Calling Mr. Nelson Pugh

by Christopher Opyr

  “Yeah, it is. But you get my point.”

  “No, I don’t want her to grow up to be blind, but if she grows up to be near-sighted and literate, I could live with that.” My foot lodged deeper and deeper. Soon I’d be choking on my knees.

  “Great. Turn this into a joke.” Her tone had grown cold. I had to change gears. A few moments ago, I had been worried for my family’s safety. Now I just wanted to find a way out of what appeared to be a growingly unavoidable butting of heads.

  After years of tolerating my neuroses, Eleanor had obviously become tired of my crazy. The past year had been rough, and I could feel the distance growing between us. I wanted to believe that it all came down to my constant traveling, and hell, maybe that’s what triggered it, but, even if so, the distance was deeper than that alone could explain. Honestly it came down to blind luck that this hadn’t come to a head sooner.

  ***

  “What do you mean by sooner?” I asked, pacing around the bedroom as I did. This was years earlier, before I had started addressing my anxiety. Eleanor still laid in bed, propped against the pillows, her evening book tented in her lap; I, on the other hand, had found myself unable to sit still.

  “You’ve been high strung as long as I’ve known you. Of course, you should have started therapy sooner. I just didn’t want to push you.”

  “Okay.” I pinched at the bridge of my nose. I most definitely did not find the conversation okay. “But now. What’s changed now?”

  “It’s more what hasn’t.” Eleanor shifted her book from her lap to the nightstand. “You’re only getting worse - and the girls are getting older.”

  “You’re afraid it’s going to rub off on the girls.”

  “Anxiety isn’t exactly cooties, so no, but your nerves are more than just simple anxiety and we both know it, whether you get tested or not.”

  I paused bracing myself against an old reading chair in the far corner of the room. “That’s a low blow.”

  Eleanor had brought up testing before, though we had never actually specified what type of testing. Those words always remained unspoken, but we both knew quite well what she meant. She thought that I was on the spectrum; that I had autism.

  I can’t say I bought it. I understood her. I knew my perception of the world was atypical, and that my nervous disposition had severely crippled my upward mobility, but I had never been able to come to grips with that unspoken possibility.

  “Maybe it is low,” she continued. “But nothing else is working. You need to do something, we need to do something, if not for us, then for the girls.”

  “So, I’ll go to therapy, but why this guy?”

  “He comes highly recommended.”

  “Sure. Lots of therapists do.” I turned his card over in my hand. Dr. Daniel Smith, PhD. What a boring name. He sounded pretentious.

  “I could talk to Stan,” I continued. “I think he and Andrea saw someone a few years back. Might still be seeing him. I don’t know.”

  “Her.” Eleanor pulled herself up straighter, bracing her back against the headboard, prepping for the full brunt of the conversation. “And I wouldn’t be so sure she did them any favors,” she continued.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Andrea and Stan aren’t the gold standard of couples, Nelson. And you’re changing the subject anyway.”

  I cricked my neck and slid down into the reading chair. My entire body had gone tense. “Fine, it doesn’t have to be their therapist, but I don’t see why you’re so adamant on this one.”

  “Because it’s a done deal, Nelson. He has a stellar reputation, he has an opening, and he takes our insurance.”

  “You really don’t trust me to do this on my own?”

  “You’ve had years and you never call. You never follow through. You just need a push, that’s all. Show up on Thursday after work. Just give him a try, for us, okay?”

  For ‘us?’ Perhaps she meant us as in her and I, but even then I had been fairly certain she meant us as in her and the girls. Either way it didn’t matter. I’d been too afraid of losing any of them. I knew then that I’d keep that appointment; that I’d start seeing this Dr. Smith; I just didn’t know why him.

  ***

  “Nelson? Are you going to answer?” Damn. I had slipped back into my own head again. The moment – you have to live in the moment, Nelson. The present.

  “Yes.” Again choked. “I’m here. I’m sorry. I’ll tell her that bedtime is bedtime.”

  Nothing. No response.

  “Elly?”

  She sighed. “Never mind. It’s not you. It’s late and I’m tired.”

  Finally, an opening. I had to use it. Of course, even as I thought this, I wondered why I approached everything, even a conversation with my wife, the most important person in my life outside of my children, as if mapping out a war strategy. No time for that – I had to turn this conversation around. V for Victory!

  “Let’s be honest. It’s a little bit me.”

  “Okay. It’s a little bit you.” And there I had it – the sign. Neither a laugh nor a chuckle, nothing so obvious, yet I could hear the coldness slough away.

  “I thought so.” I laughed hoping to lighten the mood as much as possible. Then, from left field – “I miss you.” I didn’t know why I said it, I hadn’t been reaching for, or angling in, that direction, but it spilled out and so much tension with it.

  “I miss you, too.” Elly yawned through the sentiment. Maybe I should let her go, I thought. Maybe I had dragged her through enough of a ringer for one night. With that in mind, I steeled myself to say goodnight and leave on a high note. That’s when she took the decision away from me.

  “About my message earlier… about the pills…”

  “I should have told you.” I relaxed into the pillows. Finally, we had returned to us at our best, the argument fading away and barriers falling. God, I loved her.

