Kicking off my sheets, I release a frustrated growl. What is wrong with me?
Once I pull on a pair of sweat shorts, I pad over to mom’s room. “Mom, you up?”
“Come in,” she answers as I’m already pushing her door open. She rakes her hand through her short spiky hair and closes her e-reader. “You’re up early.”
“I know. I was wondering about going to that appointment you made for today. Did you actually cancel it?”
“Nope,” she quirks her eyebrows. “It’s still on. I was going to make one last-ditch effort to convince you and maybe throw in a bribe. I was pretty sure I’d be taking the appointment for myself instead.”
Swishing my foot through the carpet a few times, I try to fight back tears. “I feel like I’m always crying.”
Her arms are out so I jump on her bed and let her pull me in. A few tears trickle down my cheek as I wish there were more words to explain what I’m feeling. She smooths her hand over my hair and says she’ll drive me to meet with the therapist at 9:30.
****
The office behind the waiting room is a little smaller than my bedroom. The walls are a muted gray and the two paintings hung on opposite sides are abstract swishes and swooshes of rich yellows and cool blues.
A short, pale-skinned woman with a bronze-streaked bob extends her hand. “Hi Bree. I’m Donna Jarron. You can call me Donna if you’d like. Please, have a seat.”
I grip her hand for a second and scan the seating options. A floral print loveseat is flush against the wall and a burgundy chair hugs a corner. I hold back a joke about the window being my best bet.
“Thanks,” I say and plant myself on the chair. “I thought couches were just a cliché. I didn’t know shrinks or therapists actually use them.” I keep my tone light as I wipe my damp palms on my jeans.
“Maybe so, but it’s comfortable so I keep it around.” Her smile is brief and I’m worried she’s analyzing me for making jokes already.
There’s a short break of silence as she flips open a small black notebook on the table next to her. She lifts a pen and says, “I’ll be taking notes occasionally during our session, do you mind?”
“No, it’s fine.” I take a small sip from the half-empty water bottle I’d brought in.
“But don’t worry, I’m listening. I’m usually not much of a note taker except for first sessions.”
I say, “it’s fine” again.
As I’m wondering when we’re going to get on with it, she asks why I’m here.
“My mom brought me, so I guess that’s why.” My leather bag that I’d shoved in-between my thigh and the edge of the seat crowds me. I wedge it out and drop it to the floor.
Her smile is genuine. “You might not have wanted to but I’m glad you’re here. Jumping into the unknown is brave. What made you decide to come?”
I dig my palm into my knee to stop it from bobbing up and down. I don’t want her thinking I’m crazy. “Something bad happened a few weeks ago and all of a sudden I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to pass out but instead I just hyperventilated for a while and then I cried and it was over. My mom said it was a panic attack. She said maybe I have some things I should deal with.”
Donna nods her head. “Was this the first time you experienced a panic attack?”
“I guess I get panic-y about stuff. But I’m not really sure what you mean by a panic attack. I thought that was just a word for like, freaking out.”
Donna gives me another one of her soft smiles. She reaches for her notebook and paper, and says, “Tell me what happens when you’re feeling anxious or nervous.”
“Sure,” I say. I take another couple sips of water and wish I’d brought a full bottle. Apparently counseling makes me thirsty. “I get little stomachaches when I’m worried about something. And my heart races. Like, a lot. My hands get sweaty and sometimes it feels like I won’t be able to breathe. It can feel like something is clogging my throat and my lungs are having to do triple the work to, I don’t know, keep me breathing. When I’m really anxious, it’s like I’m seconds away from suffocating.” My eyes tear up. “I guess I’m just kind of a freak about some things, you know.”
She jots down a note or two, and then raises her head again. “What types of situations are you in when you get this anxiety?”
