by PJ Nakfoor
“Um, I haven’t called the cardiologist’s office yet,” he said, sounding like an errant child.
“You haven’t? Why not?”
“I guess I was waiting to see how my labs turned out,” he said quickly.
“Mr. Long, even if your labs were perfect, you still need the test. Have you had any chest pain or shortness of breath since we saw you?”
“No. And no more dizzy spells either.”
“Good. Now get that stress test on the calendar. Once it’s scheduled, call us back and we can set up your next appointment with Dr. Sheffield to talk about your cholesterol.”
“Yes, ma’am. Promise.”
I darted back to the kitchen and called out, “Carl, dinner’s ready.”
He came into the kitchen and sat at the table. “Smells good.”
“Who was on the phone?” I asked casually.
“Leah from Dr. Sheffield’s office. My labs look great, except my cholesterol’s a bit high. I’m going to see him in a couple of weeks to discuss my options.”
“What about the cardiologist?”
“Oh, they referred me to Dr. Kahn. I’ll call his office tomorrow. Now let’s talk about your day.”
I didn’t have much to say. As I plated Carl’s food, my anger simmered. He was in denial about his recent health developments. We ate in silence and when we were done, I stood to clear the table.
“Viv, what’s the matter?”
“Just call the damn cardiologist.” I knew my tone was snarky.
He sighed loudly, went back into the den, and closed the door.
* * *
Opening night of The Crucible was just around the corner. Faith knew her lines and her costume was ready, needing only a bit of tweaking, but she admitted she was getting nervous.
“Mom, I read a story about one of the actors in the Phantom of the Opera who said he vomited before each performance during the first year,” she said one morning while eating an English muffin before school.
“I would think it would be abnormal not to be nervous. You’re going to do fine, sweetie.” I squeezed her shoulder gently.
Faith often said how much she loved theater and imagined joining the cast at curtain call of a Broadway show. Being the star, she would come out last, sweeping gracefully to the front of the stage. The audience would stand, clap and whistle until well after the cast took their final bows.
“Are you still planning to research colleges with well-known theater departments?” I asked.
“Yup, and I plan to talk with Mrs. Zimmerman and get her input. I know that acting isn’t enough. You need to be a good singer and dancer, too. Maybe I’ll ask for some private lessons for my birthday or Christmas?”
“We’ll see,” I said.
We looked at each other and smiled.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
1985-1991
Vivi sat on the stairs, listening to the detective talking with Nana and Papa. She didn’t understand a lot of what they talked about, but knew it was ten times worse than what she had imagined.
“We learned about a sex trafficking ring taking place over several counties,” the well-built detective said, in a tenor voice which didn’t match his physique.
Nana shrieked. “What?”
“One of the members—usually a woman—approaches a girl or boy standing alone in a public place and tells them a family member sent them to rescue him or her. As in Vivi’s case, using general descriptions such as, “Do they have grey hair? or Do they wear glasses?” leads the child to believe that the abductor knows their family.”
“That’s the devil’s work! How could they want to hurt my baby?” Nana cried.
Vivi wasn’t sure what the detective was talking about, but Nana’s reaction froze her in place.
“Makes me sick!” Papa spat.
“They usually hunt for children at crowded places like fairs, parks, circuses, libraries, shopping malls and airports,” said the detective.
“Then what?” asked Papa.
“The child is taken to an isolated home or motel and prostituted out to other adults.”
Vivi knew this was very bad and ran upstairs, wishing she hadn’t listened. She jumped into her bed and pulled the covers over her head. A while later, she heard a car leave the driveway. The detective must be gone. Nana knocked on Vivi’s door and asked if she could talk with her.
Vivi sat up, put her hands over her ears and said, “No. I don’t want to hear!” Then she burst into tears.
Nana sat on the edge of her bed, and stroked Vivi’s hair. “I just want you to know that your unicorn helped the police find you,” Nana said softly.
Vivi’s stopped crying and said, “What? How?”
“A young man found him in the parking lot and yelled for the van to stop. When the van sped up, he memorized its license plate and reported it to the police,” Nana said.
“Really? Where is my unicorn?”
“He’s still at the police station, but the detective promised to bring him back to you.” Nana dabbed Vivi’s eyes with a tissue and held her close for a long time.
* * *
Vivi’s family was never the same after that day. Nana became overprotective, and Papa, quiet and brooding. She and Shane were no longer allowed to ride the bus to school—Nana or Papa drove them to and from, every day. Vivi’s girlfriends began to have sleepovers and birthday parties at local swimming pools or pizza parlors, but Nana didn’t let Vivi go and soon the invitations stopped. Shane let her play with him and his friends more often, but Vivi thought it was his way of keeping an eye on her. She had nightmares and slept only if a bedroom lamp was on and the door open. She started to avoid enclosed spaces like elevators, closets, and occasionally riding in vehicles. Nana arranged for Vivi to see a child psychiatrist, Dr. Sharon, and Vivi liked her—they played board games or drew pictures while they talked. Eventually, Vivi’s nightmares lessened, and life got better. Better, but never the same.
* * *
One afternoon when Vivi was in third grade, Nana got a call from her school. Vivi had come in from noon recess and was hysterical. She was crying and hyperventilating, and nearly passed out, but couldn’t tell the principal what caused the episode. She had been playing kickball with a group of children, and while running, she became short of breath and began to panic. One of the recess monitors helped her into the school and to the principal’s office. The principal, Mrs. Patton, sat her down and gave her a brown paper bag.
