Behind the Falls

by Brenda Zalegowski

  I can’t even tell my parents the truth. I’m tired of being a burden to them. I’m tired of them having to worry about me. I want them to be able to be proud of me. I want to deserve their love just once. I don’t. They’re so good to me and I deserve none of it. I can’t tell them it’s getting bad again. I couldn’t even tell myself that until just now…now when I want to hide my face and cry into Max’s shirt and I can’t because I don’t want him to know I’m really just weak.

  I thought I had to worry about June or July. I thought that was when the time stamp of this relationship would run out but I was wrong. It’s over as soon as Max knows the truth. As soon as he knows the real Noah he’ll be out of here so fast it will make my head spin. It’s really only a matter of time isn’t it? I mean, I’ve had more than one panic attack in front of him now.

  “I want to go home,” I say suddenly. I’m cold and I’m upset and I just want to be alone.

  “Noah?” It’s one word but it says everything. He’s worried and he doesn’t know what he’s worried about. He knows I’m not okay but he doesn’t understand. How could he? He’s never had a moment of self-doubt in his life.

  “Just please take me home,” I say as I try to get out of the sleeping bag. Max unzips it and lets me out of it and I jump to my feet. I hurry to the other side of the cavern to where we can climb out but Max stops me.

  He pulls me close and he still doesn’t have gloves on his hands. How can they not be freezing? He kisses me and I don’t feel the stomach flipping or butterflies. I kiss him desperately, grabbing handfuls of his coat, grabbing his face, pressing into him as if I can become a part of him and it doesn’t make me FEEL. I drop my hands and walk away.

  “Noah!” he calls. I start climbing. It takes him a little longer to climb up from the falls because he has to gather up the sleeping bags. I’m just stepping onto the ice when he emerges.

  “Noah!” this time it’s a cry of fear. I’m not afraid though. I know the ice it thick enough. If the falls are frozen the lake has to be pretty solid. I keep walking, slipping now and then. I wish I had some skates.

  “Jesus, Noah! Come back here,” he calls again and I hear the fear but I keep walking. Am I being cruel on purpose? I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ll realize the full enormity of his fear until after this is over. How could he not be afraid? Logic would say the ice is thick enough but it almost killed him once.

  When we get to the other side of the lake Max is angry. I don’t really blame him and I can’t make myself really care. Maybe if he’s angry enough he’ll just end it now and get it over with. It might be easier that way. I start walking back the way we came into the preserve. He’s right. Going across the lake saves a lot of time.

  He doesn’t speak until we get to the car. “That was a pretty shitty thing to do,” he says. He’s actually rattled. I’ve never seen Max rattled.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble because I am sorry but I’m also…numb. We’re quiet on the way home. He doesn’t ask if I want to go to his or mine he takes me right to my house. I don’t say anything as I get out of the car.

  “Noah?” he calls. I look back at him before shutting the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.” I nod and then I turn away from him. Love might not be enough, especially if I can’t even say it. Does love actually exist if you never say the words?

  March

  Max finds me before the morning bell rings. It’s not that difficult. I’m just sitting in homeroom waiting for the day to start. He runs his fingers through his hair as he takes the seat next to me.

  “Will you come over after dinner?” he asks. He tutors on Mondays so after school is not an option. I shake my head.

  “I think I should stay home for a few days. My parents keep telling me I’m going to wear out my welcome at your house.”

  “My parents love you. My siblings love you. We would adopt you if we could,” he grins.

  “Even so, I should stay home,” I tell him. Mark already suspects something and Lydia will be next and then how long until my parents know? If we’re going to end anyway maybe I should start extricating myself from his life now in small increments so it’s not so painful.

  At lunch I go to the cafeteria instead of the auditorium. Yes I’m tired and a nap would be nice but then he’d try to talk about my problems and we’d end up kissing and I just need to step back from all of that. When Mischa wanders over I don’t even blink. I didn’t know she was still hanging around. He should go out with her. They make sense. They look good together. Hell, they can be SEEN together.