The view of the parking lot from the window up here is pretty clear and I wonder if anyone can see me. I slump farther in my seat. “All kinds of situations, I guess. Like going to parties or being at a party. Sometimes just walking into the cafeteria even when I know I already have friends to sit by. I feel like I’m overthinking every little thing, even when good things are happening. Sometimes it’s little things but then sometimes it’s not.” I rub my finger against the ridges of the water bottle. “I don’t know. This is kind of embarrassing.”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean by embarrassing?”
“Telling you about how I overreact to things. Some of these things shouldn’t bother me.” I frown and give the water bottle one last sip of air. I shake the empty bottle and drop it into my bag.
“It sounds like you’re an introvert and sometimes lots of people can be overwhelming. Why do you feel you shouldn’t be bothered by these things?”
“It just doesn’t feel normal. So many things stress me out. Usually it’s the stuff I told you about, but today I woke up and wasn’t even thinking about anything yet. My heart started beating really, really fast. It felt like I was having a heart attack or something. It was scary.”
“How did you know you weren’t?”
“It happened so fast that I didn’t have much time to think. I just had time to tell myself to stop freaking out. Then, as my breath started coming back to me, I realized that the whole thing felt a lot like the other times. Except this time I wasn’t even stressing about anything. No one was fighting, no one had just died, I just woke up.” I sigh and make eye contact before staring back to the floor and the scuffs on my old red Converse. “What’s wrong with me? Is this something crazy or do I have heart problems?”
“Well,” Donna smiles. “I’m not one for the word crazy, but either way, no. You’re having some physical reactions to your anxiety and you’ve probably experienced a panic attack or two. But it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
I narrow my eyes with a slight smile. “Can you just prescribe me a pill so I can chill out? You know, a chill pill?”
She returns my smile. “You’d need a psychiatrist for that. But I can definitely work with you on some ways to deal with your anxiety. So far, you talked a bit about little things bothering you. But you did mention something about fighting and dying. Are those things you worry about?”
“Yeah,” I say as the muscles in my back tighten. I hunch over, folding my arms tightly across my lap. “Those are a couple of the things I’ve been dealing with lately. My parents fought a lot. A lot. It was a lot of screaming and yelling. Then they divorced. And one of my classmates, someone I knew, died. I didn’t help her and she died. It’s like everything is broken and since I can’t fix anything, so am I.”
My breaths quicken and my knee bounces again as I wait for this lady to tell me how much of a mess I am.
Donna’s eyes meet mine. She doesn’t frown or look like she feels sorry for me. Her face is certain and sure. She nods. “This makes sense, Bree. You were alone in a house with two adults, fighting and yelling. But those were their problems. Let the adults be the adults. There was nothing you could do to stop it. And now you’ve lost someone? These are life-changing events. It sounds like you’re holding on to a lot of guilt for choices you didn’t make. All of these things would be stressful for anyone in your situation. It’s not out of the ordinary to feel the way you’ve been feeling. Even without the ‘big things’ as you called them, anything and everything you’re dealing with is real. You get worried about things, places, people. Other situations that are unknown to you, things you might not be able to control. Your mind gets put on ‘alert’ and you
r body responds to that as well. That is your reality. It’s how you’ve dealt with things in order to survive. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
The second I realize she’s telling me it’s okay to feel the way I’ve been feeling, I lose it. My shoulders shake as a sob falls from my mouth. A huge, giant wave comes over me and a million sighs of relief pour down my face disguised as teardrops.
Donna steps over to me and for a second I’m worried she’s going to hug me but she doesn’t. She reaches for the tissues on the table next to me and sets the box in my palm. As she sits back down, I probably use a hundred tissues to blow my nose and wipe my face.
Once I finish crying, Donna leans back in her chair and asks, “Crying can be really cathartic. How does it feel to release those emotions?”
“It’s a little awkward, I guess. Not in a bad way, but just because I’m surprised it was easy to talk to you.” I sniff and wipe my nose again. “It feels like someone saw everything I’m dealing with and finally heard me. And you still said I’m okay.”
