Run

By Aneri Nanavaty

I was running. I didn’t know how I’d gotten here. In a cold, moonless, faceless night that stretched out to infinity, I was running. I could hear nothing but the haphazard drum of my heartbeat pulsating through my ears. The only accompaniment was my raspy breath rising from my lungs. Twigs and branches, with their stray leaves whipped my face as I kept running, trying to keep a relentless pace. My feet were screaming at every step, cut up by stray rocks under the moss & dirt. 

I dared not to look back at what might be chasing me - singularly determined to outrun it, pushing my lungs further and my feet faster. I needed to just get far enough, far enough to the riverside. I was safer there. I needed to run. Run faster, I told myself, pumping my arms harder. Run. So, I did. I ran till my lungs were begging me for mercy, until my eyes were seeing spots, and I could feel the small trails of blood I was leaving behind as footprints. 

But then I heard the water. I could hear it even above my pounding heart — I knew I was close. The riverside must be within reach. I begged my body, A bit further, please. Don’t stop now, don’t let it catch up to us. I kept going, and the sound of the gushing river kept resonating within the forest, somewhere up ahead. 

And then – I collided into it. As if from thin air, my pace was cut short as my body slammed right into it. With cold dread, I realised wasn’t being chased. Instead, I’d run right into its arms. He was vast, enormous - with arms that could wrap around me, and the whole world, twice over. If my heart was overworked before, that was nothing compared to the flight it took now - petrified. I began to shake, and my feet made a feeble attempt to backpedal. 

He wrapped his warm arms around me easily and nestled me into his lap. Stay, he crooned sadly. He looked into my eyes with his own sad ones. Please stay. I won’t make you stay forever, he said. But stay just for a while. I began to shake even more violently, and I sobbed pleas for him to let me go. He wiped my tears; he rocked me gently. He shushed me, telling me to stop fighting him, and I only sobbed harder. I tried to pry myself out of his arms, and I couldn’t slack his iron grip on me. I kicked, I twisted, I screamed, and he just held me, looking at me sadly as I writhed in his arms. When my body couldn’t take it anymore, I slouched over, still sobbing gently, but defeated. 

If you’ll just stop fighting me, he said, I won’t make you stay forever. I know you want to cross the river - and I promise I will let you. But only if you sit with me a while. 

I couldn’t reply to him, my tongue incapable of forming any coherent words. The only sound I made now was the garbling of pain and ache, bubbling up from the depths of myself. He stroked my hair and caressed my cheeks. Each touch by him felt like agony, a sickly-sweet pain that seemed to soothe my sobs for a moment only to make me wail louder the next. Eventually even my throat couldn’t keep up, and I went hoarse. My body limp, voiceless, the only thing betraying my complacency was the steady stream of tears on my face. 

Imagine then, to my incredulity – when he began to loosen his grip on me. I looked up at him; bewilderment now added to my tear-streaked face. He smiled, still oh so sadly. I told you I wouldn’t keep you forever, he reminded me. He stood up, with me still scooped into his arms, and he began walking swiftly. Within mere steps, he found the forest clearing and set me down gently in front of the river. Like a child, I rubbed my eyes and looked up at him. 

Go on, he said. I looked again into his sad eyes, unable to form the question, but he answered me anyways. You needed to sit with me for a minute, otherwise you would have drowned in this river tonight. I didn’t want you to drown. Now you can make your way across. 

I hesitantly walked towards the river and found the water only knee deep. I looked back nervously, and he looked back at me. I kept walking, cutting the stream of water as I waded across. When I’d reached the other side, I turned around, and he wasn’t there. 

I understood then. 

I’d tried to outrun grief, but I had still found my way to him. 

I walked on now, steadily. The next time I ran into grief, I would sit in his arms, willingly. For I knew now, I had to let him in, to find my way through. 

By Aneri Nanavaty