First Instinct Is Fear

Fear is probably the worst feeling in the world. When you face something that has the hair on your arm jump straight up like a Jack in the Box or makes your heart beat so fast it echoes through your whole body, it can be unforgettable. I have been scared before like when my sister hid behind a wall and jumped out at me or when I went to my first haunted house. These playful scares would only last a minute and forgotten by the next day. 

However, Thanksgiving of 2017, was the first time I felt fear. I was twelve years old and my parents had rashly decided that we would spend Thanksgiving camping that year. We were going to drive eight hours to Big Bend National Park. Road trips have always been a secret obsession of mine. The car has been one of my favorite comfort spots. I have been told the only way I was able to fall asleep as a baby is if I was driven around the block once or twice. 

Unfortunately, my parents decided that it would be even more fun if we camped for two days, on Thanksgiving. If I'm being honest, I was not overjoyed by this idea. I have never been a big fan of camping. I enjoy my warm showers, brushing my teeth with a sink, and going to the bathroom without having to walk twenty minutes to a porta-potty on the side of the dirt road. So as you can tell, sleeping in a tent for two days was not my first vision of a family vacation, but now it had fallen on Thanksgiving? This was a holiday that has followed a routine for years and one that I always spent under a roof, around a large table, with endless amounts of crispy light brown turkey, bright fresh cranberries, warm baked rolls soaked in melted butter, long green beans seasoned to perfection, puffy white mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie. I didn't want to change that tradition, but my parents convinced me to go to the famous national park and to try to put a smile on my face. 

The trip was incredibly fun at first. We slept in hotels, and we hiked up big dry mountains, and dusty trails, we looked at the stars, the ones where you could see so clearly you felt as if you could reach out your hand and touch them. We visited the Hot Springs and saw wildlife you would never see in the city. 

Then, Thanksgiving came around and we packed up and got ready for not one but two nights in a sleeping bag. We drove for about 2 hours, the hot sun beating down through the window. We stopped a couple of times, at too tired vendors on the side of the road selling painted walking sticks, and tiny handmade toys. We arrived at sunset, and no one was there. No one was within 5 miles of us. I was terrified. The one time we've been camping before it was with tons of people around us, this has always comforted me knowing we weren't alone. But now it was just us, the mountains, the stars, and all the other millions of dangerous animals around us. I surprised myself and got through the first night.

Thanksgiving morning, we went on a long hike up to an amazing view that overlooked a huge canyon but of course, we got lost. It was bound to happen, everything around us looked the same. Colorless, dusty, and blank. We eventually found our way, but it took an hour and a half of our Thanksgiving and I was starving. My mom made a decent Thanksgiving dinner for what we had, we didn't have turkey because we couldn't find any so pork chops it was. I remember during dinner I stared at the long road that leads to the unknown, praying that some other family would come, and for some reason, it worked because right at that second a large grey truck turned into our picked spot. 

At this point, it was getting dark, and we watched as a shadowed figure got out of his car, lit a cigarette and walked around. We didn't know if the unusual man was staying the night or if he was lost? Either way, my sister and I shared a look that had me shiver. I stared at my plate of half-eaten pork chops, soggy cranberries, and green beans that were getting way too cold, trying to ignore the fact that the mysterious man was blowing smoke into the crisp air, and staring at us while we eat. 

My parents were debating if they should ask him if he needed help setting up his tent because the sun was setting. My sister then started to cry which caught me off guard. My sister doesn’t cry often, and I felt as if everything was frozen in panic. 

As my dad worked up the courage to go talk to the man me and my sister went to hide in our tent. I could hear the man's thick accent, but couldn't make out what he was saying. My sister said, “Elle, let's please pray”. That was the first time I've ever heard her pray in a long time. Eventually, my dad told us the man was gone. We don't exactly know what he was doing, but he was gone which was all that mattered. I had lost my appetite by then. I sat by the fire staring back at the long road hoping he wouldn't come back. That night my dad slept with a knife under his pillow. 

This was definitely not the Thanksgiving I had expected. I think back on that situation and wonder why was I so scared? The world is full of fear; being scared is natural, but alarming. The reason for this is society creates situations for fear. When I hear about tragic events, it sends me worrying about my safety. This was on my mind a lot during this unfortunate experience. What if that man had a gun? 

I have learned that it's perfectly normal to feel scared, but what if this man was just lonely? Needed some company? I had just assumed he had a weapon. I chose to believe that this man was unsafe and bad, that was my perceptive on it. He may have just not spoken English well and it was a simple miscommunication. What has happened that has allowed me to see situations more darkly? If I decide to feel fear and assume fear my whole life, I may never know what it’s like to live.