Donna then talks a little about learning some coping skills to “add tools to my tool belt.” It’s hard not to actually imagine her wearing a bulky leather belt and passing me a hammer as she gives me tips on breathing. She says that trying to fight the anxiety by telling it to go away is usually going to make it worse. “Don’t just tell yourself to calm down and breathe. Try not to put so much energy into pushing away the fears and anxieties. Acknowledge them and allow yourself a moment or however long you need with those feelings. Do your best to take longer, slower breaths. Keep breathing, and keep going.”
I want to tell Donna everything about Maisey, and maybe even about Sean, but our time is up. When I told Mom I wanted to do this appointment today, I thought I’d just come in here and this lady would tell me what to do about feeling so mad at myself about Maisey. I thought she might tell me what to do about going to Prom without Sean, but I didn’t even have time for that.
When Donna says she’d like to see me again next week, I say, “All right, sure.” As if that was my plan all along.
Stepping out of her office, I feel lighter and at the same time, a little heavier. Maybe it’s because I realize I have a lot more shit to deal with than I thought. Or maybe it’s because this appointment helped and now dealing with things might be a little easier. It’s as if now I’m wearing some armor and if things get bad, I won’t always have to run away. I guess I’ll find out.
****
After relaying some of my therapy session with Mom over brunch, the day feels like it should already be over. But it’s not. It’s still Prom Day. Too-much-crap-in-my-head-today day.
Once I’m finally back at home and kicking back in my bed, I set my alarm for one hour so I can take a nap.
First thought when I wake up is about Maisey. My heart twinges a little. Reaching into the drawer of my bedside table, I grab her letter. Sean’s, which was on top of it, falls to the floor. I reread them both. I don’t cry this time. For me or either of them. I have some ideas. Sure they probably won’t have me coming out on top, but it’s Prom night. There’s only a week left of school. Not much left to lose. And face it, Jane was right, I’m alone.
Around five, I head over to Kallie’s so we can do our hair and makeup together.
Kallie groans. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to dinner with me and Todd? I don’t think I can sit through a whole meal with him, alone.”
I laugh. “You made that bed, you’re gonna lie in it. By yourself. But make sure you order the most expensive meal.”
“Of course. I’ll probably order two. But what if we pick you up on the way to the dance? That way you can arrive with us?”
“Kal, really, I’m fine. I’m gonna go home, eat pizza with my mom, and go to the dance around eight. I’ll see you there.”
Kallie’s mom and dad take a few pictures of us. Me smiling, still in jeans with my hair up and makeup done, and Kallie is even more stunning in her dress than she was yesterday.
“I can’t believe it’s finally here. The night we’ve been waiting forever for. Sucks that these guys had to mess everything up, right?” Kallie shakes her head.
“When it comes down to it, I’m not sure if it was the guys that messed everything up. I think we kind of led ourselves here, to this point.”
“You might be onto something, Dr. Hughes, but no way am I admitting to it. Hells no. I’m blaming Todd all night long.” She checks her phone for the time. “Speaking of snakes, he should be here any minute.”
“That’s my cue to leave. Tell your parents I’m taking a walk to the point before I head home.” I hug her and head down the trail that Sean and I walked, holding hands, only weeks ago.
At the bottom of the hill, I sit facing the water, raking my hands across the sand. I watch the water moving beneath the setting sun and wonder if Sean is reading my letter. The letter I left at his door after standing there motionless for at least five minutes this afternoon.
When I finally forced my finger to push his doorbell, I slipped the letter in the door, and jumped back into my car. A little more cowardly than I’d planned but at least I’d gone through with it.
Hey Sean Mills
I miss you.
If you can spare it,
please save the last dance for me.
Love,
Bree Hughes
****
I drive to the school around 8:45, taking my time. I feel good. My mom hugged me before I left, and I’m pretty sure her eyes were proud this time instead of pitying. My Aunt Jen, pair of emergency silver heels in tow, told me I’ve never looked more beautiful. I check my sun visor mirror and believe her. Grinning, I pump Maroon 5’s latest song the whole way to the dance, feeling like a rock star.
