by Halli Gomez
“Well then, how about Missouri to hike the nuclear waste adventure trail?”
Her eyes twinkled. Her pink lip gloss sparkled. I wanted to taste the strawberry, but it would’ve probably made Dad turn the car around.
We spent the next three hours doing math and Chemistry homework and staring out the window. I watched the trees and signs fly by, but my brain couldn’t just take in the scenery. I counted to ten. Then again. And repeat. I figured I’d break a record in the number of rounds counted in one sitting. Unfortunately, it wasn’t celebration-worthy.
“Tonight we’ll do a little sightseeing. Go to Times Square if you kids are interested,” Dad said as we crossed the state border into New York.
“Sure,” Khory said
“Okay,” I said.
My neck twitched. Faster and faster. My muscles burned. I squeezed Khory’s hand. She squeezed back and grinned. She was excited, but I wondered how I’d walk out there with all those people. I doubted New York City had a slow lane like PH High. What would happen after I took ten steps? What would I bend down and touch? If I wasn’t trying to suck in air, I would have had another perfectly still moment.
Before I knew it, the six-hour ride was over. Mr. Price was talking hotels, and the skyscrapers were getting closer. Soon we were in the city. Khory and I tried to catch glimpses of the Empire State Building and Times Square.
We parked at the DoubleTree Hotel near Times Square and checked in. Dad and I had a room on the fifth floor, and Khory and her dad were on the sixth. My hands tightened around the backpack strap as Dad and I got out of the elevator and I read the room direction sign. The good news was we weren’t the last room. The bad news was we were three rooms from the end. Dad walked ahead of me as I calculated it would be at least four rounds of ten-count-bend-downs to get to it. I pushed away images of grime-covered shoes shuffling their way down the hallway, along with suitcase wheels that had been dragged up from the subway, and tried to convince myself this floor was sterile compared to what I’d touched in the hospital’s bathroom.
When we got inside our room, I washed my hands. I moved the soap over my palms, the backs, and in between my fingers, then focused on my fingertips. Twelve counts of ten. Two minutes, right? Or was that for brushing teeth?
I dried my hands, went to the room, and fell onto the bed.
“Hey, I thought we’d get something to eat and walk around a little. Do the tourist things,” Dad said.
I sat up. I didn’t want to walk around. I didn’t want to touch the street. This wasn’t my idea of fun. It was exhausting enough to go where I had to.
“What’s wrong? Are you upset we’re not going to the museum? We thought you’d like this better.”
I nodded. I would’ve told him the simulator was a dream come true if I could’ve talked.
Dad grabbed my arm and pulled me off the bed. “Come on, we’re supposed to meet them downstairs.”
The invisible hand wrapped itself around my chest again. Its hold was much tighter than Dad’s. I’d prepared myself for the museum. The ten-count-bend-downs, the stares, people crossing to the other side of the room. It was a sacrifice I would suffer through for my list. But New York City? Eight million people? I couldn’t do it. Dad’s face swam around in front of me. My stomach rolled along the waves. I fell back onto to the bed before I face-planted on the floor.
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” Dad asked.
Definitely not. I gasped. Air couldn’t get to my lungs. I was suffocating. I squeezed the comforter. No! I had to die on my own terms. On the date I picked. Not because of a detour to the most populated city in the country.
“Troy, talk to me,” Dad demanded.
His voice was as forceful as a CPR chest compression. I sucked in a huge amount of air and held it until it reached every millimeter of my lungs.
“I don’t go out,” I whispered. Air conservation was a necessity. Just in case.
“What do you mean? You don’t want to go out?”
I shook my head. “I don’t go out.”
“Of course you do. You go to school and out with Khory and your friends.”
“I don’t walk unless I have to.”
Dad’s eyebrows scrunched up. Did I really have to explain it? That was him in the hallway with me, right? My heart felt heavy. Mom would have understood. But then Dad nodded.
“I guess I never thought how disruptive tics, the bending, could be.” He sat next to me. “Are they painful?”
Now he wanted to know how I felt? After almost ten years?
