“Wow,” says my Uncle David, finally speaking up for the group, “We’d love that. How many could get in?”
“Well these tickets can get 4 cars on site, so as many people as you can fit,” the man says, pulling four tickets from his wallet. Everyone looks stunned, their eyes wide in amazement at our good fortune. “I’ve seen the shuttle lift off so many times, it’s nothing to me, but when I heard you folks talking about it and knew I had these tickets sitting in my pocket, I had to get up and be charitable,” the man continues holding the tickets toward my Uncle David. My uncle stands up and shakes the man’s hand, thanking him profusely, and the tickets are passed.
After the man leaves, telling my uncle that his son works for NASA, the family ruckus reaches new levels. Everyone is excited, the long table filled with boisterous laughter and excited ideas about what it will be like to be so close to a shuttle lift off. Everyone is talking about the astronauts and what it might look like against the night sky and whether it might be loud or blinding and who at home will be jealous that we got to see it up close.
Finally, after the check has been paid, we leave the restaurant for the 45 minute drive. We can only take four cars, so several of my cousins and I pack into the back of my aunt and uncle’s capped pick-up truck while my parents and other relatives take other cars.
After we’ve been driving for a while, my cousins chit chatting, laughing and playing card games together on the floor of the pickup, I suddenly realize that I have to go to the bathroom, and soon. I’m a shy and quiet kid while my cousins are a loud, wild crowd, so I start to fidget. I don’t like calling attention to myself, especially once I realize that the entire cavalcade of cars filled with my family members will have to pull over on the side of the highway so that I can pee.
After trying to ignore it for a while, I know that I really have to go, so I have no choice but to become the center of attention. Eventually I get up the nerve to say something to my Uncle Henry and we pull over. I get out of the truck, do my thing behind some bushes on the side of the road, get back in and the moment I sit down something strange begins to happen.
A burning hot sensation starts to creep into my cheeks and my heart begins to slam as if I’ve been running full tilt during a game of tag. Voices and laughter seem to dim all around me and I’m hyper-focused inside my own head. My constantly revolving thoughts are: I’m going to embarrass myself, something terrible is going to happen to me. Suddenly my whole body is quivering like the time I drank four huge sips of my father’s black coffee.
Already my smirking, laughing cousins begin to zero in on me.
“Why’s your face so red?”
“Are you okay?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
Their questions are dim as if I’m underwater and far away. I shrug, trying to lift their attention and put my cooler hands on my burning face. Suddenly, I have to go to the bathroom, again. My heart races at this thought and I know I absolutely can’t ask them to pull the truck over again after I just asked to go. What can I do? Oh no!
My heart races, pulse galloping through my veins and I squirm as sweat begins to bead on my forehead. I want out of the truck. Now. Immediately. I want to be away from the prying, uncaring eyes of my cousins. I need to avoid their questions, their laughter. My stomach churns like my mom’s electric mixer set on high, finally gathering itself into a tight little ball of doughy pain and I feel as if I am about to vomit all the Chinese food I just ate.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead and upper lip and I wonder if I am losing it. What is wrong? Why do I feel this way? Why is everyone looking at me? Why are terrified thoughts flying through my head? For some reason I’m only capable of thinking of doom and destruction, eyes directed at me, mocking laughter, teasing, condescending comments. I desperately have to go to the bathroom again and I just went. I just asked them to stop for me.
Since I absolutely cannot pee my pants, I sit there, uncomfortable, hot, legs squeezed together, focused inside my own head, stomach queasy and nauseous. Around me, my cousins go back to talking and laughing, throwing down cards in the game of War they’ve been playing, their eyes darting to my face every now and then.
Time is suddenly crawling and I’m screaming inside. Get me out of here! I need to escape! The barrage of terrible physical feelings continues to crash over me again and again. My stomach twists like a dirty dishrag, heart booming and skipping like machine gun fire. I’m quivering, weak, floating outside my own body and the ceiling and walls of the truck cap seem to be pressing in on me, smothering me. I can’t breathe. Suddenly there isn’t enough air. I can feel that my face is beet red, and I’m horrified, totally losing it.