Pulling into the school parking lot, there are a few scattered cars and limos pulling up to the door. Apparently I’m not the only one fashionably late. Stepping out of my car, I reach into the backseat for the clutch purse Mom gave me. As I reach for it, something shines from the floor. My silver shoes. The ones I thought Jane stole. Oops.
I slam my door and head toward the main doors.
“Bree!”
Sitting on the hood of his dad’s fancy red BMW convertible is Chip. He’s smoking a cigarette and sharing a beer with my drop-dead pretty neighbor Langley Stone. Langley was last year’s Prom Queen and is this year’s head waitress at Crystal Wood Cabins, the restaurant slash souvenir shop known for their sexy-tacky bar-maid slash lumberjack uniforms.
“Hey Bree,” Chip nods.
Instead of fighting heart palpitations and fear, this time I look him straight in the eye. “Hi Chip.”
“Nice speech at the pep rally. You got my vote.”
“Thanks,” I say, fighting an impulse to roll my eyes. “Hey Langley. What’re you up to?”
“Just hangin’ with Chip. Guess I’m his date. Plus I gotta crown the new Queen, passing on my torch, ya know. Good luck.” She smiles, flicking ash onto the gravel.
Making my way through the back parking lot, I tiptoe to keep my heels from sinking into the gravel. Once I hit pavement, I click short strides to the stairway leading to the double doors. I take one at a time instead of my usual two. I push a stray curl from my face and slide my hands over my dress, smoothing the silver shimmers hugging my body.
An army of sophomore girls and Judy, the school secretary, guard the door. All in red and black.
“Just one?” asks a sophomore girl looking over my shoulder.
“Absolutely one,” I say. I tell her my name.
“I know who you are,” she smiles. “Here you go.” She hands me a slip of paper and says the ballot box is near the gymnasium doors. I scrunch the paper into my grandma’s beaded clutch bag, unsure of whether I’ll vote or not. The thump of bass leads me to the gym while the lyrics command me to “get on the floor.”
The gym looks like any other Prom I’ve seen in the movies. Kids dancing, school faculty scattered around the edges. Punch and snack
table, DJ at the front, giant speakers. And there’s a shitload of streamers and balloons in red, black, and silver. A little morbid, but overall, it looks pretty sharp. A lot cooler than I’d expected. Good news is there aren’t any werewolf or vampire cutouts in sight. I shrug and scan the crowd.
“Bree! Over here!” Sam and Kendall wave their hands from their Parties of One group by the DJ booth. I hang with them for a while and then Kallie finds me and drags me onto the dance floor. I stare over her shoulder at Sean, Todd, and Jane standing over some tables in a corner. Sean’s eyes meet mine and I smile just as a hand grips my bicep.
“Do you guys know what happened to all of our cutouts?” Shandy yells in my ear.
“No,” I yell, pulling my arm away. “Why?”
“Someone stole them. Our committee spent a lot of money on those, you know. A lot.”
“I have no idea. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
She stalks away, looking back twice to glare over her shoulder at us.
“Shit. She’s onto us.” Kallie laughs.
“Wait, do you know where they are?” I ask.
“No, but it’s the thought that counts. Justin said he brought tacky underwear to tape on them but when he got here, they were already gone. Someone beat us to it. Still would’ve been funnier to see a vampire in valentine boxer briefs.”
“Or a werewolf in a tight purple thong?” I laugh. “Shandy’s pissed. I’ve never seen her this mad before.”
“I know! It’s awesome.” Kallie spins me around and we dance until a slow song comes on.
Molly and Justin glide to the middle of the dance floor while Jane pulls Sean up from the table. He tugs his hand from hers but still follows her onto the floor. I hang with the Parties of One group, eating black cupcakes, trying to sip blood red punch without staining my teeth. I open my clutch to check my phone for imaginary missed calls and texts every five minutes while everyone goes all fashion police on everyone’s formals.
Liars and Losers Like Us Page 21
