“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Tabitha gives me a weird little smile then wanders off to devil someone else. Whatever. I’m still going to the auditorium at lunch.
After school we go straight to Dr. Cooper’s office. He does this thing that he does sometimes where he just starts the session by saying “Well?” then expects me to just start talking. I shrug. There’s really nothing to say. After five minutes he finally realizes I’m not in a talking mood.
“You promised your parents and me last week that you were going to talk about how you feel,” he prompts. “It seems you’ve changed your mind about our agreement?”
“I just don’t have anything new to say.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what’s happened in the last week? Just start talking and we’ll see where it leads, okay?” I shrug. I roll my eyes. I sigh.
“Uh, my friend woke up and we did the whole forgiveness thing so like, I’m not sad anymore,” is how I start. I shrug again. “My girlfriend and I broke up so that kinda sucked but I guess it’s better this way.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I just said it’s better this way so…I feel okay I guess?” It goes on like this for the rest of the hour. I admit to a few moments of anxiety but assure Dr. Cooper that I’ve had no panic attacks. I don’t admit to the insomnia. I’m sure that’s a Xanax side effect or something but I know he’ll just jump to the conclusion that I’m depressed or anxious. When there are still ten minutes left in my session he calls my mom into the office.
“Mrs. Blakely, I just want to know if you have any concerns this week?” he asks. She looks at me then nods. Traitor.
“Noah isn’t eating or sleeping…” I cut her off.
“I AM eating and sleeping. Don’t say I’m not doing either. Maybe my appetite isn’t what it usually is but it’s not like I’m starving or anything.” I look to the doctor. “Take me off these frickin pills and I bet I can eat an entire pizza by myself.”
“He’s still a little argumentative which isn’t really like him,” Mom continues as if I hadn’t interrupted.
“Argumentative? Just because I tell you I’m not hungry when you try to make me eat more and just because YOU insist I’m not sleeping when I actually am that doesn’t make me argumentative.”
“Noah, you seem to be getting quite defensive,” Dr. Cooper observes.
“Because none of what she’s saying is true! Look, I had a rough week or so. I admit that. See? I can be objective. I had to fly twice which I hate. I won’t deny that. That messed me up a bit. My friend almost died and yeah, that made me sad and all of that but I’m fine now. I’m not flying any time soon. My friend is going to be fine and we mended the rift we had.
“Can’t we just be honest here? I’m a teenager. Sometimes we behave badly. Sometimes we’re a little more emotional than someone that’s more mature. Why do you have to act like it’s more than that?” I cross my arms over my chest so they can’t see me shaking.
“Mom, do you have anything to say to Noah?” Dr. Cooper urges. My mom looks at me with such sympathy in her eyes that I have to look away. I glare at Dr. Cooper instead.
“Noah, your dad and I can see that things are slipping a bit. We didn’t know what to look for before but we do now and we’re worried. We just want to catch you before you fall, okay? I don’t think you can be objective. I don’t think you’re really being honest with us or yourself. Noah, please just let us help you.”
“Before, before, before, it always comes down to before!” I yell, surprising even myself. “Are you ever going to let me forget that?! Are you ever going to forgive me?” and just like that I’m crying in the damned shrink’s office again. Well at least now he has to feel like I’m communicating or something.
“Sweetie, there’s nothing to forgive,” Mom says putting her arm around me and squeezing. “It’s not a matter of forgiveness. Don’t even think of it that way. But forget? Honey, we CAN’T forget because if we do…” she stops to get herself under control or something. Her voice is shaking as much as my body is right now. “If we ever forget we’re afraid we might lose you.”
After all of this time, they still don’t believe I’m okay now. It doesn’t matter how much therapy I have. It doesn’t matter how many drugs I take. They’re always going to think of me as “fragile” Noah that could just lose it at any moment.