  At dinner later I’m regretting my decision to stay home this evening. My parents scrutinize me over meatloaf. I figure the appetite thing is like the sleep thing. Eventually my body will just NEED to sleep and to eat and then it will happen regardless what my stomach and my mouth have to say about it but I know they’re watching every bite I take. If I flatten out my mashed potatoes like this will it look like I’ve eaten more than I have? If I hide some peas IN the potatoes will that fool them? I give up and ask to be excused.

  “Just a minute, Noah,” Dad says. “Before you go we’re going to have a little talk.” This can’t be good. I sit back in my seat and wait.

  “We think you should start medication again,” Mom says with no preamble. I look from one to another in amazement.

  “I didn’t think I needed meds when you made me start them in the first place. Why ever would I want to go back on them?” I ask. “I’m finally chemical free. I’m fine. I was fine before. Can’t you just let me be?” Mom shakes her head sadly and Dad looks stern.

  “You aren’t eating. You aren’t sleeping. You sleep walk around this house like you don’t exist. You’re not fine,” Dad says.

  “I’m just not hungry and how do you expect me to get into a decent sleep pattern when I’m off drugs then on drugs then off drugs? No wonder I can’t sleep. I’m FINE. Don’t you think I’d be the first one to know if I wasn’t?” I don’t feel fine. I suddenly feel tense and anxious but I can’t let them see that.

  “Noah, you’re either lying to us or you’re in denial. We can see you’re not fine,” Dad says with authority. I hate when he gets tough because I tend to back down but I won’t back down this time.

  “Did Gramps kill himself?” I ask suddenly. “Did he slam his car into that bridge abutment on purpose?” That gets their attention. Mom’s face falls and Dad’s expression goes from stern to angry to what I think might be fearful.

  “Go to your room, Noah,” Dad says in a tight voice. If I could remember how to smile I might. I mean going to my room is what I had wanted all along.

  It’s not that I WANT to be a hard ass about all of this. It’s not like I WANT to be at odds with my parents but I was doing fine. I was doing so fine that they decided to enroll me in public school. I had been off meds for the better part of a year. Of course I don’t want to go back to that. I can handle this. I can get myself right on my own. I don’t need drugs for that. I just need to find my balance. Like Max said, it’s about weakness and strength and I don’t want to be weak anymore.

  On Tuesday I feel like absolute crap by lunch time so I stop by the restroom to ditch Max after chemistry. I go to the nurse’s office and tell her I’m not feeling well and ask if I can just lie in the sick bed until lunch hour is over. I must look sick because she doesn’t even question me. The questions don’t come until art class when Max confronts me.

  “Where were you at lunch?” he demands. “I checked the auditorium and the library.”

  “I just wanted to be alone for an hour,” I tell him without answering the question.

  “Noah…”

  “No, not here. Not now,” I tell him. He looks at me for a minute and I can see he wants to push it. I can see he wants to reach out and touch me. Eventually he walks back to his easel. I make a pillow of my arms and spend the rest of class with my head on my desk. I have no idea what I’m doing. The only thing I’m sure of is that I need to fix myself.

&n
bsp; After school I go straight to my room. I don’t even do my homework I just put on pajamas and crawl into bed. The first thing I need to do is sleep. It shouldn’t be that difficult. I’m exhausted. Mom comes in to check on me before I manage to fall asleep.

  “You okay, honey?” she asks as she strokes my hair.

  “I’m okay, just really tired,” I tell her. She sits with me for a while until the ringing of the doorbell calls her away.

  We don’t get many visitors so when curiosity gets the better of me I look out my window and I’m surprised to see Max’s car. It’s been at least fifteen minutes since he rang the bell and he hasn’t come to my room. I realize he’s here to see my parents. I drag my chair over to the vent hoping that they’re in the kitchen.

  It sounds like he’s discussing his eating disorder theory with them. He tells them how bad the insomnia really is. They sound surprised over that revelation. I guess I’ve been faking that pretty well. Max only knows how bad it is because I haven’t been sleeping much at his house either.

