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The Kind of Women People Are Afraid Of(continued) We were almost out the door — I was picturing driving to town,
hanging out at the diner, calling the sheriff to take Lorna home —
when Joey stopped us. "We can't go!" "We've got to!" I tried to pull her with my words. She didn't budge. "It's a one-lane road." "Oh shit." She was right, as usual; if we drove down the
mountain to town, we'd meet those bastards coming up. "So we drive
the other way," I said. "There's nothing up the road but a deserted hunting camp,"
said Lorna. "If they followed us there, we'd be in worse shape
than we are here." "Then let's go to the woods." I knew we'd leave tracks in
the snow, but anything seemed better than waiting like sitting ducks.
"I'm staying," Lorna said. "No one makes me run from
my own home." She shut the door quietly but firmly. "Besides,
even if we managed to get away, what's to keep them from coming after
us some other time?" "But they're drunk," I said and grabbed the phone. "I'm
calling 911." "A lot of good that'll do," said Lorna. "We're so far
out in the sticks. Those guys would be finished with us before help
could get here." She must have been having some pretty negative
thoughts herself, but I was in no condition to point that out. We huddled by the door. Lorna looked as scared as I felt. Even Joey
looked scared — until she hit me with, "It's all your fault:
you and your fear." I hit back. "What about Lorna? She's the one with a gun. And you!
You're practically a walking weapon." She said something to hurt me. I said something mean back. Joey started again, but Lorna interrupted. "We're all creating this! We're thinking that they're bad
guys, that they're coming after us, and that we're their victims."
I said that sounded pretty accurate, but Lorna was so excited, she
didn't even hear me. "We've got to look at it another way,"
she said. I protested. "This is no neurotic fear. This is five hot-headed,
real, live drunks. And they really are after us." "That's just one way to look at it," said Lorna. "What other way is there?" I sure couldn't think of any;
there was a train roaring through my head. She stood, staring into space, as if waiting for an answer. I kept picturing a bunch of punks roaring up the mountain, guzzling
beer, joking about what they'd do to us. And they were getting closer
every minute. "Got it!" Lorna touched her palms together for a quick, prayerful
thank you. "Remember how it was when our kids were growing up?"
she said. "How they'd get bored out of their skulls and look for
something outrageous to do — " Joey jumped in excitedly, "And those guys coming up here are like
a bunch of rambunctious kids and —" Part of me was shouting, This is crazy! We're in real danger!
Another part thought their picture of what was happening was a hell
of a lot better than mine. I couldn't have held this new vision by myself,
but maybe the three of us together.... "So what we've got to do,"
I said, "is get them to calm down and behave themselves."
We looked at each other from a new place of strength. The way sharks
go into a feeding frenzy, we'd worked ourselves into a fear frenzy,
without realizing what we were doing. This wasn't the first time we'd played around with trying to change
our reality. Without another word, we sat in a circle on the floor and
closed our eyes. In my mind, I still saw those punks roaring up the
mountain. It was going to be damn hard to break out of that scenario, but I figured
I'd have a better chance at it if I led the meditation. "Okay if
I lead?" I asked. They nodded and I began. "Take a d-e-e-p, s-l-o-w, cleansing breath," I said, "and
let it go. Take another When we'd quieted down, I said, "Let's each think of a time when
our kids were destructive or hurtful and we were able to deal with them
with confidence and compassion, with strength and love. See yourself,
how you walked and talked. Most importantly, remember how you felt....
Feel it now." I remembered the time my son, Frankie, and his high school buddies
were arguing about some soccer match in my living room. A couple of
them puffed up like male pigeons and started circling each other. One
grabbed the fireplace poker, the other picked up a brass candlestick.
How silly and childish. "If you want to play King of the Mount,"
I said, "I'd appreciate it if you'd do it somewhere else. Like
a playground." They both looked sheepish, and the tension deflated.
When I had a clear sense of that strong, in-charge feeling, I said:
"Now imagine acting and feeling the way you did back then when
our visitors arrive."
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