She Dims the Stars

by Amber L. Johnson

  There’s a scream of excitement from September and then from Audrey as she resurfaces, taking in air and shrieking that she did it. Her arms are raised above her head, and she’s telling all of us to come on, asking us what we’re waiting for.

  Cline turns to look at me, his face pale and eyes wide with shock. “What the hell did I just see?”

  I clap a hand on his shoulder as I go to pass him. “You just saw Byrdie fly.”

  I feel invincible. I am invincible. That’s a terrifying way for someone to feel when they’ve felt like nothing for so long.

  September is smiling at me from across the table in the little restaurant where we’ve decided to get lunch. The guys are playing video games in the back room of the pizza joint while we wait on our order, and I’m sipping some water, just trying to get hold of the rush of emotions I’ve been through in such a short amount of time.

  “When were you diagnosed?” she asks. There’s no malice or judgment in her question.

  I look around to make sure Elliot and Cline aren’t within earshot before I answer. “Fifteen. Some stuff feels like it’s gotten better, but recently …”

  “Obviously I’m not trying to give you any advice or treatment. I’m not a doctor. Yet.” She smiles, and it’s so genuine. “Are you seeing someone, though?”

  “Yeah.” The condensation on my glass has suddenly become very interesting.

  “I know we’ve just met and whatever, but if you feel like you ever need to talk about stuff, and you can’t with either of those two,” she points to the game room, “I’m more than happy to be a listening ear. What you did today was huge. I don’t even know your deal, and I can tell that it was a giant step for whatever it is that you’re going through. And you should be proud of that.”

  “Well, maybe one day I’ll tell you why it was such a big deal. Because you’re right. It was. It is a huge deal. We only have a couple more places to go before this trip is over, and once we’re done, I don’t think Cline will ever speak to me again. And if Elliot finds out the truth about me … about everything … I have no idea if he’ll stick around either. So you may just be the only one left to call.” The idea strikes me suddenly even as I say it out loud. This is why I don’t get involved with anyone. This is why I don’t open up to people. It’s all on the surface so no one gets hurt. Especially me. But I chose Elliot. I sought him out. I still can’t figure out why.

  Her head is tilted in thought. “I don’t think there’s anything short of telling Elliot that you’re a murderer that would make him walk away from you. Even then, I’d bet he would try to find evidence against it. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

  “No,” I lie and cross my legs as the memory of his touch from earlier in the day resurfaces.

  “Then maybe you should open your eyes a little more,” she says quietly and takes a sip of her drink before the pizza we ordered is placed on the table.

  Elliot is sitting in the back of the car again, laptop plugged in as he tries to work on his game. A familiar tug of responsibility settles in my gut, and I chastise myself for possibly costing him this opportunity.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you with this?” I ask, peering around to look at his screen.

  A webpage disappears, and his work comes back up quickly with a click of his fingers. He blinks a few times and smiles at me with a shake of his head. “I’m good. It’s boring.”

  “What were you looking at?” I ask, climbing into the back of the car next to him.

  “Stuff for the project. How To’s and things like that. I don’t have my degree yet, you know. I’m still a novice.”

  “A How To on what?” I don’t think Elliot’s lied to me before, and now I know he’s very bad at it.

  “How to …” he stalls, and I can almost see his brain firing all cylinders to try and come up with something, “make realistic sand.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve seen your realistic sand. What were you looking at? Is it porn or something? Let me see!” I’m practically crawling over him to get to the laptop and switch screens so I can see what he’s trying so desperately to hide from me.

  “Seriously, it’s nothing! Come on, Audrey, don’t mess with the laptop …”

  He doesn’t fight hard, though, and I’m too fast. In an instant I wish I hadn’t asked.

  SIX TYPES OF ANXIETY ATTACKS

  My eyes scan the article and I can feel my throat tightening.

  Rage and irritability

  Obsessive behavior

  Stuttering

  Silence

  Zoning out

  Hyperventilating/rocking back and forth

  The pressure on my chest is growing heavier with each second, and I’m trying to fight it off, but I know when it’s too late. This is one of those times.

