Nothing stirs fear in the heart of a single woman like unexplained explosions. I bought my house three years ago. While I was delighted with my new home, I was nervous. I went against the grain, defying the wishes of my parents and friends. I moved to a neighborhood that was in transition. Consequently, it was somewhat risky. I was secretly wondering if buying this house reflected poor judgment. I believed in the promise of the neighborhood, but deep down I wondered if everyone else was right.
I am ashamed to admit in writing what single women around the world are lying about. We are independent and self-sufficient. yet we are also terrified of being murdered in our beds at night. All those damn Lifetime movies have fed our fantasies and made us fear what we crave. Eventually, however, we realize that our reality is good and we are safe and sound. And we laugh at being so insecure.
However, one night, my fears manifested themselves. Something designed to entertain and thrill filled my heart with fear. I’m talking about fireworks. I live near PNC Park, where the Pittsburgh Pirates play. During home games they have fireworks. However, no one told me about the fireworks when I first moved here. So the first time I heard the explosions, as I was lying in bed, all comfortable in my four hundred thread count, satin sheets, I was terrified. As I lay alone in bed, I thought there was a gang war outside my window. Not know what to do. So I did what any reasonable woman would do, I hit the ground. I was alone on the floor, questioning all of my relationship choices over the past few years.
My mind was full of thoughts. And since I was already on the floor of my bedroom, somehow believing that it would make me safer from being shot than calling the police, my thoughts were very irrational. I thought maybe I should have stayed married to a man I didn’t appreciate. Maybe I should have married that rich man I didn’t love. Maybe I should have stayed with my parents after I moved to Pittsburgh. Or maybe I should have moved to Shadyside, where the other yuppies live, instead of being a pioneer. Eventually, the noise died down and I went to sleep, certain that there were dead bodies of young gang members lying bloody in the streets.
Well, joy and sanity come in the morning. As I was walking to my car, I saw a neighbor who seemed well rested and unafraid. He was confused. So I sheepishly asked, “What did you think about all the noise last night?” My neighbor replied calmly, “You mean the fireworks? You’ll get used to it.” On one level, I felt foolish. In another, I felt smart because he was right. My neighborhood was really safe.
Because I live alone, I am still scared sometimes. However, surviving the fireworks scare made me feel more confident. Every time I listen to them, like I did the other night when the Steelers beat the Ravens in overtime, I remember that fateful night. Then I smile at how far I’ve come. And I fall asleep.