  “Do they help?”

  “I took two. It seems to be working. I feel much better now.”

  “You were worried about the calls.” Crap. I could see her shaking her head as clearly as I had seen her smile earlier. “I called three times, Nelson. I needed to know that you arrived. That’s normal.” That word, again – normal. I hated that word. And did she say three times, not seven?

  “Yes, but –-”

  I stopped as the line muted for an instant, another call beeping in. The screen switched out, a pop-up announcing the incoming caller. My mouth dried and I froze.

  Eleanor Calling

  The interruption jolted me awake, out from the tangent that had derailed the conversation. Now I look back and I pick apart that call and I know that it should have been so much more. I had called with a purpose, one that I had soon forgotten. There had been a reason for worry, my panic that night not unfounded but born of something real.

  “Nelson? You faded away.”

  I seized on her earlier comment, the one where she mentioned calling me three times. Perhaps too much time had passed to backtrack and she wouldn’t recall the statement, but my mind often worked like that, taking three steps back and losing my audience. It didn’t matter, though. I had a point and I felt compelled to make it. I couldn’t have stopped myself even if I had bothered to try.

  “I didn’t just get three calls, Elly. I got seven calls. I thought that something had happened.”

  “I only called three times –-”

  No time to let her continue; I jumped in. “Except you also pocket-dialed me. You’re pocket dialing me, right now. You’re my other call.”

  Briefly a moment of conflicted satisfaction set in. I had stood up for myself. I had done so against Eleanor of all people, as much as she meant to me, but I had done so. Part of me wished I had let the issue go. So I had panicked earlier, our call had proven to me that Eleanor was fine, and I would have rather continued in a pleasant conversation with my wife than bring us back to another potential butting of heads. Still, it felt good to take a stand every so often. That satis
faction, however, quickly turned to dust in my mouth.

  I had not been prepared for Eleanor’s response. It came short and simple with sickening implications.

  “Nelson, I’m not calling you.”

  FIVE

  The fear flooded back. Damn it. There had to be a rational explanation.

  “No. It’s your cell phone,” I said, fighting back the incoming rush of panic, desperately seeking to stay afloat. “No mistake. I have you on call waiting right now.”

  I glanced down. The screen had returned to the usual call screen with its assorted options. The other call had stopped.

  “Or I did. I have four voicemails of you pocket-dialing me. I’m probably about to have another.”

  “Nelson, I haven’t seen my phone since I called from the restaurant. I probably lost it. I checked the car, but it’s not there and the restaurant’s already closed up for the night. I’m going to call in the morning. Besides, I’m in bed. There is no way I’m pocket-dialing you right now.”

  “So how are you calling me?” No doubt. The fear broke through and every second it grew exponentially.

  “Maybe someone found my phone. Maybe they’re trying to return it?”

  She had always been the more rational of the two of us. Somehow, she managed to stay grounded no matter how far I let my mind run wild. Yet, she was wrong this time. I knew it. Nothing that she could say had any chance of calming me.

  “And they are calling me instead of the house line?”

  “Why not? You’re my first contact. You’re listed as Husband. That’s who you’d call.”

  It made some sense, but it didn’t explain the messages, the noise, the –-

  -- suddenly my stomach dropped. All of me dropped. The panic overwhelmed me, stronger than any I had ever felt. I had heard Eleanor. On the second voicemail that had been her voice in the background, and my daughters’ voices. If she hadn’t placed those calls, then someone else had.

  “Check on the girls, Eleanor. Check on the girls, now.”

  “I’ve seen this movie, dear. It’s not funny.”

  “I’m serious. I heard you. It was your voice. Check on the girls.” How could I convince her? How could I get her to move right then? I needed time to think, but there was none. Onward.

  “Please, Eleanor - Elly. I heard you. I heard them.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  She was right. I wasn’t making sense, but, but nothing made sense. I had heard Eleanor on the phone, on the voicemail from her cell. Her voice had been in the background, muffled, then clearer. The panic hit into overload. My breathing sped up, and my fingers twitched. Soon the sweats would start.

  “You have to check on the girls, right now. Now!”

  She didn’t answer. I heard Lilo barking downstairs, a high-pitched puppy bark. I could picture her in her playpen, bouncing and barking in happy loops. She always jumped like that for attention; always when she saw… when she saw someone at the door.

  “Elly?! Are you there?”

  “Sorry. Someone’s knocking.”

  Never in my life had my panic felt so justified as it did in that moment. She couldn’t answer that door. Not that night. I knew deep down that if she did, then I would never speak to her again.

  “Don’t answer it.”

  “It’s probably just Mrs. Kelly next door, locked out again.”

  “You don’t know that. You have to listen. I heard you on the phone. I heard the girls. Someone has your phone! Someone is there! Someone is watching you!”

  “Nelson, you’re having a panic attack. You’re going to hyperventilate.” She was right on both counts, but I didn’t care.

  “Great. Stay on the phone. Talk me down.”

  “I can’t do this every time,” she said. “This is why I asked you to see Dr. Smith.” It went something like that. I don’t know. I had stopped listening. I knew I was missing something. Think… think – crap!

