They Might Be Giants
When I was in the 2nd grade, I found myself at home alone late one afternoon. I don't recall why. I heard the sound of repeated booms off in the distance, like pilings being hammered into the ground. That's the best way I know how to describe it now; back then, I thought it was a giant robot making its way down the street. I don't know why a giant seemed the only answer, maybe because there was no one else around to say any different and my imagination was running wild. As a child, I had an active imagination. Some say I still do, but leaving childhood takes its toll.

I pictured this juggernaut advancing closer with each lumbering destructive step. I was scared, unable to reason that such monsters didn't exist. Surely here was proof, the sound of its footsteps; what more evidence did you need, bado?

I decided to wait outside, where I would be able to see anything closing in for a good distance in either direction. I remember thinking this would at the very least give me an opportunity to get out of the way, as opposed to being caught by surprise inside and getting squashed under its no doubt massive metal feet. The street we lived on was a broad avenue with a median separating the opposing lanes of traffic. I sat on the front doorstep listening to the sound, banging over and over. I'm pretty sure I was outside on the doorstep when someone got home.

I don't recall telling either of my parents what I had feared. I don't think I ever told anyone about it but I've remembered that time for over thirty years now. It's strange what we take with us through our lives.