She stands stock still, barefoot in the middle of the living room.  Something moved out of the corner of her eye and startled her.  She slowly turns her head and scans the room.  Nothing is out of order.  The window is open.  It is the first warm day all year and it is already July.  She convinces herself that it must have been a breeze or a fly that found its wriggly way into the house.

 She is cleaning.  She hates cleaning.  But she loves how the house looks when it has been dusted, vacuumed, and straightened.  When everything is neatly in its place, her anxiety subsides.  When she can see the vacuum marks in the carpet, she can go to bed and sleep soundly.  For loving the end result she sure hates the process of getting it done.  It is tedious and takes a long time.  There are always things to think about that she doesn’t want to think about when she is cleaning.  Right now she doesn’t want to think.  She wants to meditate on the relentless humming in her ears that doesn’t allow the silence to break through; ever. If she focuses on the humming she won’t get sidetracked with the details of her life that need figuring out.

 Today is day three of her new freedom.  A freedom that was chosen, but scary all the same.  She is on the precipice of a new life, a new career, a new town.  But she stands in the familiar footprints of home; or where home has been for more than a decade.  Before she can get to the new life she has to wrap up the details of the old life.  That is the hard part.  Making life altering decisions are not easy and it makes her dizzy.  It isn’t like there is a wrong choice or a wrong turn that will be tragic or regretful.  But weighing the odds, evaluating the value of a choice versus an alternative can be exhausting.  The house is so under valued now that it will be impossible to sell.  So where do you go first to figure out how to get out from underneath it?  The first step is the hardest because it sets the course for the subsequent steps.  And after you build momentum it is hard to turn against the wind.  Unless your course is a constant zigzag; then it is easy to tack back and forth into the wind, using its power to guide without heeling too hard and getting wet.

 Mid-fold she stops again and gets goose bumps.  She slowly sets the towel down on the bed and involuntarily holds her breath.  This time it was a soft as the grass bending beneath someone’s careful footsteps.  She knows she heard something, she knows the intimate sounds of the house, the yard, her things, the ceiling, even the paint on the wall.  This was unusual, and disturbing.  She is hyper aware; even the colors around her are somehow brighter.  She takes a slow deep breath to recover, blinks her eyes and goes to curl up with the dogs for a minute. Surely if something was out there they would have heard it too.  They are sound asleep on separate couch cushions.  Like two children who pretend they hate each other, they turn their backs even in sleep.  She lies on the couch and wraps her arms around one and squishes the cushion down to sneak her toes under the other.  They are annoyed that they have been bothered, yawn and groan, get comfortable again and fall into puppy dreams before she nods off into a light nap right in between sleep and awake.  The place where you can hear what is going on around you but your body is immobilized in sleep.  This is where she hovers.

 There is a gentle knock on the door that stirs the dogs, but does not wake them.  She slips off the couch in a fog and opens the door.  He stands there staring at her.  It takes her a moment to focus her eyes and register who is standing at the door.  She is not even sure who he is, but he feels so familiar, like maybe he is the brother of someone she knows, or an old coworker.  She doesn’t say anything at first, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, straightening her shirt and tossing her hair back.  He grins a comfortable grin and asks to come in.  She steps aside, still unsure of who he is or what he is doing visiting her.  The dogs wag their tales in greeting, hop off the couch and circle his feet.  They are excited to see him, but they eventually leave the room; one heading for the TV room couch and one for under the bed. She offers to make some tea; he accepts.

 After countless hours of talking, they shift to a bottle of wine and some sandwiches.  She scrounges some frozen blueberries from last summer and they eat them frozen in between laughter and sips of wine.  If you asked her today she would never be able to tell you what they talked about for so long, or how they laughed and cried their way through two bottles of wine.  It was comfortable being in the same room with him, being close to him and smelling his familiar scent.  There was something about the smell of his skin that was slightly bitter, strangely comforting.  The stories they told folded one into the other and wound back around again.

As she pried her eyes open she was chilled, lying on the couch without a blanket.  The sun had gone down and the dogs had moved off of her feet which were now bitter cold.  She couldn’t believe she napped for so long; how long had it been?  She only meant to cuddle with the dogs after she heard that sound.  She thought back to folding laundry when she heard the gentle folding of the grass beneath a silent footstep.  She felt a dream.  It was so close, so clear, hovering just beyond her recall.  What had it been about?  He was gentle and kind, familiar and comfortable.  Had they danced?  Yes they had.  They laughed until they cried, and cried until they laughed.  She remembered dancing with him and trusting his strong arms to spin and turn her to the rhythm of the music.  She just couldn’t see his face. 

 When they finished dancing she walked him to the door, thanked him for the company and the conversation.  With a twinkle in her eye she waved and bid him farewell, knowing she would never see him again.  Knowing she would never open her door to him again.  Goodbye, Fear.  For you, I have no use anymore.  I have danced with you for a jukebox.  Tonight I can dance my own waltz without you as a partner.  I spin on the dance floor and take Joy as my partner.  The dogs join me and smile as I dance and sing for them.  They know that Fear is finally gone, too.