Finally just when I’m at my limit, when I believe that that I can’t handle another second without begging someone to pull over again so I can be sick or pee or just escape, we arrive at the launch site, driving through the gate and into the dirt parking lot where I can just make out the shape of several dark blue porta potties against the setting sun.
I jump out of the truck on legs that barely support me, almost falling back against the side of the truck in my haste to get to the nearest one. Inside, not much happens. I didn’t have to go that badly after all. What is wrong with me?
The rest of the night creeps by as we wait for the shuttle to lift off and no matter what I do, I can’t shake the terrified, quivery, sick feelings. And then to make matters worse, the shuttle doesn’t go off due to some malfunction. We have to come back in two nights. And there is no way in heck I’m getting back into that truck for the ride home.
Back at the hotel room, and before my parents have a chance to really look at me, I shiver my way into the small bathroom and lock the door. Finally I’m alone. I sit on the closed toilet lid and draw my knees up under my chin. My hands are still shaking and I grasp them tightly around my legs to stop the tremors.
I wonder what is wrong with me. Why am I so scared? I feel like I’m going crazy. Am I sick? Tears begin to stream down my face. I want to go home. I don’t want to be in Florida on vacation anymore. I don’t want to leave the hotel room and I desperately don’t want to embarrass myself in front of my family or cousins.
I hug my knees tighter, trying to drag in deep breaths of air around my racking sobs. I’m out of control. I can’t be trusted, my body can’t be trusted. It’s exhibiting all the wrong symptoms at all the wrong times and my mind isn’t helping matters either, flying from each irrational crazy fear to the next. I feel like a compressed spring, waiting to be released, but I can find no release for my feelings or my body.
A soft knock comes at the door and a voice.
“Victoria, are you okay? Please let me in.” It’s my mother. I uncurl my aching body and drag myself to the door. As I pass the mirror, my face looks tearstained, eyes red, expression pinched and pained. As soon as I open the door, I fly into my mother’s open arms, pushing my face into the warm crook between her body and arm.
“Mom, I’m scared, I’m nervous and I don’t know why,” I bawl, my tears soaking her shirt. My mother rubs my back, trying to soothe her distraught child.
Silent tears fall from my mother’s eyes and land on my dark bent head. Instinctively she knows what is wrong with me. She cries for herself and she cries for me. She senses what is happening to me because it has happened to her, it still happens to her. She knows that a lifelong curse that she had hoped would never affect her children has now made its appearance in me. Her worst nightmare has come true. It’s as if she’s seeing herself as a child, reliving the fear, the questions, the anxiety that she experienced at an even younger age. This is the day she had hoped would never come.
“It’s going to be okay, Victoria,” she says, smoothing my hair. “We will keep you safe,” she murmurs. Only she knows that they can’t. My parents can’t protect me from the world, or from my new found internal terror.
I shudder, my body completely exhausted from panicking all evening. All I want is to sleep. I want to lie down and
feel safe, to recoup my strength. My father carries me to the bed I’m sharing with my younger brother, my eyes drooping, simply unable to continue the constant vigil. Finally I sleep and the shaking stops.
My parents go into the bathroom, my father comforting my mother as best he can. Now my mother is the one who can’t stop crying. The curse has been passed on. There is no stopping it now that it has taken hold.
When I crack my eyes open the next morning, I know that there are four more days of vacation and then the long drive home to New England. I don’t feel much better. Lying in bed as the sun peeks through the thick cloth curtains, I think about how stressed I suddenly am about the coming days and I start inventing things to be afraid of, racing through each scenario and opening up new ones like shiny gifts on Christmas that turn into nightmares.
Just lying there, my body is already quivering with nerves and I can only imagine all the trapped situations I might encounter today or tomorrow or for the rest of my life. I know people will make fun of me when I embarrass myself, as I inevitably will, when I begin to feel the way I did yesterday again.
I can hear my parents in the bathroom now and I have to get up and ready a bag for the day because we’re going to the Kennedy Space Center with my cousins. I honestly don’t want to go, but I have no choice. I don’t want anyone to know my secret. Something is wrong with me. Normal people do not feel or act this way.
