How We Love

by Michael Ryan Webb

  I hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but it had just spilled out. Adam had never understood either, and I had accidentally taken that out on Kate. A shocked look flashed across her face, then faded to an angry scowl.

  "I'm so sorry," I sighed. "I'm such an ass."

  "It's fine," she said curtly. "I know you're going through a hard time." She looked at her phone and feigned interest, but I could see that nothing was on the screen. "Look, I better get going. My assistant says I have a client in my office. But it was good to see you. If you get back to work soon, maybe I'll see you around the courthouse."

  "Kate, I'm really sorry," I tried again.

  "Don’t worry about it. I'll see you," she said. With a quick kiss on the cheek and pat on the back, she was off.

  Way to go, dumbass. You really are going to be alone forever now aren't you? It's what you deserve, the voice said.

  1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.

  It's pitiful, really. You couldn't even make it through a simple lunch with an old friend. There's not a chance you'll get Adam back, and God knows no one else could learn to love you at this point.

  1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10…

  Counting my fingers wasn't working. I was picturing myself rotting away alone in that big house, losing my mind, for the rest of my life. I could feel my chest tightening and knew a full-on panic attack was in the works. I needed to get home. Realizing I didn't have enough time, I decided to head for the restroom and hide to compose myself.

  It’ll look like you're skipping out on the bill and you’ll get arrested and die in jail.

  I threw enough cash to cover the bill and a generous tip down on the table and speed-walked to the restroom. I locked myself in a stall, closed the lid to the toilet, and sat on top, pulling my legs up close to my chest.

  I tried taking deep breaths and imagining myself in a peaceful environment - one of Dr. Rodriguez’s coping techniques. But no matter what I tried to picture, my mind snapped back to me lying dead on the floor of my house, no one ever coming to find me because I scared them all off.

  Suddenly, there was a light tapping on the door. I froze and tried to hold my breath, but couldn't stop myself from gasping for air, right on the verge of hyperventilating.

  “Hey, buddy, I don't mean to be weird, but do you need some help?” a gentle voice whispered through the crack in the door. “My name is Grayson. This is my diner. I noticed you starting to have a panic attack and wanted to make sure you were okay. But I don't want to intrude, so if you feel like you've got it under control, I'll just go.”

  He's going to kill you. If you open that door he's going to murder you in cold blood and leave you lying on the floor of this bathroom. I knew that was nonsense, but I still couldn't bring myself to answer him.

  “I can hear your breathing and it sounds pretty uneasy, so I'm just gonna stay here for a few minutes, okay?” he said. “I locked the door so no one else can come in, but I don't want to leave in case you get worse and need medical attention. I know you don't know me, but I promise I just want to help. I'm not sure what you need since you can't speak. So for now I'm going to sit right by the door, and I'm going to slide my hand underneath so that you can hold onto it if you need to. Tap the door three times if you want me to call an ambulance. You're not alone, okay?

  This is the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to you. You might as well let yourself hyperventilate and die.

  I tried to focus on weighing my options. I had no idea who the person on the other side of that door was, so how could I know he really wanted to help? On the other hand, this was my first time in a public place in over six months and it was not going well at all. If I was ever going to make public outings a regular part of my life again, I needed to get through this panic attack. If someone was really willing to help me do that, what grounds did I have to reject it?

  I glanced down at the floor and saw that he'd indeed slipped his arm underneath the gap in the stall door, but had placed two towels on the ground underneath his hand, almost as if he knew I'd be worried about the germs from the floor.

  He knows you're a basket case. He's going to turn you over to a psych hospital.

  ENOUGH, I thought to myself. I slowly stepped down, sat on the floor, careful not to touch it with my bare hands, and gingerly took his hand.

  "Hi," he whispered gently. Something in his voice was undeniably soothing. I wondered how he knew so much about what I was going through and how to help so effectively. I was shaking slightly, so he tightened his grip, but just barely – just enough to help steady me, but not enough to overwhelm me.

