By Michael Britt

Autophobia, or as Google defines it, ‘the fear of being alone,’ has plagued me since 2018. In the summer of that same year, at the age of 8, my family and I headed to Vancouver for our annual summer vacation. We had planned to see many different tourist sites, but we visited one place that is the most cemented in my mind: The Capilano Suspension Bridge, a suspension bridge in North Vancouver that stands at 230 ft tall–scary, I know.

            The air was brisk as we drove down the highway to the bridge. My mom, who is deathly afraid of heights, was freaking out. We tried to calm her down, but little did I know that this wouldn’t be the biggest fear tackled that day. We all filed out of our rented van. I felt excited. I have never done anything like this before, I thought to myself. As I approached the bridge, I slowly realized this excitement would fade. “It’s almost as long as a skyscraper is tall,” I told my mom, which fueled her fear. The bridge swayed in the wind, making my stomach flip like a roller coaster. I put one foot in front of another, my body shaking like an ’80s aerobics instructor.

My family and I made it to the other side of the bridge with triumph in our eyes. A gust of wind hit my face, bringing relief. “Let’s go find some walking paths!” my mom exclaimed. We all walked over to the woman at the customer help desk. “Hello, are you able to suggest a nice walking path for me and my family?” my mom asked. “Yes! If you take a left and then a right, you will be heading towards our famous Raptors Ridge,” the woman at the desk responded. My family and I set off.

As we continued down the path, the smell of pine pierced our noses. We noticed that it had many different little attractions. For example, we sat down at a bird show. The birds flew over our heads like fighter jets, and we felt euphoric. We kept walking until we finally made it back to the main area.

We had to wait for our turn to cross back over the bridge when I started looking at the map, noticing the walking path we were on. “Look, the path goes in a full circle!” I said to my dad. My dad shut down my realization quickly. “No, Michael, the path stops at one point; we had to turn around, remember?” “Nuh-uh, I’ll bet you five dollars that it does wrap all the way around,”  I said. “Okay, sure. But if you get lost, it’s your fault,” my dad responded. I set off with a twinkle in my eye, the smell of pine strong in the air. I tried to remember each step I took to avoid getting lost. After a while, I came up to a fork in the road. There was a right and a straight path option. I tried to remember the way my family and I went. Right!  I thought in my head, Right is right! I kept walking down the path, and then I passed the bird show, as did the same as before. The sound of laughing children and flying birds filled the air with bliss.

I kept walking till I ran into a big sign that read “DEAD END.” The smell of pine and the sound of laughing children melted away as I broke into tears. I started to pace like I was about to run a marathon. Back and forth, back and forth till my feet couldn’t take it anymore, and I collapsed crying, wondering if I would ever see my family again. As time passed, my thoughts went from optimistic to pessimistic, thinking of how everything could go wrong until, “Honey, are you ok?” I heard, “Do you know where your parents are?” the mysterious woman asked. I wiped my eyes to reveal the face of the person. It was the woman who was working at the customer help desk. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief because it was a familiar face.

The woman and I walked over to her desk, and she was trying her best to calm me down. “Breathe,” she said in a calming tone as I continued to sob uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face like a waterfall. All I could think about was why did I leave my family, what if I had never seen them again, and what if they had crossed over the bridge already? The woman and I retraced my steps to see if my family was looking for me. They were nowhere to be found. Anxiety overcame me like being struck down by a wave. I continued to freak out as the woman asked, “What are your parents’ names?” “How long have you been on the bridge?” As she asked these questions, my eyes drifted to the mirror in the corner of the room. It could see onto the main path.

I could see a silhouette of a family walking towards the hut. All I could think to myself was, I wish I was with my family. Through my tear-filled eyes, I struggled to make out the figures, but they looked familiar. As they inched closer, the hope that it was my family grew bigger and bigger. I rubbed my eyes and could just make out one of the family members’ faces. It was my dad. I pushed the woman aside and ran at my family. With each step, my relief grew. I ran into my family’s arms, and their love made me forget any of this ever happened. “Where’ve you been, buddy?” my dad asked. I tried to speak, to explain everything, but my lips wouldn’t move. The words got stuck in my throat. Instead, I just buried my face into my mom’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of my family surrounding me. I had never been so happy to be with them, and honestly, I mean never. As we stood there, holding onto one another, I realized that the fear of being alone had never been about getting lost in the woods. It was the fear of being forgotten, of being left behind. But in that moment, wrapped in my family’s embrace, I knew the truth. I had never been alone; they were always there with me.