So I can stand by your side.
Ty—
Hush. There’s still time.
And there was, though it went by faster than either of us wanted it to.
I’d wake up and he’d be sleeping at my side.
I’d be reading Brave New World and feel his fingers in my hair.
He laughed, that broken, rusty sound.
His hand in mine, fingers intertwined.
Looming above me as I called out his name, my head rocking back, his lips against my neck.
Holding me when the earth shook beneath me when I woke from a dream where Julie had taken Mrs. Paquinn away from me. I tried to tell him it was real, it was all so real, and the kite flew so high, but I couldn’t get it out past the air lodged in my throat and lungs. He rubbed my back as he whispered in my ear. He said, I’m here, I promise it’ll be okay, and Breathe, Ty. Just breathe. You can do this because it’s who you are. You’re bigger than this. You’re stronger than this.
And I was. For a while. For him.
Dartmouth agreed to take me back. On probation, of course. You’ll have to be exemplary, the guidance counselor warned. One misstep and you’re gone.
There wouldn’t be. Not this time.
The date grew closer.
I’ll come and see you, he argued.
I shook my head. No. I need to do this. Can’t you understand?
He could. I know he could. But he said, No. No, Tyson. I can’t. You’re being ridiculous. I know you think you need to go away, and that’s fine. But to cut everyone off?
I’m not, I told him. We can talk as much as you want. I’m not cutting everyone off. I am asking for a chance to take a step on my own.
And round and round it went.
Until I left.
Those four words. He knew. Somehow, he knew. He always did.
I’ve had good days over the past four months. I’ve had bad days. I had one day, brought on by nothing more than a fleeting memory (a knock on the door and she’s there, saying, Hi, Tyson! Hi, I’m here! I’ve missed you and I’m here!) that caused me to seize up and struggle to breathe. There’s no bathtub in the apartment. It’s why I moved here.
I ended up under the bed that day. It passed, as these things do. Eventually, I could breathe.
Therapy helped. Now that I allowed it to. It’s easy to be told what my issues are. The hard part is finding a way to fix them.
It probably helped that I started to listen. Never underestimate the power of giving a shit. Trust me when I say it works wonders.
There’s no magical cure. There’s no sudden miracle where one day I’ll wake up and everything that’s plagued me will be a thing of the past. It doesn’t work that way. No matter how much I want it to. It just doesn’t happen. That’s life, though.
But there are ways to push through it. There are ways to beat it back.
I’m Tyson Thompson, formerly Tyson McKenna, aka the Kid. And I can beat anything.
But it’s easier when there’s someone like him waiting.
I talked to him almost every day. About nothing. And everything.