Tris' Thoughts

Preface: This is a work of fiction in the first person. It is not a transcription of actual events.

8:45PM. A crisp, passive breeze had overtaken the dry heat of the daylight now that the sun slumbered. And I took firm advantage of this. The suburbs were a maze of turns, dips, and climbs. Were one to trace every block of houses and apartments, then separate them from the surroundings, I reckon the map would look like a lumpy, circular mass, with tendrils spread out like strands of a star.

It was like a clock of industry and housing on the edges. 12 and 1 were an endless trail of semi-tropical hills, trails, and winding neighborhoods leading to a gradually climbing road out of the city. 2 and 3 traded those trails for denser roads and business. 4, 5, and 6 took one to the main highway, neighboring mountains cut down the middle by said-highway, and semi-dilapidated shopping centers with rows of failed companies now coated in graffiti. 7, 8, and 9 takes one through an overgrown side-road. It drives past a lush golf course before abruptly transitioning to a barren work yard, complete with some drilling plant. And 10 through 11 is nothing but open trails and rust-clay mountains as far as the eye can see.

Tonight, I was pointed toward 4 and 5 o-clock. I was some 45 minutes into a brisk strut to keep my blood pumping when it happened. Up till then, I enjoyed the balance of body heat and cold wind. My mind was distracted from the exercise by means of an informative podcast playing in my ears. And I was repeatedly appreciating the novelty of how different areas completely familiar to us look depending on the time of day. Some houses were engulfed in darkness while others were accented by orange or gold lamps. It was like an architectural splash of paint, with most houses contrasting their neighbors in upkeep and style.

But when it happened, the only contrast I could think about was how easily you could lose yourself. Where was I? I knew I had been in this neighborhood before but in the moonlight, I only knew the general area. And I was some three block turn-offs deep in the maze.

I needed to get home.

If I tried to run, I knew it would make it worse. So I started carefully working my way back. The problem was I had been meandering. I didn’t plan to return so soon. So I let myself get lost. Part of my probably found the idea of tricking my mind into thinking I was in some new, foreign place exciting. And now it was my undoing.

It was so quiet. Near the start of my walk, I recalled a group of five youths playing with bikes in the street in front of some elementary school. They were the only souls I passed and that was over a half-hour ago.

I could have gone up to one of the houses and asked for help… but I didn’t. What if it drew unwanted attention? What if I was refused entry? It’d only exasperate the problem. But deep down, despite the severity of my situation, the truth was that I was too uncomfortable knocking on a stranger’s door. A could have gotten bitten by some wild animal and still be reluctant to so much as ring a doorbell.

I found myself a crossroads and finally recognized my surroundings. I even heard my surroundings. To my right was a long stretch which led to apartments and the dilapidated shopping centers. I could have gone there. It was much closer to home. But homeless encampments and other lawless excursions were not uncommon in that direction, especially at this hour. I could hear it. I had heard it many times before.

Reluctantly, I took the left route, climbing through the sidewalk path of many more suburb homes. My audio distraction was made moot by the increasing volume of cars rushing through the night traffic to my right. It was like a violent waterfall. It made it worse. I found myself hurrying away from the sound until I was back in the center of the suburbs. I knew I was only ten minutes from my house when I came to a crosswalk.

I stood there, exposed under yellow light, waiting for the walk sign to light up. I grew more vulnerable as the painful delay elapsed. Few to no cars were crossing, or even waiting. And still, I was kept on the other end of the block for a solid two minutes.

Still careful not to jolt for my own sake, I hurried at a faster pace across the road and down the street. A few blocks later and I was walking past a community park. Then all it took was a turn or two and I was safely home. The porch light was off.

I reached for the doorknob and almost collided with the frame before realizing the door was locked. I hadn’t locked it. Why was it locked? They knew I was out.

It was still a problem. But I had no choice but to walk away from the latched protection of the front door and go to the garage entrance. A keypad hung to the right. I entered the code. Nothing happened. I entered it again. Still nothing.

Deliberately, and slowly, I entered the code a third time. Finally.

It was only once my body crossed the threshold of the garage’s maw that I broke into a sprint. A well-placed slap hit the interior button to ensure the door closed behind me. Then I reached my destination.

With a deep sigh of relief, I entered the bathroom.