  "Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

  He wants to know so he can tell the police before they come take you away.

  "M-M-Mark," I said between gasps.

  "Hi, Mark. My name is Grayson Walker. I'm gonna wait this out with you. I'm right here, okay?" he said.

  "O-o-okay," I replied.

  "Alright," he said. My breath was starting to level out finally.

  I'm not alone – at least not right now, I thought to myself.

  We'll see. Your own husband got sick of you. This stranger will too.

  "Can I tell you something? I'm really proud of you for accepting help. It takes a lot of courage to be open and vulnerable at a time like this. You're doing great," he said, with another gentle squeeze of my hand.

  The kind tone of his voice was calming me down immensely. My breath was almost completely back to normal and my mind was starting to clear up.

  "Did you have any pets growing up?" Grayson asked. "I used to have this crazy little pit bull named Oscar. I was a big Sesame Street kid, and Oscar the Grouch was always my favorite because he looked so mean but he was always nice to the kids – which is exactly how Oscar the Dog was. He was kind of scary looking, but he was really a big teddy bear. He slept right next to me in my bed every night and greeted me with giant, wet kisses every day when I got home from school."

  I smiled at the cute mental image that had now replaced the ones I'd been so afraid of moments before. I was finally able to take a deep, clear breath before I answered him, "That's adorable. I wanted a dog when I was a kid but my dad always said we couldn't afford one. Then I got older and I guess I never felt like I had enough time to be a good owner to one."

  "It's sweet that you considered the dog's needs first," he said. "So, Oscar is unfortunately no longer with me after a long, happy life, but I recently rescued a puppy and she's out back. Would you like to meet her? Maybe she can help cheer you up a bit before you head home."

  "I don't want to take up any more of your time," I said. "I'm sure you've got better things to do than babysit a grown man hiding in a bathroom stall. I'm so sorry for this, by the way. I'm so embarrassed. But thank you for helping me calm down."

  I heard him shift and saw his other hand slip under the door and grasp mine. "Hey, listen. If you take anything away from meeting me today, I want it to be this – don't beat yourself up over things like this. Mental illness is not something to be ashamed of, or to feel guilty for," he said, his voice much more serious, almost stern. "It's not your fault. And you can try to manage it, but that doesn't mean you're always going to be 100 percent in control – and that's okay. The most important thing is that you keep working, and you ask for help when you need it.

  "Now, when you're ready to come out, you're more than welcome to come meet Dolly, the cutest golden retriever in the world. But if you'd rather miss out on that, it's totally your call."

  I laughed, and finally stood up off of the floor. I took another deep breath, slowly turned the lock, and opened the door to find Grayson still sitting cross-legged on the floor. I offered him my hand and pulled him up.

  He looked a lot different than I'd expected based on his gentle voice. I'd later tell him that his appearance was deceiving in the same way Oscar the Dog's must have been. I considered myself pretty tall at six feet, two inches tall, but found myself looking up to meet the piercing gaze of his hazel
eyes. He had thick, curly brown hair to match his full, but well-kempt, beard. He appeared to be in his early thirties.

  He wore a yellow and blue flannel button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark blue jeans, and what looked like hiking boots. My first instinct upon taking his full appearance in was to make a joke about him looking like the exact stereotype of a "hipster," but decided I shouldn't risk insulting him after he'd just helped me so much.

  "Hi," he said, smiling, large dimples revealing themselves on either side of his mouth along with tiny wrinkles around his eyes.

  "Hi," I said back, and before I could say anything more, he pulled me into a hug. He smelled strongly of coffee, but also a light oaky cologne.

  "You did great, buddy," he said, then abruptly pulled away. "Oh, sorry, I should have asked before I did that. Are you okay?"

  "No, no, it's fine," I said. "Thank you."

