towel and go to bed, I retreated to the guest room…in the basement. Not only was I in the scary, scary basement (it was actually a very nice room), but there was also a door to the backyard in the guest room.

I was in the bed in the dark trying so hard to be thirty years old and brave. I started to have a panic attack.

I still feel silly admitting it! I had trouble breathing. I felt a loud ringing in my ears. All I wanted to do was RUN. Run upstairs. Find people. Find help. Hug someone.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran upstairs straight into my best friend’s bedroom. I stood by the bed. You know, like a total, crazed moron.

There she slept with her baby boy close to her, her husband sleeping soundly, and one of the dogs at the foot of the bed.

I considered my options. I looked at the hard wood floor. I contemplated curling up on the rug at the end of the bed.

She sensed my presence, and being the bestest best friend one could ever have, she scooted over and lifted the covers up, silently letting me crawl right in.

I was so grateful. Everything was right with the world again. I took up as minimal space as possible right on the edge of the bed, and I couldn’t remember ever feeling more comfortable.

Next thing I knew, it was morning. I looked up and saw her husband staring incredulously at everyone in the bed.

I was very embarrassed. I laid my head back down and pretended to keep sleeping.

In the middle of the night, her other boy had also crawled into bed with all of us. It was a very full bed and is now one of the fondest memories I have of that precious family.

You may think your life is full enough – with your children, dogs, and husband all in your bed on a weekend morning. But, it is not as full as it could be.

I could be there too. Edging my way in, making myself at home, clutching whatever space I’m given.

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