Scared Senseless

I don't get scared very easily. Yes, there's the occasional unexpected movement or random shout that makes my eyes widen or my body jump, but rarely do I ever yell or cry. It's actually become a game between my brother and I; who can scare the other the most? Though we don't keep score, I can, without a doubt, say that I am winning. It's rather fun, but my brother might say differently if asked.

Whenever I am told to think of a moment when I was scared or embarrassed, the same instance always pops into my head. I was at an age where I had begun learning authentic independence, somewhere between nine and ten. By that time, I had gone to Israel at least six or seven times, and I knew the area where my grandmother lived like the back of my hand. Unlike here, where neighborhoods and shops are quite obviously separated, in Israel, everything you would ever need is within walking distance from your house or apartment.

On one particular evening I really wanted some chocolate, but my mother, brother, and grandmother were all exhausted from our previous activities. I was told I could go alone and I was ecstatic. A child under the age of ten running errands unattended might seem odd in America, but in Israel I have seen children aged five holding the hand of a three year old while riding the bus by themselves. Nothing new there.

After my excursion I felt like I was on top of the world. In my opinion, I had handled the language barrier with extreme maturity and the chocolate couldn't have tasted sweeter. Chomping on my well deserved treat, I mindlessly went back the way I came. I entered the building and something immediately felt off, which should have been my first warning sign. The stairs were a different color, but I just blamed the lighting. There was a new painting hanging on the wall, but who is to deny a little redecorating? It was probably just the sugar. Shrugging, I climbed up the three flights to my grandmothers apartment, all the while thinking about what I was going to tell my family. I knew that my mother had left the door unlocked for me, so I threw open the door and shouted "I'm home!" in Hebrew.

My family was not sitting on the couch watching TV, lounging while reading a book, or browsing the internet as I had expected. Oh no. I'm not that fortunate. Instead, I see this elderly couple, halfway through eating dinner, staring at me like I was an alien. I don't remember who screamed first, me or the elderly lady, but I burst into tears, wailing like I was a baby again. Millions of thoughts raced around my head in that second, as I stood frozen where I was. Who were these people? Where was my family? Had they moved? What was happening? I could barely think, and yet my mind was buzzing with questions. I was, without exaggeration, completely traumatized. I'm not sure how long it took, but the couple finally realized I wasn't an intruder, but a lost and frightened child, crying waterfalls.

I don't know what made me trust them, probably a combination of feeling entirely alone and my brain temporarily shutting off, but I accepted the the water they offered me, and sputtered out a couple of words that meant "I'm lost." After calming down a bit, they asked me where I lived and I, thinking it was in this exact apartment, started to break down all over again. They decided it was best to call the police and wait outside. As I stepped outside, silent tears still streaming down my face, I saw, one building over, my grandmother pacing with worry and my mother holding a phone to her ear. I had taken much longer than I should have. My mother and I made eye contact and she said something into the phone then hung up, but I was already hugging her with enough force to squeeze the air out of her.

What happened next is foggy, adults shaking hands and the distant memory of scolding followed by ice cream, but I will never forget that day. Even though I haven't been this scared since that moment, I learned that I should never go buy chocolate by myself because it will end badly.