As I put a water bottle in my bag, I wish that I could erase the day before. Erase the fear, the tension, the racing thoughts, ease my quivering body. But there is nothing I can do. I am helpless and the future suddenly seems hopeless.
I use the bathroom just before we are about to leave, desperately forcing myself to squeeze out every last drop of pee. I don’t want to have to go again, but I know I will have to, even if I don’t drink any water all day long.
I stand in front of the mirror to wash my hands. I’m not surprised to note that I already feel nauseous, tense, scared, hot and jittery. I stare at my reflection, my eyes bloodshot, my mouth turned down at the corners. I take stock of myself. I am a skinny, dark haired child. My large eyes are bright green, almost startling in their luminosity, especially with the sheen of unshed tears. Freckles spatter across my upturned nose and my teeth seem too big for my face.
The vision I see in the mirror is me, who I am, supposedly, but that vision does not express the way my mind works or the way I feel inside. A realization creeps over me, the words tumbling into my head quietly like falling leaves.
I.
Am.
Crazy.
This is my new shameful truth. Something changed yesterday. A door has been opened that I can never close again. I touch my reflection, the glass smooth and cold, not really believing that the girl I see is me. I want to cry, but I can’t let myself.
#######################
The next night we’re back at the shuttle lift off site. I’m sick, nervous, trembling all night long, just like last time. Apparently this is a constant for me now. And as the shuttle goes off in a blinding white light, exploding into the sky, I think, this is it, this is my new life, my new existence. I’ve launched head first into crazy.
May 3, 2005
We can do whatever we want
The moment I sit down at the table I know it’s a mistake. I can’t believe I agreed to come out tonight. I look over at him and he’s got the menu up and is intently reading about burgers, pasta and steak. I pull the menu toward me, my hand clenched in a fist as my stomach does the same inside me. Shit. Please, don’t let this happen to me here.
“What do you want to eat, Vic?” he asks, eyes still moving over the menu.
“Um…I don’t know yet,” I reply, sort of hoping he won’t notice. Maybe I can get over this, stop this before it really starts.
I unclench my hand and peel open the menu to distract myself. I try to focus on the words inside, the delicious looking photos of fries and chili, but everything is blurry, dreamlike and all I can do is focus inside on my body, my thoughts, the way I feel, the fact that I feel trapped here. We drove 20 minutes to get here. I can’t get away to safety for at least 30 minutes and even then that’s just to his house. My house is another 20 minutes away. Shit. Shit!!! Why did I put myself into this situation? Have I not learned my lesson yet? Lately, I’m incapable of doing anything, especially sober. I knew this was a bad idea, but I wanted to see him. I wanted to finally go somewhere, do something with him. I’ve been full of excuses lately and I knew if I kept it up, avoiding all my trigger places, he would know that I’m losing control, or he’d think I didn’t want to be with him. And that would be the farthest thing from the truth.
I flush with heat and soon sweat is beading on my skin under my clothes. I wore too many layers, it’s so hot in here! I need to leave. I am going to be sick, my stomach is gathered tight like a fist. I scan the area for the bathroom or for a waiter to tell that we’re leaving. I look across the table and he’s still reading the menu. Finally a waiter comes back to our table and asks for our orders. I grip the menu and force myself to read it while he gives his order and then their eyes are on me and there’s no way I can say we’re leaving now. That was never really an option, was it?
“I’ll have the…um…I’ll try the Chicken Parm,” I finally blurt out and the waiter smiles and walks away. Oh damn, now I’m even more trapped. Shit. Fuck!!! I’m burning up and I can feel my cheeks growing red and my hands are shaking in my lap, so I reach up to finger the rolled up silverware. But still my hand shakes, quivering on the table. I bring my other hand up and clamp it over the first. Stop. Now.
My stomach aches and I can’t breathe. It’s so damn hot in here. Can’t they turn down the Goddamned heat? I’m going to be a sticky mess for the rest of the night, like I’ve been freaking working out. Faaaack. Finally he really looks at me and notices something is up.