  “You could have asked,” I whisper before I scramble to get out of the car and walk as fast as I can to the tent. I know exactly where I’m going and what I’m getting, and as soon as I have it, I am back out and into the night, walking off into the woods. I need a tree. I need a safe space. A place away from anyone and everyone else where it can happen, and I can let it overtake me until it’s over and then I can move on.

  The Klonopin won’t kick in immediately, but at least I have that hope to hold onto as I stumble into the woods and away from the voices of the people I know. I’m walking blindly into the darkness, trying to get away from any and all light that isn’t the moon, so I can’t be seen. The only sounds around me are the cicadas, the water from the lake to my left, and my own erratic breathing.

  It’s getting harder to see, because the tears are building and blinding me, and my throat is so constricted I can hardly get a full breath in through my mouth. But if I try to breathe through my nose, I feel like I’m choking. There’s a huge tree right in front of me, and I lean against it, my arms straight and legs extended, face pointed down at the ground as I try to breathe just one full breath.

  But it’s not coming.

  The sounds coming out of my mouth would make any passerby believe I was having an asthma attack and needing an inhaler. The shaking in my hands and arms give way to numbness in my digits, and my face begins to tingle, lips losing feeling while I gasp for a single lungful of oxygen.

  The world is collapsing around me, and I am alive and awake to see it all happening, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Tears flow faster, and my heart beats wildly until I slide to my knees and press my face between them and begin to count silently, hoping that maybe by the time I reach ten I’ll have some control.

  I reach three hundred and feel a warm hand on my back. I reach three hundred and fifty when I hear September’s voice. I reach four hundred when Cline picks me up and carries me back to the tent.

  I lose count when Elliot wraps his body around mine in the sleeping bag and whispers that he’s sorry while pushing my sweaty hair from my forehead.

  His touch is what allows that first real burst of air into my lungs, and I pull it in with such force I almost choke on it, wheezing and gasping as I inhale and cry through the exhale. But he holds me through it until the pain in my chest begins to loosen. Until the tightness in my throat lessens, and I can swallow and speak. Until the vice around my head unclenches and the fuzzy gray patterns behind my eyelids give way to actual shapes again.

  The campsite is quiet by the time my mind and body go into rest, and I hold Elliot’s hand to my chest as I fall into a dreamless sleep.

  Their voices are hushed, but I can hear them as they discuss me by the small fire they started after I fell asleep. Sometime in the night, they got up to talk, leaving me by myself, probably thinking the episode would have knocked me out. But I didn’t take my nightly pills, so the insomnia caused by the morning ones has caused me to wake up suddenly, very alert.

  “She had a really big day. The jump and everything.” September’s voice is quiet.

  “Don’t forget riding Elliot’s dick earlier.” Cline’s voice is not quiet at all.

  �
��I’m not going to tell you again that we didn’t have sex. We didn’t. Not that it should matter to you or that it’s any of your business, but we didn’t. And even if we did, that wouldn’t be part of this equation in any way.” My heart skips at the sound of Elliot’s voice and the thought that he feels like being with me might have had something to do with this.

  “It could be any number of things or it could be nothing at all. These things aren’t by the book. Panic attacks, anxiety attacks—they happen for a lot of reasons, and they happen in a lot of ways. But if you guys are going to be traveling with her for the next week or so, you’re going to have to know how to handle it if she has another one,” September outlines for them.

  “That’s what I was trying to look up when she saw my laptop. That’s why she freaked out.” Elliot’s explanation is making my heart race again.

  “You should come with us. Just in case.” Cline is asking September to stay for his own reasoning but using me as justification. I should be pissed, but I’m not. I like her. And I like him when he’s with her.

  “I’ll think about it. You only have a couple more stops before you go back to Tennessee, right? If that’s the case, I can put off going back home for a little while longer.”

