Rubber bands. On more than one occasion, my little brother stretched one out beside my head and let it go, snapping my ear, hard. Rubber bands pulled my hair out if I had to use them in place of a wrapped elastic. Used as a tourniquet above my elbow, pinching, binding, and stealing the feeling from my fingers, they are the worst part of drawing blood.
The slamming door. When I am stressed and worried about the outcome of things, this is the sound that I hear, over and over in my head. It is the sound of being left behind, shut out, asked to leave, disinvited. It is being told, once again, that I am not good enough, a failure, that I don't deserve...
The missing driver. My recurring dream, as a child, was of riding in a car with no driver, or a disconnected steering wheel, that was really a toy. I can never recall the car of my dreams spinning out of control, only the fear, even after I awoke, that it was going over the bridge.
Changing my oil. The funniest of my fears, this is really about another out-of-control vehicle; a malevolent force, starting up and running over me, even as I tried to care for it.
Losing everything. The people really. I fear that they will one day say "Enough! We are through with you, and the things you can't do. We are off!" And I will someday die, alone.