Running Scared Sometimes you have to run, no matter where you go, so long as you know why. And so long as you get there quickly.

My best friend Eric and I were nine years old and out pretending like we owned the world. (We of course didn’t, but in all fairness to us, we saw the world so differently that the world we saw, we certainly did own.) We were walking back from the mall and came to a bridge going over a main road. As young boys will do, we stopped to spit on the cars driving by underneath. One of the cars slowed down and yelled at us, and it was our imagination that truly scared us enough to escape.

We ran as fast as we could off the bridge, then through a tunnel and up a hill. We ran through grass and through bushes and finally stopped, hiding behind a tree. We cowered there until we were convinced that the guy wasn't looking for us, and when we walked home much later we took the long back way.

Having that kind of fear behind you lets you do incredible things. For us, it was a ten second sprint across the universe. And I haven't spat off a bridge in twenty years.  ¶ 10:02 PM

  The Stranger I hadn't used the word "love" in several years, not since I realized how much gravity it actually carries. When I first started dating, I was a wide-eyed romantic who had never been so close to a woman. The feeling was new and refreshing and I followed an impractical guideline learned from television and movies. After that, I didn't date anyone for over a year, and I took this time to reflect on the significance of the word. In every relationship since, I found ways to tell them how I honestly felt without resorting to something so insincere.

I stood in the shower while the world felt like it was crumbling around me. She surprised me then, joining me under the water. I was at my most vulnerable and I heard myself say it. I love you. I wondered who this stranger was, standing in my place like this. He was the result of panic, and love should never come from that.  ¶ 12:20 PM

  Crying Wolf Her room was so small, it barely fit a bed and a dresser. It was in this room that we sat side by side on a bed that never quite held us both, saying things that we could never quite hold on to.

She cried so often that it didn't worry me at the moment. Not because I was distant but because they had lost meaning over time. She cried when she was happy, when she was sad, when she was scared...

I wasn't sure which it was this time.  ¶ 7:58 PM

  The Matador The bond between us had become distorted during the short time we dated. It started off heavily but finished as footsteps carefully treading across the ground, afraid to wake up the beast.

She called me late one evening after returning from a weekend trip back home. The conversation began slowly and built to a wild stampede. She told me that she cheated on me while she was away. It was as blunt as that, except for a contrived remorse that carried poorly over the telephone. This was her charge.

And I pulled the cape away.

She ran right by, stopped, and turned around. There was confusion in her voice.

She charged again.

Up until that point I was done with the eristic antagonism in her character. But now I saw some kind of unusual honesty in her that I’d never seen before. My desire was without logic. I wanted to run from her and yet I didn’t want her to run from me. By the time the conversation ended, I realized that the honesty I saw was circumstantial. The initial crime was much more piercing.

I set the cape down and walked away, and still she charged, even when I was no longer in her range.  ¶ 9:18 PM