  The chatter begins to die down, and I hear them say goodnight. The zipper opens, and Elliot steps back inside as quietly as he possibly can. He slips back into the makeshift bed with me and pulls my back to his chest, securing me to him with his arm over my stomach.

  I listen to him sleep for the next six hours until the sun comes up and I have an excuse to get up and go take a shower. My reflection mocks me with puffy eyes and tangled hair. This nagging voice in my head that sounds irritatingly a lot like Miranda expresses to me me that I’m not good enough anyway, and I should just let Elliot go. I’m tainted and wrong and broken, and he can’t fix me. This trip is a waste. I’m hopeless.

  And for the first time in a very long time, I nod in the mirror and think that maybe I am lost cause. Maybe I finally agree.

  I just won’t let any of them know yet.

  I’ve had my shower, taken my pills, and had a cup of coffee. All of those earlier thoughts are scattered, and I am focused on cooking our last breakfast at the campsite. Bacon and eggs on Elliot’s dad’s old skillet, plus biscuits from a bag. I’m not a gourmet cook, but I can work with what I’ve got.

  I’m slicing some apples when Cline emerges from September’s tent.

  “Whoa, you want some help with that?” He asks, hands raised and eyebrows drawn in concern.

  I frown. “Are you afraid of me having a knife? Really, Cline? It was a panic attack. I should shank you just for being a dickhead.”

  He nods and shrugs a shoulder. “So, you’re okay, then. Good to see you’re back to normal, Byrdie.”

  I don’t even flinch at his use of my old nickname. I just hand him a cup of coffee and point to the bacon. “Save some for Elliot. That man loves his bacon.”

  “Since when is Elliot a man?” Cline asks as he shoves a piece of pork in his mouth.

  “Since he made me come in under a minute.”

  “Damnit, Audrey, I’m trying to eat!” Cline slaps the picnic table and shoots me a disgusted look.

  “What’s going on?” Elliot steps out of the tent, his dark hair standing up in all directions, his eyes still half closed with sleep.

  “I was telling Cline about your super powers, and he’s all jealous and stuff.”

  “Shut up, woman!” Cline makes a move like he’s going to get up.

  “Able to hit a g-spot in three-point-five seconds!” I yell, just to piss him off. I’m successful, and he takes his plate of bacon, stomping off back into the other tent. I smile at Elliot and offer him a plate. “Hungry?”

  He takes it and sits down across from me, eyeing me warily. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I feel great. Sorry about yesterday. I think it was just a lot of excitement and emotions. Everything should be okay from now on. I promise.” Lying to people about being fine has become such second nature that I don’t even know I’m doing it most of the time. I do right now, though. Elliot doesn’t deserve to be lied to. I just can’t shake the voices in my head from earlier and the thoughts they planted there, even if they’re quieter now than before.

  “If it was my fault …”

  “No. None of it was. You’re great. You’ve been great and you’re amazing. We’re going to Alabama next. Then Mississippi. Then back to Tennessee. After that, you’ve got the rest of your summer to do whatever with. And hopefully you’ll have everything you need to make a kick ass game and become a billionaire. I’ll get a magazine with your face on it and tell my friends you had your hand down my pants once. It’ll be my claim to fame.”

  “Audrey …” His lips are pulled thin.

  “What?” I laugh and stand up again, stepping away from the table. “Besides some merchandise with my cookie shitting unicorn—”

  “Stop.” He gets up, too, and comes around the table to stand toe to toe with me. With a gentle tug, he pulls me with him back inside the tent. It’s starting to feel like home, and that’s exactly why we need to take it down immediately and get back in the car to our next destination. “When this trip is over, I don’t plan on just walking away from this. Whatever this is.”

  “This?” I ask. “We made out. It got weird. We slept in a sleeping bag together a few times. We can go back to being friends and stuff.”

  “I don’t want to, though.” His hands are on my hips, and I can’t even look him in the eye.

  “But I do.”