  He extended a small folded handkerchief to me, and I just stared at it, puzzled, until I looked up and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind him and saw that tears had started to fall down my face. I was so relieved to be feeling better that I hadn't even realized it. I thanked him and wiped the tears from eyes before trying to offer it back.

  "Keep it," he said. "That way, next time this happens you'll have a reminder that somebody cares and wants you to fight through it." He smiled at me again and patted me on the back. "Oh, I should have asked again. Sorry, my instinct to comfort people is to do it with physical reassurance and I totally forget that some people don't care for it."

  "No, really, it's okay. I must have serious resting-bitch-face right now," I joked.

  "No, you have a great face," he said. We locked eyes awkwardly and he stammered, "No, not a great face - I mean, not that you don't have an attractive face. You do. I just mean – oh boy, I'm gonna shut up now."

  He turned bright red until I laughed, and then he relaxed, laughing with me. He led me out of the bathroom, through the diner, out back to a small, quaint cottage set up behind it. I would never have guessed there was an entire residence behind the first building, but there it was, complete with a front yard and a small picket fence. He opened the small door and led me into the yard and then whistled twice. Out of a small pet door near the front door burst a tiny ball of fur. Grayson knelt down and the puppy jumped into lap and thrashed around in his arms.

  "Hi baby girl,” he laughed. “I missed you too. I brought a new friend for you to meet. Dolly this is Mark. Mark this is Dolly, named of course for the queen of country music.” He scooped her up and brought her closer toward me. “You can pet her if you want. She's very friendly.”

  I carefully reached out and brushed the top of Dolly’s head. She squinted one eye and dropped her mouth open into a wide smile as she wiggled in my direction. I opened my arms and he set her gently in them. She wrapped her front paws around my neck and proceeded to smother me in wet dog kisses.

  “See? She likes you,” Grayson said, beaming.

  Dolly began wriggling toward the ground, so I set her down. She sprinted back inside and quickly returned with something, almost as big as her, between her teeth. She dropped it at my feet and I picked it up to examine it more closely. It was a stuffed moose that showed clear signs of aging. It was a faded blue color, and there were several spots that had been sewn back together. It had two slightly different eyes, as if one had been lost and replaced with the closest available match.

  "Oh, no, girl, not this one," Grayson said as I handed him the toy. "Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee or something?" he asked me.

  Part of me wanted to just go home and return to the isolation I'd grown accustomed to, but I was in no position to turn down new friends. I nodded and followed him inside. The inside of the cottage was modestly decorated, the furniture mismatched and the walls covered in what appeared to be family portraits.

  Grayson offered me a seat and then set the stuffed moose toy on a high shelf, presumably to avoid Dolly reaching it again. He then set about preparing coffee.

  "So what do you do?" he asked.

  "I'm a lawyer, sort of," I said. "I haven't practiced in a little while."

  "Oh cool. I wouldn't have guessed. You don't look like the stuffy lawyer type," he replied. "That sounds bad, sorry. I totally meant it as a compliment.

  "Thanks, I think. So, do you mind if I ask how you became a pro at coaching strangers through anxiety attacks?" I said.

  "That's more of a fourth or fifth date story," he said, setting down a tray with two mugs of coffee and an array of sweeteners and creams. "Um, not that this a date. Sorry, bad joke."

  "It's okay," I said, laughing at the sight of his face going bright red again. "In that case, can I ask if the name of the diner has anything to do with that toy? Old childhood favorite?"

  His face twisted, almost as if the question pained him. "It's sort of... part of the same story," he said.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't meant to intrude," I said quickly. "Great coffee. Thank you."

  "Don't apologize. You know what? You were really vulnerable with me. Maybe it should be my turn," he said, taking a deep breath. "My little brother, Alex – he had some issues: bipolar disorder, major depression, OCD, general anxiety. After a few years I got pretty good at helping him get through his different mental health crises. That's how I recognized the panic attack, and I wagered on the OCD after I saw you counting your fingers, which is how I landed on distracting you with a happy story. The moose was a gift I picked out for him for one Christmas when we were kids."