  “We appreciate your concern,” Dad says. “You’re a good friend to him. Noah is going through a difficult time and we’re aware of this. We’re taking measures. If or when Noah feels like he wants to talk to you about any of this I’m sure you’ll be a good friend to him and I appreciate that.” I’m surprised that Dad hasn’t told him the truth but I’m grateful.

  “He means a lot to me,” Max tells them.

  “Thank you for coming to us,” Mom says. Their voices grow distant and I realize they’ve left the kitchen. I get back in bed and wait for Max to come to my room but he doesn’t. After another fifteen minutes I hear his car start and he leaves.

  I feel so conflicted. I feel betrayed that he went to my parents behind my back. I feel hurt that he didn’t want to see me. I’m worried about what that means. I’m also touched that he went to my parents. I hate it that he’s worried but I like it that he cares. At some point while I’m thinking about Max I actually fall asleep.

  Mom doesn’t wake me for dinner. I guess they’ve decided that sleep is more important than food. I’m glad they let me sleep when I wake the next morning feeling physically better than I have in a while.

  He finds me in the library Wednesday morning. I was hoping he would. I’m doing the homework I skipped last night when he slides into the seat next to me. He nudges his shoulder into mine and smiles.

  “I stopped by your house last night,” he says and I’m actually surprised he admits it. “Your mom said you were sleeping.”

  “I was. I’m sorry I missed you,” I say and I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to kiss him. Things have been off the last few days. I’ve been off. I need to fix this.

  “I wasn’t there to see you. I wanted to talk to your parents. I’m sorry, Noah. If that makes you angry I’m sorry but I’m worried about you and I’ll risk your anger if I can help you.”

  “I’m not angry,” I tell him and I realize it’s true. “Come here.” I leave the table and he follows me into the stacks. I look around to make sure we’re alone before I kiss him. I’ve missed him. The way he’s kissing me I think he missed me too.

  “We’re okay, aren’t we?” he asks after the kiss. I nod. I kiss him again. “And you? You’re okay?” I nod again.

  “I’m sorry things got weird. I’m sorry about that day at the falls,” I put my arms around him and lean into him.

  “Don’t be sorry, just be okay,” he says and kisses me once more before we have to go to homeroom.

  Later, Mom goes to our house after school instead of straight to Dr. Cooper’s. She doesn’t park she just pulls up out front and hits the horn and Dad comes out and gets in the car.

  “What’s this?” I say anxiously. If they’re both coming to my session this can’t be good.

  “We’re going to have a family session today,” Mom says.

  “Dr. Cooper didn’t mention that the last time,” I argue.

  “This was our idea,” Dad says. At the doctor’s office they gang up on me. It’s them against me. They tell him I’m not sleeping and not eating. They tell him I’m depressed. They tell him about Max’s visit and how even my friends are concerned.

  “I’m sleeping again,” I tell him. “I’m eating. I’m just not that hungry. I don’t need to eat that much when I’m not running every day. I just don’t need it. I’m not depressed. Do I look depressed? I’m fine,” I force a smile.

  My parents tell the doctor they want me to go back on medication. I tell him I’m fine and I’d like to continue to try to manage this without medication. I tell him there have been no panic attacks. I assure all of them that I’ve had no anxiety. I must say the right things because the doctor agrees to continue as we are. He assures my parents that going off the drugs can cause side effects until my body is accustomed to being drug free again. He seems pretty confident that everything is coming along fine. By the time we leave they seem to be a little more at ease.

  Of course because this is my life it all goes to Hell later that night. I have a hard time eating again. It’s like I’m just not hungry and when I do manage to force some food down it fights to come back up again. I manage to eat enough to placate my parents and as soon as my homework is finished I go to bed. I’m able to sleep again and the last thought I have as my eyes drift shut is that yes, I’m finally on my way to being okay.

  Pain and terror pull me out of sleep in the middle of the night. I’m sitting up in bed yelling before I even realize that I’m awake and this must have been going on for some time because my parents are already here. I’m tangled in the bedclothes trying desperately to get free while my mother tries to calm me with soothing words and my dad holds me and tries to stop my struggling. They think this is just a nighttime panic attack. They think I’ll eventually calm down and be fine. They’re wrong.

