She climbed each rung of the ladder slowly. Taking a deep breath with each movement of her foot.
They stood behind her. She couldn’t back down.
Three small rungs from base to platform.
They moved continually behind her so that she would keep moving forward.
Had she known about pirates she would have sworn she was walking the plank.
But it was the early 80’s. The era before cable and videos. When there were only 4 channels on TV. When Holly Hobby danced across her walls and her bed.
Pirates simply did not exist.
She took the steps slowly, mindful of every move. Anxiety building. Step with one foot, slide the other foot forward to meet it.
Their presence behind her was stronger than ever. There was a new presence below her.
She had reached the end of the line. There was nowhere to go but down. They were giving her no choice.
Large arms reached around her waist from behind. Hands clasped together. She was being lifted at the armpits by a force she could not fight. One that could not be reckoned with.
She took flight. Most certainly not of her own free will.
There were voices all around her but she couldn’t make out what any of them were saying.
Then suddenly it was quiet. The voices were muffled. Arms were reaching toward her. Lifting her to the light, to the air.
She reach the surface and gasped. Her heart racing. The panic overwhelming.
See, that wasn’t so bad. Somewhere a voice was trying to console her.
She had survived the experience though she was unsure how.
She was scarred by the experience for life.
She trembles when her children beg her to jump so that they can live vicariously through her. The really high one mommy, please?!?!