Before I get to the story, a quick note. This is a new process idea for me. A new story, new idea, writing in flow and posted in weekly segments. Each one might vary in length and they will amount to little more than a draft. I gave part 1 a once over, but no significant rewrites. Editing will come at the end. This is about getting the writing done and the story out. We’ll see how it goes…
Never go outside.
That was what the voice inside his head kept telling him. He knew that must be true because once he heard it, the thought of leaving his house was too much to bare.
Others called it a crippling disability. Agoraphobia. He agreed that it was crippling, but he never thought of it as a disability. That was because he believed that the anxiety he felt, the voice inside his head, if you will, was God.
He didn’t like to tell people this. They already looked at him with pity and mistrust. They thought he was crazy. He was sure that they talked about him, discussing what might be best for him. Deciding what course might help, drugs, hospitalization or forcing him outside to show it’s ok. Telling people that God talks to you doesn’t really help that.
God had spoke to him like this before. He felt it while driving one night, raining pouring down. He loved the rain, it never bothered him before, but in that moment, it did. He pulled over at a gas station, got gas, a snack and a drink. The rain eased. He felt calmer and left, back on his way. A mile down the road, 4 cars were in a ditch after an accident. He knew that was supposed to be him. He had avoided injury or maybe even death that night. He called it luck and moved on.
But then the feeling happened again.
The second time involved a friend’s bbq and an electrical box. The same anxiety and inner voice telling him to move. Again a case of not being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Twice was more than enough for him. He would always listen when the feeling struck.
It was years between the two feelings and years again before the third struck. Once again it was unexpected. He was about to leave to go to the store and the feeling and anxiety told him not to go. This time was stronger than before. It was clearer, more insistent and most important, still happening. He hasn’t left since. That was 2 months ago and the feeling comes back every time he thinks about going outside.
In truth, he really did miss the feeling of the sun and wind, the smell of the trees and fresh air. He was tired of deliveries and relying on friends and family. He wanted to go outside, really. It’s just the voice wouldn’t let him.
His house wasn’t that big, a first floor, and then a basement. He rarely had even used or went down to the basement before. But after a month of not leaving, he took the next week to clean up the basement and make it livable.
Now, the basement had a bed, desk and video games, which he hadn’t played seriously in years. He happened to have some time on his hands, being on disability now, so he could play. He set up a small sleeping area too. He found it helped to sleep in a different place in the house sometimes. Like staying at a hotel or at a friends house, but without leaving.
He watched more news than ever before. It was because it felt like a window to the outside world that he left behind. Like watching videos of an old birthday party or a dream you had about your childhood backyard. The content of the news wasn’t the point, it was to feel like he still lived in the world. Like everything wasn’t just passing him by.
Today the news story actually caught his attention. The newscaster sitting behind his overly large desk, in a bright blue suit using every trick to portray expertise and confidence, urged everyone to stay inside if they could. Only leave if necessary.
No one wanted another pandemic. Even saying it would likely lead to some people going out more and the rest ignoring it completely. Instead, he told everyone that it was an unknown pathogen and local hospitals were already at capacity.
It sounded like another pandemic, just no one wanted to say it. He didn’t mind, he was going to stay inside anyways. As the weeks went on and he still refused to leave, visitors became more and more rare. His friends and family were scared for him. He understood that. But they also seemed like they were afraid they might catch whatever crazy was affecting him.
He thought about calling them to warn them about the pathogen and to not go out anywhere they didn’t need to. He didn’t though. They’d just figure he was overreacting and projecting his fears of going out on to them. A justification of his actions they’d call it. He moved on.
Another week, no visitors.
The news was progressively worse everyday. Reports of millions sick or even dead. Different channels had varying numbers, but they all reported on the same thing. He thought he better call his parents. Just to make sure they’re okay and tell them to be careful. It’s just the last conversation he had with them didn’t go well.
It was hard to explain to them how he felt and what the voice meant. He tried, they tried, but in the end, they just didn’t understand. He put the phone down. He just didn’t have the energy right now.
A decision he would regret.