The Panther

It began as a spark of an idea.
A desire for adventure.
A road trip exploring the country.
A quest for freedom.
A rite of passage drawing a line in the loose, sandy earth.

The plan was to have no plan.
To be. To live.

Emotion fueled the process.
Unknown, expansive vistas awaited those courageous enough
Those willing to dare.
Those craving more.

The child sees possibility.
The child plunges forward
eyes wide open
head tilted toward the stars
arms flung back, ready to accept, ready to receive.

The adult sees danger.
Risks.
Gaps.
Lack…
lack of solid plans
lack of research
lack of preparation

Terror or trust?
Control or surrender?
Question or support?

The adult steps back, understanding the significance of this moment in time for the child.
This story, this adventure belongs to the person seated casually across the room.
Eyes aglow.
Eyebrows lifted.
Lips pursed together with ease in that crooked, heart-tugging tiny grin.

To speak of fear would be to undermine the child.
To attempt to control would be to sap confidence.
To question the plans would be to criticize and judge.

The adult’s eyes fill as the reel rewinds, scenes of similar situations from a life lived long ago.

Whispers float in the room like microscopic particles in air.
Messages settle like a fine layer of dust.
The layers build, from birth, to childhood, and beyond.
Boundaries slowly building day after day after day.

The adult surrenders.
Releases that which belongs to others.
Trusts that the child is ready.

…

The child stakes his claim on earth that does not belong to him.
A sense of accomplishment.
Naive.
Unprepared.
Cajoled into triumph by lapping waves on the nearby shore.

The warm air breeze pulls forth dusk.
Darkness.
A chill rippled with humidity and the hushed silence of night.
This is when danger comes to play.

…

The panther picks up the scent of carefree recklessness.
Easy prey.
A playground for elementary school children
unprotected
targets on their backs
bullies stepping out from their perch behind swings

The panther stalks the child.
Circles the tent.
Claims ownership of food, supplies, garbage
left outside
inches away
from the terrified child
barely breathing
on his side
of the thin layer of nylon and stitching
two hands pressing the zipper pull
deep into the sandy earth
one set of lungs
too scared to pull in breath

the dance of power begins
teasing
threatening
a battle of will
a battle of wit
a battle of faith

Minutes pass as if a full year
finally, surrender

the child reaches out
asks for help
listens
accepts advice
finds solid ground in the loose soil
stakes his own claim
finds his voice
shrieks into the darkness
screams into the silence
begins the long process
of fighting for his life.

…

daylight slowly arrives
keen ears listen for rustling
hearing nothing, trembling cold fingers release pressure
pull open the zipper
ready to face reality

Outside, destruction.
Possessions carelessly tossed about
by one who intends to send a message

Eyes absorb the scene
message received
breathing in gratitude in the form of cold, crisp air
heavy with salt water
from the ocean
from sweat
from tears
from relief
from life itself

…

The adult listens as the child recounts his experience.
listens in silence
trying to remain present
pulled into her own dark nights
disappearing into knowing
that feeling
of being stalked
and circled
by one who intends to destroy.

His panther was real.

Hers?

It’s the eating disorder that has been circling her tent for years
patiently waiting
for fading light
for the cover of night
for that exact moment
when she relaxes her guard
and falsely believes
she is safe