  “I’m dying!” I cry as a clutch at my chest. I’ve never felt such excruciating pain before. I’ve had some pretty bad panic attacks but nothing like this. I can’t live through this. How can my heart beat this fast and not burst? How can they not see it? “Nine one, one,” I sob. I can barely speak. I can’t catch my breath.

  “Noah, shhh, you know this is panic. You know this will go away. Just relax. You’re not dying,” Mom says soothingly. She’s wrong. I know she’s wrong. Adrenaline runs through me making me feel like I’m being chased by something dangerous.

  “Can’t breathe,” I gasp.

  “Yes you can. Deep in, breathe with me, Noah,” Mom tries to lead by example but I can’t get a deep breath. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the diaphragm and can’t make my lungs fill. I feel my heart rate speed up even more. I’m getting dizzy.

  “Please….help me!” I say haltingly between labored breaths. I’m going to die and they’re just sitting here doing nothing! I clutch at my Dad’s shirt. I can’t tell them if I can’t breathe. I try to take my own heart rate but the beats are too close together and I’m shaking too much to hold my fingers on a pulse point. “Too fast,” is all I manage to say but they understand.

  “Hold still, Noah. Stop fighting,” Dad says and it’s only then that I realize I am indeed fighting him. I’m trying to break out of his arms but he’s too strong. He may look like a mild-mannered English professor but he’s strong. I try to obey him but my fight or flight instinct is set to flight at any cost. Dad manages to grab my wrist in such a way that he can feel the pulse there.

  “It’s way too fast, Beth,” he tells my mom. “One ten, that’s too fast even for a panic attack.” He knows that my resting heart rate is usually around fifty five. I’m a runner so it’s usually pretty low. Hearing this number, one ten, that just exacerbates my panic.

  “It’s fine. It will come back down in a few minutes. You’re fine, Noah. Shhh, relax sweetie,” Mom’s soothing voice is doing nothing. I clench with another sharp bolt of pain. I cry out and start fighting again.

  “Take him,” Dad says and Mom’s arms wrap around me as Dad abruptly leaves the room. He�
�s not gone long. Mom knows where he went but my eyes are squeezed tight against the pain so I can’t see what he’s got in his hand.

  “Please, please,” I beg.

  “Oliver, they’re not going to work now,” Mom says. “He has to take them before he panics.”

  “I don’t care. It’s better than nothing. I can’t stand seeing him like this,” I hear the pain in Dad’s voice and I realize he has drugs. I risk opening my eyes and I see his hand coming at me with the Xanax and another pill I don’t recognize. It must be the beta blockers. I shake my head and refuse to open my mouth.

  “My heart is BURSTING,” I try to convince them. A couple of pills won’t put my heart right after it beats out of my chest. Speaking of chest, there’s that excruciating pain again. When I cry out in another fresh wave of pain Dad shoves the pills in my mouth and then he clamps his hand over it so I can’t spit them out. I refuse to swallow. I can feel them starting to flake in my mouth. Soon I’m coughing against his hand and still Dad won’t let go.

  “Just swallow them, Noah,” he tells me. I shake my head behind his hand and his grip tightens. It gets harder and harder to breathe and tears are streaming down my face. Eventually, the pills in my mouth have all but dissolved into a milky film that’s starting to choke me. Mom brings a glass of water and Dad reluctantly removes his hand. I know when I’m beaten and I drink the water, choking on it more than drinking it.

  Mom is right of course. The pills won’t really do anything for me now. I still can’t breathe, my heart is racing and I continue to feel seconds away from passing out while my parents can only sit by helplessly and watch. They’ve slept through so many of my nocturnal attacks that I know I must have been screaming bloody murder to wake them this time.

  I finally get untangled from the blankets and I use my adrenaline to push Dad away from me and then I stagger out of bed. I collapse on my bedroom floor and make my way to the bathroom on my hands and knees. It’s only after I’ve wedged myself into that cubby next to the sink that I start to feel in control again. My heart is still pounding and I’m still in a great deal of pain but I’m able to do my breathing exercises.