In the end Dr. Cooper decides that my next appointment will be a family session. I’m not sure how I’m going to get away with noncommittal answers and vague talk about feelings with both of my parents sitting there. I’m already stressing about it. Dr. Cooper also changes the dosage of the Xanax and prescribes beta blockers. Apparently it’s some kind of heart drug that can alleviate the physical symptoms of a panic attack. I’m supposed to take them in advance if I know I have to do something that usually causes stress. I don’t know how he thinks this will help. It’s not often that I actually know ahead of time that something’s going to trigger me other than flying.
At dinner that night Mom tells Dad all about my session. He’s very interested in the family session Dr. Cooper has planned. He asks me about my outburst and the crying and I just shrug and push roast beef around my plate. My lack of appetite has definitely inspired my mom to make more appealing meals but Dad is the only one really benefitting from them. When I push my chair back to leave the table Dad stops me.
“You aren’t going anywhere until you clean that plate,” he says sternly.
“Why don’t you guys get it? I’m not hungry. The damned Xanax…”
“No excuses, Noah! Eat your dinner and then you may be excused,” Dad yells. I force roast beef, mashed potatoes and peas down my throat then drop my fork on my plate and stomp away from the kitchen without being excused. I spend the next half hour doubled over in bed with stomach pain. Something has to give. How can I convince them I’m fine when they insist on believing otherwise?
By Friday I still haven’t had a good night’s sleep, gone to lunch in the cafeteria or talked to Max. My head aches. My body hurts. My heart itself hurts. I’m exhausted. I’m anxious and I don’t really have a reason why. I try to work it out at lunchtime while I’m sitting in the dark auditorium. What I need to do right now is be honest with myself.
I was doing fine. I had a few panic attacks since we moved to Lansing but nothing I couldn’t handle. I haven’t had a panic attack since they started making me take the Xanax regularly. Okay, so panic disorder is in check.
Anxiety? Yeah, I definitely have had some anxiety. I spiraled pretty quickly when I went to see Max in the hospital, convincing myself in seconds that he was going to die. I don’t know where the anxiety is coming from. I don’t know what has me on edge. Sometimes I can figure it out like if I need to fly and I get freaked or like when we first moved here and I was anxious but I’m not sure what’s wrong with me this time.
It’s not the breakup with Sherrie. It sucks and I know the whole thing was my fault. I know that asking her out in the first place was wrong so the whole thing is my fault but I don’t feel guilty enough to be overly anxious about it. Max is out of the hospital and he’s going to be fine so that’s not causing my anxiety.
Are you sure it’s not Max? asks that separate part of my brain, that special part that holds everything I can’t look at in the harsh light of day. Why haven’t I called him or asked to visit? For that matter, why hasn’t he called me? Why does it bother me so much to know he’s home and I haven’t seen him? I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and I pull it out to read the text message. It’s like he’s psychic or something.
U AREN’T SITTING IN THE AUDITORIUM ALL ALONE R U?
When I don’t answer him right away the phone rings. I answer it quickly in case Mr. Harper is in the band room by now. Of course it’s Max. I knew it would be.
“Noah, come on, go to lunch,” he says as soon as I say hello.
“I prefer it here,” I say quietly. I don’t want to be found in my quiet sanctuary.
“Wha
t are you afraid of?” he asks. I shrug as if he can see me.
“I’m not afraid. I’m just not hungry and I don’t feel like dealing with all of these goofy girls.” Max laughs.
“Tabitha mentioned that you’ve become quite popular since you and Sherrie broke up. How are you? Are you dealing with that okay, the first break up?”
“I’m fine. I didn’t love her anyway, right? I just miss her but it’s just missing a friend you know? I would rather just hang out in here until it all blows over.”
“Did you mean it when you said you would help me get caught up?” Max changes the subject.
“Of course I did.”
“Well, I’m coming back on Monday and I’m pretty much caught up with everything. I have a few tests to make up but what I’m really lacking is chemistry notes,” he says. When I don’t say anything he continues. “Um, if you’re not busy I was thinking maybe you could come over after school and help me with that? Lydia says to invite you to dinner too. Would that be okay?” His new insecurity is almost endearing. I can tell he’s trying to feel his way through to being friends again. As endearing as it is what I really need is my old, confident Max back. I’m neurotic enough for the both of us. I need him to lead the way.