“Some are. The bending is exhausting. And annoying. And embarrassing.” I stared at my hands balled into fists.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think. You’ve been doing it for so long now, I just see it as a part of you. Like someone who limps,” Dad said.
“It’s okay.” But it wasn’t.
Dad sat still. What a concept. I was jealous.
“How about I tell Hank we’ll meet up with them later? You and I can order room service or go downstairs to the restaurant, grab some food, and talk some more. We never get time just the two of us.”
The invisible hand tickled my chest at the thought of talking. We didn’t do that. I took a breath. But maybe we could. I nodded.
Dad took out his phone and called Mr. Price while I counted. I shook my head and it felt good. Not as an urge that was fulfilled, but because I remembered the counting didn’t work before the frustration overwhelmed me. I replaced the numbers with the empty warehouse and felt my shoulders slip down my back. My breathing steadied, and I stood up. I wasn’t sure I was ready for Dad’s questions, but at least I could handle the walk down the hallway.
MARCH 20
Over burgers and fries in the hotel restaurant, Dad asked me what happened upstairs.
“An anxiety attack.” I was well researched.
“Do you have them often?”
I knew where he was going with this. For a cop so against drugs, he was pretty quick with the prescription meds as a cure.
“Not enough for more medication,” I answered.
He nodded. “How is everything else? The Tourette and OCD. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how you felt.” He dropped the burger on his plate. The top bun bounced off. “I should have known. Seen the signs. But you’re . . . different.”
Different from Mom? “What do you mean? What signs?”
“It’s how your mother was. She wouldn’t go out, said she was happy spending quiet time at home, especially after you were born. But she was sad at missing the events in your life, like preschool graduation and school performances. If I’d recognized the depression earlier . . .” He played with his burger.
Is that what he thought?
“I’m not depressed,” I insisted. “I have a girlfriend, friends, we’re on our way to a zero-gravity simulator this weekend. I’m just tired. Tired of people, tired of the pain.”
Dad’s eyes went wide. It wasn’t the same as being depressed. I was well researched on that, too. My neck twitched, and I squeezed my burger. I dropped it on my plate, wiped my hands on a napkin, and hid them in my lap. They squeezed together. Damn it, why couldn’t I make them bleed?
I sat up straight. “But it’s fine. Really. I’m used to it. Of course, some days are worse than others, but it’s good.”
“That doctor you used to see, the psychiatrist. Do you want me to call him again?”
I laughed. “Dr. Hardly Qualified? No thanks, he wasn’t any help. Really, everything’s fine. I’ve found my own relaxation technique. Sometimes I just forget to use it. Like upstairs.”
I dragged a fry through the ketchup and ate it. Then another. And another. See, everything was normal. We were eating and bonding. But his brow was furrowed, his lips were pressed together, and he wouldn’t take his eyes off me. I forced myself to finish the food, because what depressed kid would eat a huge hamburger, twenty-two fries, and a pickle?
. . . . . . . . . .
I had two choices: eithe
r suffer through the annoyance, humiliation, and terror of walking the streets of New York City or stay at the hotel and risk Dad seeing me as a depressed, anxiety-driven kid who needed help before he followed in his mother’s footsteps and ran away.
I wanted to pick the second one. I didn’t care about New York City, Times Square, or anything else the place had to offer, but the look on Dad’s face was clear: choice two came with conditions. Back to HQ, or worse.
So off we went.
We met Khory and her dad in the lobby at six o’clock. Her eyes were bright and her body moved far more than mine.
“We went to the Empire State Building. There are so many people Dad wouldn’t let go of my hand. And when people bumped into us, and it’s hard not to, he held on even tighter. But I loved the excitement.”
I watched her eyes twinkle and her hair bounce as she talked. I was addicted to her and her emotions. She was better than any drug, and if she could maneuver through millions of people bumping into her, maybe I could find something to enjoy.
We left our hotel, and I took Khory’s hand, hoping her dad wouldn’t mind since someone was holding on to her, especially now that it was night. We walked down the street and turned a corner to the left. Right there in front of us was the biggest Light Brite I’ve ever seen. Welcome to Times Square.