“Are you okay, Vic?” he asks and I can tell he’s realized the truth. My eyes must be huge, like a deer in the headlights, ready to be run over by oncoming traffic, totally stunned.
“Um…yes. No. I don’t know,” I say in a tight voice.
“Babe, are you having an attack?” he asks with a knowing look, his face so sincere, so caring that I feel tears start to form in my eyes. He knows. He knows the truth, unlike everyone else in my world. He’s the only one. He reaches across the table and puts his steady hand on top of my shaking one.
“Yes, I’m freaking losing it,” I say with a tense smile, reaching up with my other shaking hand to brush away the tears that are almost over my lids.
“What do you want to do?” he asks, matter of fact. “We can do whatever you want. Do you want to leave?”
I don’t say anything. I nod and I can feel that my face must look like I’m in distress mode. I can’t seem to control it. The truth is that I don’t really want to leave, but I feel like I have to. I’m going to be sick all over this table in five seconds or I will have to use their bathroom 15 times in one hour, I might as well get my dinner sent to me in the fucking bathroom. That’s just awesome. I can’t fucking handle this!
“Okay, let’s go. Come on,” he says, getting up, pulling on my limp hand.
“We can’t go, we just put in our order!” I say to him and he smiles at me.
“We can do whatever the fuck we want, princess, and I’m here to remind you so,” he says, pulling on my hand again.
I don’t get up. I just look at him. We can do whatever we want. Really?
“Look, I’ll go pay them right now. I’ll tell them to cancel the order, or we can just totally blow this joint, I don’t care which, but you are more important to me than some dinner out,” he says and I feel faint. He thinks I’m important, he cares about me as much as I care about him. I’ve never felt this way before. Protected, understood, maybe even loved or cared about an awful lot. It feels so good. Tears rush to my eyes again and I pull on his hand.
“No sit, I can do it. I’ll make it. Just talk to me, please,” I say.
<
br /> He looks at me, serious, questioning, finally raising en eyebrow to make sure I’m serious. I nod and he sits again, eyes on mine.
“Tell me about class. Did you skip again?” he asks, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“I…ah…went to one class today. I skipped one.” I say, putting my head in my hands. “Don’t judge, don’t scold, that’s not too bad right, 50/50?” I say with a tiny smile, looking up at him and he laughs outright.
“Hun, I just want to make sure you’ll be coming back next semester. That’s the most important thing. If you need to you can always withdraw.”
I smile, tears forming again. God I’m so emotional today and he’s so understanding. I’ve never really talked with anyone about this shit and it’s like heaven to be able to talk openly, to not have to hide how I really feel.
“I think I can make it through the rest of the semester. I probably won’t get stellar grades, but I think I can do it. I don’t want to have to admit that this thing is that big. I feel like it gives it more power if I give in to what it wants,” I reply.
“Yeah, I can see that. But I want you to be okay, Victoria. I want you to know you can talk to me about this whenever and you can withdraw, it’s not the end of the world,” he says, warm large hand on mine again.
I smile for real this time and I am now officially distracted and officially in love.
#######################
Back at his place, we get out of the warm car to say goodbye. I lean against the cold passenger’s side door and he leans against me, warm hands on my face, holding my eyes to his.
“You’re gonna be alright, kid, you know that,” he says and I smile and nod, tears creeping in again. “Look at those stars,” he says and I look up at the dark night sky at the wide spread of glittering yellow points of light.
“We’re just these little things down here and in the big picture would it really have mattered if we left the restaurant tonight? No, it wouldn’t have mattered at all. It was just some dinner out, some restaurant with okay food. It’s not a big deal, Vic. I want you to remember that you come first, that you are important and that you are not crazy. And if you need to take care of yourself, then that’s okay. But it’s good that you worked through it, that you did stay. That was an accomplishment. So stop shitting on yourself. I can see you doing it right now. I can see that you feel guilty and terrible about it. So stop it. Really,” he says, staring into my eyes, finally putting his arms around me and pulling me tighter against him. And then he kisses me, warm mouth, tangy minty breath, like the air, cold, exhilarating, exciting and I kiss him back.
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