“I have to check with my parents about dinner but yeah, I’ll come over after school and help you with chemistry.”
“Thanks, Noah. Chemistry without lab notes is just pointless.” He’s quiet again and just when I’m thinking he ended the call without saying goodbye he speaks up again. “Noah? Everything is going to be fine, right?” Everything? I have no idea about that but I do know that I want…need…Max and I to be fine.
“Yeah, of course. Everything is fine,” I tell him but I’m not sure if it’s the truth or just wishful thinking.
I call Mom after Max and I say goodbye and she’s fine with my going to the Maxwell’s and staying for dinner. She says she’s surprised I haven’t said something about seeing Max sooner. I make excuses about homework and his other friends crowding the place. It’s really just that I’m nervous about seeing him again and I’m not sure why. That’s a lie too. Of course I know what it is that scares me.
When Mom picks me up at the end of the day she gives me a double dose of Xanax. I have no idea how late I’ll be at the Maxwell’s but I need to take a dose in an hour and another dose later this evening. She tells me that she trusts me to actually take them and asks me if she needs to call Mark to tell him to check on me. I assure her that I can be trusted as I put the small plastic container in the front pocket of my jeans. She doesn’t stop in to say hi to Lydia because she says she has dinner cooking. I wish she would stop in though. I feel uncomfortable approaching the house myself. She waits at the curb until Lydia opens the door.
“Noah!” Lydia smiles warmly and gives me a hug, pulling me inside as she does so. She waves to my mom before she closes the door. “We’ve missed having you around,” she says just as Sammi comes flying into me. She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes tightly.
“Noah!” she cries. I bend to give her a hug. I didn’t realize how much I missed Max’s family while we weren’t speaking.
“Okay, Sammi, it’s time to let Noah go. He’s here to help Max study. You’ll see him at dinner,” Lydia says to Sammi. To me she says, “He’s down in his room. Do you want a drink before you go downstairs?” I shake my head.
“No thanks, I’m fine,” I say as I make my way to the stairs. I walk through the basement gym slowly. It’s been just over a month since the last time I was here but it already feels unfamiliar to me, as if I’ve never been here before. The door to Max’s studio is open so I walk right in and stop at his closed bedroom door. I hesitate before finally knocking.
When he answers the door he’s wearing jeans and a long sleeved tee shirt and socks on his feet. Somehow I had expected him to be in pajamas and looking sick but he looks good. He’s wearing his glasses and he’s still too thin but there are no dark circles under his eyes and his color is better. He gives me the slight, almost sad smile that I’m starting to get used to even though I really miss his crooked grin.
“Hi, Noah, thanks for coming over,” he says and opens the door all of the way so I can step inside. His bed is made but he has the pillows propped up along the headboard like he does when we watch movies. He turns off the TV when I sit at his desk and start pulling out books and notes.
“I’m almost looking forward to more homework,” he says. “I finished everything else up earlier and I’ve just been lying around watching the ID channel all day.”
“ID channel?” I ask.
“Investigation Discovery channel. It’s true crime, unsolved mysteries, that sort of thing. It’s only the best channel on cable TV,” he says. “I have to admit to being a little addicted. It’s fascinating stuff but after eight hours of watching nothing but I’m ready for a change.” I remember when Max told me he was interested in forensics.
“Uh, I made copies of my notes in the library this afternoon,” I tell him, handing him a pile of all of the notes from the chemistry classes he missed as well as the labs I did while he was absent. “I hope you can read my writing,” I add. It’s not as perfectly tidy as his printing. He pages through the notes and nods.