The lights, noise, and crowds made me feel like I was inside a video game. My body was electric. I stopped, turned in a circle, and tried to take in all the lights. Buildings towered over us. Lights blinked and flickered to the sounds on the street below. It seemed like a jumbled mass of noise, but the place had its own beat, and my body thumped in tune with it. Okay, I admit it was pretty cool.
We walked down the street and went in and out of stores like Godiva Chocolates, M&M’s World, and Midtown Souvenirs, with our dads following close behind. I fought the urge to count as we walked, but my brain was sucked in. I counted, then fought the pull to touch the ground. A few times I got away with half a bend, like a bow. The heat in my body grew as I waited for someone to bow back, but the tourists with “I Love NY” shirts and phones out all stared toward the skyline. Everyone else pushed through the crowds without a word. It seemed this was the one place you could really be invisible.
So I didn’t fight it. I let my neck twitch and hands squeeze together. My face scrunched up, and I bent halfway. I was like a Broadway dance routine repeating the sequence until the big finale: the full bend-down.
That’s when I saw the third invisibility level in this city. A homeless man slumped against a wall. A scruffy brown beard that may have been another color when clean, a tattered winter jacket, and his life in a bundle beside him. He picked up a used cigarette from the ground and put it to his lips. His eyes were vacant like there was nothing worth seeing anymore. The only ones who saw people at this level were either the height of five-year-olds or someone like me, who touched discarded gum on the sidewalk.
Khory was used to the ten-count-bend-down, but after our big talk at lunch, I felt Dad studying my every move. I glanced back at him. He smiled, or attempted to, because it was the lamest thing I’d ever seen. His lips may have turned up, but his eyes were all sadness and pity. In the one place I could have been invisible, I’d created my own audience.
MARCH 21
Through the car window I watched the skyscrapers turn into neighborhoods. We passed signs for roads leading to Ossining, Peekskill, and the West Point Military Academy. The map on my phone said we were heading north. The towns turned into fields with cows and horses, until one of the fields sported a two-story gray building with ground-to-roof windows. My face was plastered against the car window. I couldn’t read the name on the building yet, but I saw the shape of airplane wings hiding behind it.
I spun toward Khory. She stared at me with a humongous grin. Her eyes brighter than the north star.
Dad pulled the car into the parking lot, and there, in big black letters, were the words “Gravity Redefined” and a picture of an airplane angled toward space. He barely stopped the car before I burst out and ran toward the building.
They met me at the door, and we walked into the lobby. Dad pulled a letter from an envelope and handed it to the man in the glass ticket booth.
“Go on in Mr. Hayes. Mr. Armbretch will meet you in the lobby.”
I grabbed Khory’s hand as we went through glass doors. My heart thumped in time with my neck twitch. My hands squeezed tight, and Khory’s fingers were caught in the middle.
I dropped her hand. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
She rubbed her fingers, then shook her head, but she put her hands in her jacket pockets.
The lobby was a big, bright, round room with a glass-dome ceiling and SUV-size models of Enterprise, Challenger, and Discovery. There was also a car-size model of a Boeing 727. Panels on the walls explained the history of space flight and the history of the company, and there were pictures of celebrities who apparently went through the program, including an actor from the Star Trek series and a real-life astronaut.
Mrs. Frances and a short, older man wearing a gray flight suit appeared from double doors in the back and came toward us.
“I’m glad Khory told me how much you love astronomy,” Mrs. Frances said. “Who knows, we may be standing next to a future astronaut.”
“That would be great,” I said and pushed out thoughts of my future going in a different direction.
Mrs. Frances turned to the man waiting patiently next to her. “Troy, Khory, this is Mr. Armbretch. He heads up the Gravity Redefined Education Program.”
“Nice to meet you.” He shook our hands.
