i see dead people

Okay, not really, but I'm following a prompt from Mama Kat's weekly Writer's Workshop. Each week she posts five prompts. I chose prompt #3: Describe a moment when you felt afraid. Here goes.

I have been genuinely afraid two times.

As in wholly, utterly terrified.

I've been in a car that flipped. I was interrogated by police in the Czech Republic. Once, while driving, I momentarily lost my vision. I've even spent the night in a cemetery.

These things were unpleasant. Alarming even. But terrifying?

Only two things make that short list.

Several years back I experienced what felt like a blow to the gut when I heard my pilot say these words: "Well folks, it turns out that problem we thought we fixed back at the gate? Uh, not fixed. We'll be making an emergency landing in Denver."

That little "problem" he referred to was his ability to stop the plane. I had 40 minutes before landing in Denver to contemplate my fate, my faith, and whether I could bum rush 142 other passengers to the exit row door.

I was terrified.

An already paranoid flier, I really could have done without this drama. Put me on any roller coaster in the universe and I'm as calm as a cat in a hammock. Planes though? Honestly I'd prefer to Log Ride across the country.

My second face-to-face with fright happened while hiking with a girlfriend in the Methow Valley. We had just rounded the corner into a stunningly beautiful riverside meadow. It was a remote hike and we were pushing the limits of daylight. We were three miles out and very alone.

None of this concerned me. I don't like hiking solo, but with another person I feel reasonably safe. There's a lot more to be concerned with on a city block than in any wilderness.

So as we walked along I casually remarked, having just read a book called The Beast in the Garden, that this was the time of day a cougar might be meandering around such a meadow.

My friend stopped and looked at me. "There are COUGARS out here?"

I laughed. "There are also fish in the river."

She wasn't listening. Huddled over, she was picking up rocks. I reassured her that it was incredibly unlikely we would ever see a cougar, and if we did, they almost never attack people. It's even more unlikely, I said, that they'd attack with more than one person.

I chattered on while she secured her weaponry. Traipsing about, I looked casually across the meadow and stopped dead in my tracks. Adrenaline surged through my body and I'm certain my heart momentarily stopped.

Across the meadow, was a cougar.

I think, if I hadn't been so horrified, I would have looked that cougar square in the eye and said ARE YOU KIDDING ME? You're not REALLY standing here as if I just summoned you, are you? Because it's NOT FUNNY.

But I'd read enough about cougar encounters to show some respect.

We were at a complete disadvantage in every way. We couldn't climb trees. We couldn't leap on boulders over the river. We couldn't bound across the meadow at 35 mph.

Once again, I was terrified.

I latched onto my friend's wrist, nodded in the direction of the cougar, and through clenched teeth said in a low voice, "Don't. Run."

Now it was my turn to pick up rocks. We slowly backed out of the meadow into the woods, fixated on our object of distress. The cougar was motionless, gazing in our direction, his long tail curled in a winding pirouette behind him. Much of the daylight was hidden as we made our way through the woods. With every crack and thump of the forest we were certain we were being stalked.

Terrifying.

Three miles at a snail's pace.

Tortuous.

Once, we saw a deer standing in the path, directly in front of us. The light was low enough that we momentarily wondered, is it a deer? That moment, the uncertainty, made our hair stand on end.

Never have I seen pavement more beautiful, lovelier, than the pavement that took three eternities to reach. I nearly got on all fours and kissed the ground in gratefulness. At that particular moment though, nothing was going to feel as heavenly as my gas-guzzling, air polluting, ozone building car. We journeyed on, reached the car, and took our battered nervous systems back to civilization.

I still fly the friendly skies. I still get off the beaten track. But these experiences, the loss of control, the face-to-face with being helpless and finite, are never too far from my consciousness.

A flight that is a little too bumpy.... a sudden thump on the path in the distance... and, I confess, a little tingle runs up my spine.

I see ... my humanity.