“You have the handwriting of a serial killer,” he laughs. “My dad’s is worse. I think I can figure this out.” I’m glad we have homework to focus on because I’m nervous and uncomfortable like I’ve never been with Max. An hour into studying I excuse myself to the bathroom where I take the Xanax as I promised Mom I would do. Not long after that Lydia calls us up to dinner.
“Noah!” cries Matty when I enter the kitchen. As usual, he’s seated in his high chair and playing with his sippy cup.
“I think he’s grown since I saw him last,” I tell Lydia as I coo at Matty and pretend to steal his nose. He puts his chubby little hands in the air and makes grabbing motions.
“Noah!” he says again. Max smiles the first real smile I’ve seen since I got here.
“He wants you to pick him up,” Max says. He helps me dislodge the tray that keeps the toddler in his high chair and I swing Matty in the air the way Max does. As he giggles his delight Sammi babbles to anyone and everyone about her day. By the time Mark comes in from the garage and we’re all seated at the table I feel more comfortable than I have since I stepped out of the car.
Dinner is some kind of chicken curry dish and it’s really good. As usual, I’m not really hungry but I force myself to eat most of it. I don’t need anyone asking questions about why I’m not eating. I didn’t really think of the appetite issue when I was invited to dinner. Max and I clean up the dishes like we always used to in the past. Things feel more comfortable as the evening progresses.
When the leftovers are put away and the dishwasher is started Max and I go back to his room to finish homework. He’s pretty much caught up in chemistry and we’re both just finishing up what we were assigned today. I think he’s having all of his assignments emailed to him this week.
“So how are your hands?” I ask as I watch him working a calculus problem. The bandages and stiches have been removed but the scars are still red and angry looking. Max flexes his hands and shrugs.
“The skin feels a little tight but other than that there’s no more pain. They say the scarring might fade but I’ll probably have some scars that don’t completely go away. It’s weird. I wouldn’t have considered ice being sharp, you know? I guess I was just trying to grab on and digging in so hard and it’s not like I could really feel my hands anyway.”
“When I first saw you your hands were bandaged and I thought frostbite,” I admit.
“That would have sucked. I kind of need all ten fingers to play piano,” he laughs because he can now. It’s in the past and he’s okay. He’s able to let it go but it still causes me some distress to think about it.
“I’ve never even heard you play piano. That’s what I was thinking in the hospital,” I admit. Max shrugs and puts down
his pencil. He goes into his studio and turns on the electronic keyboard. I hear him warm up, playing scales I guess. I put down my pencil and go into the studio and sit on the couch. His back is to me where he sits at the keyboard.
He plays some random music that I’m sure is some kind of famous classical work but I don’t know who the composer is or what the piece is. When he plays it’s not just his hands and arms moving, his entire body leans into the keyboard and then moves away, rocking almost. I have no doubt that if I could see his face his eyes are probably closed. Of course he’s really good as I expected him to be.
After the classical piece he plays a tune I’m familiar with. It’s Mad World and he plays the Gary Jules version. I know this song from the movie Donnie Darko. His voice when he starts to sing is just a little rougher than usual. It’s probably still due to the time spent on the vent and all of the coughing he did in the last week but it works with the song. This remake version is heartbreaking and it moves me even more to hear Max play and sing it. A week ago I really thought he might never play and sing again.
“That was awesome,” I whisper when he’s done. He turns around and smiles at me. “Is there anything you aren’t good at?” I ask. He shrugs.
“I’m really not good at humility,” he laughs.
“Why should you be? It would just be false,” it’s my turn to shrug.
“I tried the potter’s wheel last year in art class. It turns out I’m really bad at that,” he laughs. I smile.
“So, not perfect after all. Good to know.”
“I’m terrible at seeing at a distance without corrective lenses,” he smiles as he pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Yeah well, it’s not like seeing is a talent or anything. I wouldn’t let it get me down. Besides, you look good in glasses.”
“Noah? Are you okay?” Max asks getting serious out of the blue. I shrug again.
“I’m fine. Why?” I wonder if Mark told him about me, about what he found out in the hospital that day.
Behind the Falls Page 40