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Show when I see the naked man in the shape of the mailbox or the fire hydrant. These are the mornings when I practice sprinting away from a clutching hand. It takes a lot for me to turn around, though; I am willing to run my body through the darkest of streets. As the distance from the naked man increases, my fear gradually lessens, and the mornings when I turn around are fewer. Recently we bought a house, and the idea of a home that you don't have to carry with you seems possible for the first time in my life. Like a tether, I keep our house at the center of my route, never more than a mile away from the front door. Because we live in the floor of a valley, I can see the living room lights from across the fields as I run. They watch me like a parent, urging me back to the warmth and light. Landing every stride where I have landed thousands before, this route differs little from the others. I would like to say that what I carry on these runs is less. I would like to say that I no longer have to run but rather choose to. But that is not so. I cannot shed my past so easily. I have carried the dead baby bucket my entire life. Maybe every military child fears abandonment, wonders when she, like the house, the neighbor, or the extra garbage can, will be the one left behind. Maybe every militarychild becomes a woman who must keep her fingers on her husband's arm while sleeping lest he slip away quietly in the night. Maybe every military child grows into an adult who calls her loved ones back each time they leave the room, just to make sure they will return. Sometimes I still long for military surfaces. I remember when my father talked about Reagan's Strategic Defense Initiative, a protective net that would wrap us in the fabric of weaponry and keep us safe, how much I wanted that 233 |