  "That's really sweet," I said. "He's lucky to have you."

  "He, um, well, I guess he was," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "He actually died about ten years ago."

  "I'm so sorry," I said. He looked up at me, surprise in his eyes. I looked down to find that without thinking I'd reached out and grabbed his hand. He half smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

  "I had been away at school," he said quietly. "My parents let him move out into his own apartment, but he wasn't ready. He ended up living on the street. But he was smart. So smart that he was able to convince my parents everything was fine. But one day he got confused and wandered into a stranger's house. They called the police and a rookie cop got spooked and shot him. I was pretty messed up after that. So, I dropped out of school and came back home. After I had time to recover, I saved up and opened the diner. And I just try to help people as much as I can."

  "Wow, that must have been awful," I said. "I have to say, I'm impressed at your strength. My father passed recently and, as I'm sure you can tell by what happened back there, I haven't handled it very well."

  "Believe me, it wasn't easy," he replied. "I spent a long time on my parent's sofa, even thought I blamed them for a while. Alex was my best friend. Without him, I felt like I'd been ripped apart and I was trying to put myself back together but the pieces never quite fit right. It took me a while to adjust. I finally had to realize that he wouldn't have wanted me to let my life pass me by, y'know?"

  He carried his empty mug back into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, Dolly following him back and forth. "It was a couple of years before I finally felt like I could breathe easy again. Even then I felt guilty, like I was leaving him behind. That’s why I named the diner after his moose. It's not blatantly morbid, but it honors him."

  "I think it's nice," I said. "And the place is great. It's a wonderful tribute to his memory."

  "Thank you," he said. "You're very kind."

  "So are you," I replied. And I meant it. For the first time since my father died, I was having a real conversation with someone who I didn't pay who actually seemed to understand what I was going through and didn't seem to be judging me at all for the way I was dealing with it. And I realized that I hadn't had any problems with troubling mental images or compulsions since we’d left the restroom. Something about him was comforting, peaceful.

  "I guess I should get going," I said. "I don't want to take up your whole day."

  "A
lright, then," he replied, grabbing a business card off of a nearby side table. "Well, listen; if you ever need someone to talk to, or wanna play with the dog, give me a call. If you'll have us, you made two new friends today."

  "I'll definitely keep that in mind," I said.

  They walked me out and I extended my hand for a shake, but he bypassed it and gave me a quick hug. I knelt down to pet Dolly and then started toward home. I couldn't help feeling proud of myself when I checked the time and realized I'd been out for almost three hours. Even though part of that had been a pretty severe anxiety episode and my lunch with Kate hadn't gone very well, I'd managed to make a new friend and be out twice as long as I'd anticipated.

  I took my medication and managed to go the rest of the day without any kind of incident. That night I slept better than I had since Adam left. I so badly wanted to call and tell him how well my day had turned out, but again talked myself out of it.

  The next day I had another video appointment with Dr. Rodriguez. I excitedly told her about my outing, and though she was concerned about the panic attack and suggested I try again to patch things up with Kate, she too was proud of the fact that I'd managed to stay away from home for so long and engage with a stranger. She challenged me to speak with Kate and Grayson again when I was comfortable, and to engage with other people as much as possible.

  I called Kate a few days later to try to apologize, but she didn't return my call. I couldn't blame her. I had been a jerk. Mental illness or not, she hadn't deserved the way I lashed out. That outburst made me realize that I had been sitting on resentment toward Adam for not being more understanding of what I was going through.

  Over the next couple of weeks, I talked through that with Dr. Rodriguez and made a plan to discuss it with Adam when I was finally able to speak with him. Dr. Rodriguez wanted me to meet with her in person in her downtown office a few times, then ask Adam to accompany me. Her timeline put that meeting at two months away, just before Thanksgiving, so I planned to keep working on myself for the next month and reach out to Adam on Halloween if I hadn't heard from him by then.