  I remembered it. Concern. Before the door.

  “No. Not me. Forget me.” My breathing quickened. It would be a miracle if she could understand me through the panting. Too fast. Take in some air. Keep going.

  “Check on the girls,” I continued. A reason… need a reason. I had to find some way to convince her; and that was when it began. The panic in overdrive, the wave of anxiety hit. That was my moment. If I could catch that wave, I could ride it in. I could let my mental autopilot take over and just maybe I could guide my wife through this – I could make her see the danger that I saw.

  “The dog and the door.” Damn. Complete thoughts. Not there. My breathing came too fast. Too rapid now. Had to try. Slow it down.

  I jumped back in. “They probably woke up, Elly. Check them.”

  “Nelson, I’ll be just a minute. I’ll check outside before I open the door. Do that exercise that you do. Breathe in, count, and calm down.”

  “No. Forget Mrs. Kelly. Let her bother a different neighbor.”

  Nothing.

  “Elly! Eleanor!”

  Too late. She had put down the receiver and left. I couldn’t do anything but wait. I had failed.

  FOUR

  I slid off of the bed and onto the carpet with a loud thump. I didn’t even notice the pain as my hip banged against the bed frame, nor as my ass slammed on the barely padded floor. That pain would come, but in that moment the outside world did not exist, not beyond my phone. The only thing that meant anything was the faint sounds of a house some one hundred and seventy miles away. But Eleanor’s voice had vanished and I could hear only the distant sounds of retreating footsteps.

  Even that world blurred and faded as my breathing accelerated. I had gone light-headed and the world had begun to spin. I had to calm myself immediately. Slowly, I took a deep breath.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Ten. Nine. Eight.

  When Eleanor returned to the line I needed to be calm and rational. Convincing her that she was in real danger would take all of my faculties.

  Five. Four. Three.

  If I couldn’t make her understand, then that failure would be on me. All that might result would be my fault. But what, what would that be?

  One. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Still stressed. The exercise done, my breathing sped back up instantly. This wasn’t working. Not yet.

  Repeat.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Ten. Nine. Eight.

  This wasn’t about fault.

  Seven. Six.

  So what if I was or wasn’t in the clear of some unknown outcome. This was about Elly.

  Five. Four.

  This was about the girls.

  Three. Two.

  This was about my family.

  One. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Focused. Better.

  My breathing hadn’t returned to normal, but it had definitely slowed. I was no longer hyperventilating.

  Somewhat grounded once again, I took stock of the situation and I knew that I should call the cops. I reached for the hotel phone.

  “Nelson.”

  Oh, thank God! Elly was back.

  “Nelson, it’s okay.”

  “It was Mrs. Kelly?” Had I lost it over nothing? I had been so sure, but it occurred to me that maybe my imagination really had run unbelievably off base. This wouldn’t have been the first time. Could it be happening again? Was this another full-blown episode?

  “I don’t know. Whoever it was, they were gone.” She paused. “Are you better now?”

  “Yes,” I lied. No matter what doubts snuck in, nothing had convinced me that Elly and my daughters were safe. Who knocks in the middle of the night and then just disappears? Could that be a coincidence or was it connected to the calls?

  “Good,” she said. “I think we need to try something new. We need to talk to Dr. Smith about other options.”

  I knew this was coming. These conversations always came after an episode. That night, however, I hoped that I could use this particular conversation to my advantage. I could feel the wave retur
ning.

  “I will,” I said, lining up to catch the ride in. “As soon as I get back. But first I need you to do something for me.”

  “Nelson, this isn’t a negotiation. This is serious. You were completely panicked. Crazy panicked.”

  “I know. You’re right.” Give a litte. Put her in charge, I thought. People like to be in charge. It makes them happy. Yes, the full wave was here, and I was on board and ready.

  “If you keep up like this, you’re going to have a heart attack before you’re fifty.”

  “I won’t let that happen. I’ll take pills. I’ll exercise. I’ll see all the doctors you want.” Make her happy. When they’re happy, they listen better. Mediocre talent is still better than no talent. Keep it going.

  “Don’t just placate me. It’s not about what I want. It’s about what’s best for you.” Too far. A miss. Line back up.

  “I’m serious. Even if it means I go somewhere… for you know… a while…”

  No response from Eleanor. I had stopped her cold.

  “… to get help,” I continued.

  “Are you talking about checking yourself…” She trailed off. She didn’t want to say it, did she? I let her finish; it would mean more if she did it herself. After a long pause she finally let herself continue. “… checking yourself into a hospital?”

  “If that’s what it takes. I’m not going to leave you, okay? You understand me? I’ll get tested. Whatever we need to do.”

  The silence dragged out. I had no doubt Eleanor had snapped wide-awake now and she was concerned. Of course, her concern was misplaced, directed toward the wrong person. I had regained some control, but deep down, I still knew that my paranoia was on point. Someone had called. That someone had been at the door. And that someone had been watching Elly.

  Instinct took over. I held onto the wave, following it wherever it took me. If I looked back the panic would swallow me whole. And then… No, I didn’t want to think about what would happen then.