Page 3 of The Way I Am Now
“Edy,” Mara scolds at the same time Steve is shouting, “No!”
“Joking,” I say with a smile. It’s also been four months since I’ve done anything bad. Though my therapist would tell me to replace bad with “unhealthy.” I haven’t done any drinking or guys or smoking of any substances at all. I’m still not sure how taking these pills when I get overwhelmed is any different from the otherunhealthystuff. Not sure who decides what’s good and what’s bad. But I’m doing it anyway, following these rules, because I want to get better, be better. I really do.
Walking up from the parking lot, we pass a group of college kids with drinks in their hands, hanging out around this old wooden picnic table that looks like it’s being partially held up by the concrete walls of the building. Their cigarette smoke calls to me as we walk by, and I watch them laughing and spilling their drinks. If Steve weren’t holding on to my hand so tightly, if things weren’t different now, I’d imagine myself drifting toward them, finding an easy space to fit for the night.
But thingsaredifferent now; that kind of easy doesn’t seem to exist for me anymore.
At the door we’re each issued a neon-pinkUNDER 21wristband that the guy puts on me, grazing the inside of my wrist as he does so. I know it’s nothing, but I already feel somehow violated by that small touch, yet also strangely numb to it.
It’s too tight, the wristband. I tug on it to see if there’s any give, but they’re the paper kind that you can’t tear off or squeeze over your wrist.
Mara doesn’t seem bothered by hers at all, so I try to forget it.
Music’s thumping from the speakers. Everywhere I look people are drinking, laughing, shouting. Someone bumps into me, and I know, I know my body should be feeling something about all this. That old shock of adrenaline, heart racing, breath quickening. But there’s nothing. Except for that disappearing feeling again, except this time it doesn’t kick off a panic attack. It just makes me feel like part of me isn’t really here. And I’m suddenly unsure if I can trust myself to even know whether I’m safe or not with that part of me dormant.
This time I hold on to Steve’s hand tighter as he leads us closer to the stage. Mara takes my other hand, and when I look back at Cameron holding hers, I’m reminded of kindergarten recess, little kids forming a human chain to walk across the street to get to the playground. I hate that I need this now.
“You good?” Mara says, close to my ear, as bodies start to pack in around us.
I nod.
And I am. Sort of. Through the first set of the opening band, I’m good. I even let myself sway a little. Not dance or jump or move my hips or close my eyes and touch my boyfriend the way Mara is doing that makes it look so easy. It’s different, chemically, the absence of alcohol, the presence of this medication clouding my head instead.
By the time the band—Steve’s favorite band, the one we came to see—takes the stage, I feel myself emerging again. Softly at first. There’s that familiar jagged heartbeat in my chest and my breathing comes undone and messy, the bass reverberating in my skull. “It’s okay,” I whisper, unable to hear my own voice in my head over the music. I let go of Steve’s hand. My palms are getting sweaty. And I’m suddenly very aware of every part of my body that’s touching other people’s bodies as they bump up against me.
I look around now, too quickly, taking in everything I missed when we arrived, all at once. I spot our school colors; a varsity jacket catches the lights from the stage. I immediately get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach—I don’t know why I hadn’t counted on seeing people from school tonight. We’re here, after all. But then I see him in clips, flashes, his head back, laughing. Jock Guy. One of Josh’s old friends.
No. I’m imagining things. I close my eyes for a second. Reset.
But when I open them, he’s still there. It’s definitely Jock Guy. The one who found me at my locker that day after school. The one who chased me down the hall. The one who wanted to scare me, wanted me to pay for my brother beating Josh up. I face the front, look at the stage. It’s now. Not then. But I can’t help myself; I look over again. Close my eyes again. Hear his voice again in my ear.I hear you’re real dirty.
My head is pounding now.
I clear my throat, or try to. “Steve!” I yell, but he can’t hear me. I place my hand on his shoulder, and he looks down at me. I cup my hands around my mouth, and he leans in. I’m practically shouting in his ear. “I’m gonna step out.”
“What?” he yells.
I point toward the exit.
“You all right?” he shouts.
I nod. “Yeah, I just feel weird.”
“What?” he yells again.
“Headache,” I shout back.
“Want me to come?”
I shake my head. “Stay, really.”
He looks back and forth between me and the band. “You sure?”
“Yes, it’s just a headache.” But I’m not sure he hears.
Mara notices me leaving and grabs my arm. She’s saying something I can’t make out.
“It’s just a headache,” I tell her. “I’ll be back.”