  “You’re a terribly bad liar. Is this because of last night? I can handle last night. If you’ll just talk to me about what’s going on with you—all of what’s going on with you, then—”

  “I don’t even know what’s going on with me, Elliot. Okay? That’s the truth. All this shit up here? I don’t know where it comes from. I don’t know the source, so I don’t know how to fix it. If I can’t fix it, you can’t fix it. So all I’m going to do it mess up your life and everyone else’s life just like I did for my mom and Patrick and Miranda. Granny Ruth. And this other guy? Who is he? Who the hell knows what happened to him. I’m a human stain. Cline’s right. You should run as far away as you can, because I’m just gonna fuck everything up for you.”

  “Holy shit. That’s what you think? You think because you get sad sometimes or you do weird things to cope with feeling overwhelmed, or you have panic attacks, that you ruin people’s lives?”

  I’m silent, because I know the answer and he does, too. I expect that this is the moment he grabs his stuff and walks away. Or tells me to get another ride home. Instead, he laughs.

  “This is really going to suck for you.”

  “What is?” I ask.

  He leans in close so that his lips are right next to my ear, and he whispers, sending goosebumps down my neck and arm, “You’re going to find out that I’m not going to give up on you over something as stupid as that. Then you’re going to realize you’re worth fighting for. And I’m going to be the one to prove it to you.”

  Jumping from the cliff takes my breath away, a rush of excitement flowing through my arms, up around my sternum into my chest cavity where I can feel my heart almost explode out of my chest. The water is chilly as I land and slice through, arms extended, breath held, eyes open. Everything is green and white, bubbles from my lips and nose rising to surface as I begin to exhale.

  My mother is staring back at me from beneath the water, smiling, her hair long and swirling around us both.

  It shocks me and I inhale, suddenly aware that I should be choking, but I’m not. I can breathe. I can breathe underwater?

  I try again, and once more, I am breathing but still submerged. She’s still there, treading along with me, smiling with encouragement, and I reach out to touch her, but my hands are balled into fists. I can’t unclench them, and I watch, panic stricken, as I begin to sink, unable to extend a hand to ask for help, but I am still
breathing, watching her disappear as I sink deeper into the darkness.

  “Audrey, we’re making a stop.” Elliot’s voice pulls me from my dream, and I wake with a start in the front seat of his car, covered in summer afternoon sweat. My feet are bare against his dashboard, and there’s a kink in my neck that reminds me that I am very much alive and most likely not a mermaid that can breathe underwater. This is both a good revelation and something that makes me sad at the same time.

  I’ve never dreamt of my mom before, and it’s left me a little shaken.

  The gas station isn’t very busy, and after I’ve gone to the restroom, I spend a few minutes walking the aisles to see if there’s anything I’d like to eat. Maybe a treat I’d like to get for Elliot to say thank you for just … being himself. There’s a large display of mega-sized Rice Krispy Treats on an end cap, and I grab one, bringing the wrapper to my nose and inhaling to see if I can smell it.

  It’s faint, but the aroma is there, and for a moment, my heart clenches as memories of Patrick bringing plates of them to our little hideout in the backyard come rushing back. Cline could never have just one. He always had one in each hand like his mom could catch him at any moment and he’d have to shove them both in his mouth in a desperate attempt to have one last sweet before going back to the land of juicing and dehydrated fruits.

  I don’t even hear him approach. I can feel him standing behind me before I open my eyes to acknowledge that he’s there. “Do you remember the last time we had these?” I ask.

  Cline reaches over my shoulder and takes one of the packages in his hand, turning the bright blue wrapper around. “Probably when we were twelve. My mom found out your dad had given them to me because they were stuck in my hair.”

  I turn and regard him with a laugh. “Were you trying to save some for a snack later?”

  The look in his eyes is anything but amused. He’s sizing me up like he’s deciding whether or not to ask a question. I’m hyper aware of everything in that space in time. The smell of the store. The crinkle of the wrapper in my hand. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights. How unfocused my eyesight is as I become lightheaded waiting for him to speak.