The round of handshaking continued with our dads as my neck twitched, my hands squeezed together, and my face scrunched up. Even though my eyes bounced around, I caught Mr. Armbretch’s look. He glanced at Mrs. Frances, his lips pressed into a smile like a wax statue, but I knew what he was thinking: Him, a potential student for the education program and a real astronomy career?
“Remember, I told you Troy has Tourette syndrome,” Mrs. Frances said.
My face burned, and my neck twitched too fast to count.
Mr. Armbretch nodded, then explained the program. “Our goal at Gravity Redefined is to introduce astronomy to high school students, specifically those who wish to make this field a lifelong commitment.” He sounded like a brochure. “We hope to do that with a hands-on approach that includes real-time experiments, seminars from industry professionals, and our simulator.”
He clapped his hands together. “Well, now that I’ve given you the official company spiel, let’s have some fun. I am sorry to say I only have approval to take two people on the simulator, so Mrs. Frances and Troy will follow me while the three of you will attend our Gravity Workshop. You won’t experience parabolic flight and the effects of space, but you will learn about it, as well as the sciences behind space flight, and enjoy a few hands-on experiments.”
My heart sank. Khory should get to go since she was the one who planned all this. I turned to her but didn’t know what to say.
“This is for you.” She grabbed my arm. “I hope this comes close to making your dream come true.”
I caught my breath. I felt like a traitor. She had no idea what she just said, what she just did for me. And she would hate me when she found my actual dream was to die.
Mrs. Frances and I left the others with a group of people who had gathered near the lobby doors and followed Mr. Armbretch down a hallway with more pictures of astronauts, airplanes, and shuttles.
“We’re headed to a conference room where you will check in and watch a preflight orientation video. It will explain the procedure and what you will be experiencing when you’re up in the air.”
We turned a corner, and he showed us into a large room where eight other people were waiting. There was no question I was the youngest, but even though it felt like butterflies were slamming around in my stomach trying to break free, I definitely was not the most scared person. That award went to a tall blonde
lady. Her eyes were wide, and her hands shook despite the guy next to her holding them.
The excitement and the shaking lady were making my neck twitch at rapid speed. One twitch hit a nerve, and a sharp pain stuck me in the shoulder blade like a dagger. A definite ninety on the rate-the-pain scale. I bit my lip, and now that hurt, too. Relax. If you don’t, you’ll barf on the plane. I hoped that pep talk would work, but my talks usually sucked, and the urges to twitch, squeeze, and scrunch were stubborn. I skipped past HQ’s breathing advice and went right to the image of the space shuttle and empty warehouse. I pictured the body, wings, and wheels, and the pain in my back lessened. I took a few deep breaths. Oxygen in. Carbon dioxide out. Repeat.
“How are you doing?” Mrs. Frances asked.
“Good.” I said, telling the truth for a change. “I’m really excited. This is the best thing anyone has done for me. Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure, truly,” she said. “Just promise me if I get sick on there, it will be our secret.”
“Deal.” I twisted my shirt, then turned to her. “Mrs. Frances, why me? Why didn’t you take Mr. Frances to try this, or another student? It can’t be just because Khory asked. I don’t think she has that kind of power over anyone but me.”
Mrs. Frances smiled. “Well, let me tell you, Mr. Frances is extremely envious, but he’ll get over it.” she said. “And why you? Because you have the most potential out of anyone in the class. In all my classes, actually.”
“Potential?”
“To do anything you want. To be anything you want. I hope you don’t let anything hold you back.”
“Okay, everyone, have a seat and we’ll get started,” Mr. Armbretch said. “Troy, can you please kill the lights on your left?”
I flicked the light switches off, then sank into a chair. Except for the screen with the company’s logo, the room was black. My muscles relaxed even more. I loved the dark and its gift of invisibility.
The video began, and a woman’s voice came on.
“Welcome to Gravity Redefined. Today you will board a modified Boeing 727 that will take you to twenty-six thousand feet, then climb at full speed before nosediving. This will cause weightlessness, or zero gravity. During your time on the airplane, you will engage in approximately fifteen parabolic maneuvers. As you experience weightlessness, you will be able to float, flip, and soar just as the astronauts do.”
