He belongs to Stacey. Sweet, innocent Stacey, whose last name I never bothered to learn until it was on a wedding invitation, because she wasn’t permanent. She was just a phase. I knew I was young. I knew that. But I also knew that one day, Dominic would look at me like I looked at him, and he would just smile and say, There you are. I see you now. I see you for what you are to me. Thank you for waiting. I’m sorry it took so long.
I would go to school. I would become something grand. I would change the world for the better. Animals would live! The elderly would live! PETA would become something other than the joke it has devolved into today (I never thought I’d see the day when PETA would be accused of killing animals. Fascists!).
And Dom? Dom would be by my side the whole way. We’d conquer the world together, and no one would stop us, no one could tell us no. I have Bear and Otter, because they are mine, but they also belong to each other. Dom? He belonged to me. I knew this. With whatever clear-eyed, rosy view of the world I had, I knew this. With all of my heart. With all of my soul. As a kid (Kid), he was my best friend. When I got old enough to understand such things, it became something more.
So, Doc. I may be smart, smarter than someone like me probably should be. I know things other people don’t. Hard facts. Science. Math. I know these things, but for the life of me, I believed in something I felt was real, that turned out to be anything but.
And when I found this out, I did the worst thing of all.
I ran away.
But that’s not all, Doc. That’s not all it is. It’s unfair to put this all on him. I may have mommy issues too, but that’s another story for another time. Suffice to say, Doc, I may have a hard time trusting people. I am, after all, a product of my environment.
Just give me the pills, Doc. Make it all go away.
Wouldn’t you know? The doctor did.
And it did go away. For a time. I didn’t need the bathtub because I didn’t need anything.
Dominic tried to call me. I ignored him.
He came to New Hampshire. He was sent away.
“I know what you want,” I heard Bear say to him once. “Believe me, I do. I probably know better than anyone else. But you can’t, Dom. Not now. He may not be a kid anymore, but he’s my Kid. He’s hurting right now, and even though you didn’t do anything wrong, I find myself having to stop from reaching over and bashing your head in. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. You’re family, big guy, but right now, you’re not what he needs.”
I took more drugs and drifted away. Benzodiazepines are great when you don’t want to care.
Then came the day when Bear and Otter sat me down, and I noticed, for the first time in a long time, the tightness around Bear’s eyes, lines that hadn’t been there before. The thin stretch of his lips. The anger and the worry warring in his eyes. I hadn’t seen that in such a long time. Not since Julie came again to the hospital where Mrs. Paquinn died, where Otter almost died.
And I’d put it there.
“I think I need to stop taking the pills,” I said.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Otter said.
“You better fucking believe it is,” Bear said. “Can you do it?”
It turned out I could. It was hard, but I could. The panic disorder reared its ugly head after a while, and I’d be sitting in class, the youngest person there by two years, when I’d think of the most random thing. It wouldn’t even need to have any weight, any meaning, or be anything bad.
Once, I thought about how Dom and I had once sat on the hood of his car after Bear and Otter’s wedding on the beach. The sun was setting, and we watched as Bear and Otter danced in the sand to a song only they could hear.
Another time, I wondered (though I tried to stop myself) what life would have been like had Julie taken me like she said she was going to.
That one was bad. That one was all-encompassing.
That one brought me to Corey.
I’d been sitting on a bench outside the science library at the start of my second year, taking in the fall air, the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, and I thought, What a gorgeous day. What a gorgeous day, and what if she’d taken me away? What if she’d taken me away and I never saw Bear again, and I never saw Otter again, and I never got to meet Dominic and I lived with her in a shitty apartment with people I didn’t know with a life I didn’t know, and what if?
They can hit like that sometimes. Most of the time, I can feel them coming after a particularly stressful day or if something truly awful happens. Those are the days I can batten down the hatches and psych myself up for them.
But sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they come out of nowhere. And those are the bad ones, the ones that are hard to get out of the way from.
&nbs
p; I didn’t get out of the way of that one.
One moment it was sunny and smelling like wet leaves, and the next I was gasping for air, unable to breathe because all I could think about was her and what if and oh, God, I’m dying and drowning and I can’t catch my breath. These attacks aren’t rational things. I may be smart and a little bit naïve (okay, okay, delusional, as well), but when I’m in its grip, I am sure it will be the last time.