The scream

I don’t think there’s anything that adequately prepares a person for the sight of a disembodied head peering out of the darkness and into their home.

I certainly wasn’t prepared. In the imperceptible moment that passed between when I flicked the switch and the porch light illuminated, I had barely enough time to register the face haloed in the warm glow emanating from my kitchen door window.

I unleashed a scream such as I’ve never unleashed before, a ripple of terror surging through my body until it choked my every muscle and set my heart rate soaring through the stratosphere. I felt the sheer volume of this shriek assault my own ears and lacerate vocal chords. Diana, on the other end of the phone I held, imagined only death. 

“Hold on, Diana,” I said. I gently placed the phone on the table. I opened the door.

Sean, all 3 feet of him, stood on the porch, a pair of muffins and my borrowed Tupperware in his hands. He hadn’t flinched – or even blinked -- as I blasted his 10-year-old eardrums with my shrieks. Now, however, Sean paused to glance into the darkness behind him, ostensibly seeking out the source of his bat shit crazy neighbor’s inexplicable fright.

“Oh my gosh, Sean,” I said, clutching my arms to my chest. “I am so, so sorry. I didn’t expect to see you there. I was turning on the light so Matt could see when he got home, and you just appeared out of nowhere. Are you alright?”

Sean nodded and raised a corner of his lip in a half-smile. He handed me his load.

“Those are muffins my friend’s mom made,” he said.

“Thank you very much,” I said. “I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re OK? Let me turn on both lights so you can see your way home.” 

Sean turned, and I watched as he walked across the grass and down the hill into his own yard. I would have to text his mother and apologize. Then I could take a shower and swallow some Tylenol to combat the ringing in my ears. First, however, I needed to assure poor Diana that I was still alive.