“Vivi,” she said in a calm voice, “breathe in and out while holding the bag over your nose and mouth.”
It seemed like an odd request, but Mrs. Patton seemed to know what she was talking about, so Vivi did as instructed.
After a few minutes, Vivi began to relax, wondering how a lunch bag could make her feel better. It wouldn’t be till much later that she learned that hyperventilating causes a person to lose too much carbon dioxide, which can lead to numbness, chest pain and even seizures because it upsets the chemical balance in the body. In years to come, Vivi would keep a brown paper bag in every room in the house.
Once Nana arrived at the school, poor Vivi was flushed and sweaty and her eyes were puffy. Mrs. Patton said she could go home for the rest of the day.
“C’mon, Vivi. I’ll bake you some chocolate chip cookies,” said Nana.
As Nana pulled out of the school parking lot, they passed a rusted blue van and Vivi turned her head the other way.
“Honey, did you see that van during recess? Did that cause you to be upset?”
Vivi remained silent and was glad that Nana left it alone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
2020
After a couple of weeks, I was ready to face the Fearless Fourth Step which meant driving alone to and from a downtown shopping mall. Dr. Buhari said I didn’t need to go inside unless I wanted to but should at least sit in the parking lot and wait for several minutes before driving home. I was to write down my maximum driving speed, as well as the number of red lights I had to
sit through. Just thinking about the trip caused my heart rate to quicken. I decided to wait until after lunch, but before five-o’clock traffic.
I cleaned out our bedroom closet to keep my mind occupied that morning. First, I pulled out every piece of clothing on hangers and sorted them into “keep, donate, toss” piles. I found a royal blue cocktail dress with a deep, sequined neckline and was about to throw it in the donate pile, as I’d most likely never wear it again. But I hesitated. Could I someday be well enough to wear it to a wedding or a charity event? I tried it on, and it was a bit tight around the middle, but I was able to get the zipper up and looked in my full-length mirror. Wow, if I lost five or seven pounds it would look great, and in the meantime, I could treat myself to a Spanx undergarment.
After sorting through the clothes, I tackled several shoe boxes of letters, pictures, and mementos. Leafing through some old photos, I found one of my parents, dressed in what looked like Easter Sunday clothes. The background grass was barely green, and the trees were still mostly bare. Mom was beautiful in an ivory dress with a lace overlay and ivory shoes. She wore a light pink hat, held a pink clutch and her dazzling smile was bordered in frosty-pink lipstick. Dad was wearing a brown suit with a printed tie and dress shoes. They looked so happy. Just married, they were looking forward to a long life together with kids, a home, and a community. I felt myself well up with tears. Nana frequently said how much they loved Shane and me. Several years after they died, Nana told us they were intoxicated while on the snowmobile, and I felt resentful and hurt. What about their children? Didn’t they think about us before deciding to get on that thing? But maybe they drank for courage. That guess allowed me to forgive them. I didn’t self-medicate with alcohol, but I did with Valium, and I haven’t allowed myself to experience life, which is nearly as incapacitating.
After lunch, I jumped into the car and backed out of the driveway. I told myself repeatedly that I can, and will, do this. Driving through the neighborhood was easy. Since taking walks with Carl, my surroundings had become more familiar, almost an extension of my home. That must be how CBT works: keep expanding your area of comfort and becoming more courageous each time you do it.
By the time I reached the mall, anxiety had set in, but I forced myself to wait in the parking lot for ten minutes. Keeping the car window open made me feel less claustrophobic. An elderly man ambling to his car stopped and asked if I was okay. He must have seen the tension on my face.
“Oh, yes—I’m fine. Just waiting for my daughter, but thank you for asking,” I said.
“Is she a teenager?” he asked, and I heard his hearing aid squeal.
“How’d you know?” I smiled.
“Well, you might be here a while. They’re having a sidewalk sale in the center of the mall. Good deals.” He winked at me.
“Thanks for the warning. I’m glad I didn’t give her my credit card.”
This small exchange relaxed me. When I fully engaged in something positive, I tended to rise above the fear. There were plenty of people who could help in most any situation. I drove home feeling giddy.
* * *
While I was on a roll, I decided to move on to my next CBT step the following day. This one involved driving on the freeway by myself, going across town, and then returning using the same route.
Carl finished his coffee, grabbed his lunch pail, and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“Wish me luck today,” I said.
He looked quizzically at me for a moment. “Luck? Oh yeah— you’re doing the next step today. Sorry I forgot. What did you name this one?”
“Frickin Step Five.”
He laughed. “Call me when you get home,” he said as he gave me a second kiss and a squeeze of my shoulder.
After breakfast, I loaded and ran the dishwasher and decided to tackle the bathrooms. Cleaning had become a distraction from the apprehension I suffered before completing each step. By the end of CBT, my house should look like Mr. Clean himself had moved in. When that was finished, I showered, dressed, and checked the time—eleven a.m. I headed out to the car after making sure the Valium was in my purse. I knew I wouldn’t take one but felt safer knowing it was there.
I was nearing the freeway entrance ramp when panic grabbed me by the throat. My breathing became heavy, and I started to sweat despite having the AC on high. I pulled onto the shoulder and reached into the glove compartment to get my brown paper bag. Covering my nose and mouth, I breathed in and out, in and out. I remembered back to third grade when I did this for the first time—it felt like magic. I continued for two or three minutes and felt my breathing and heart rate slow down. I told myself I could pull over and do it again if I had to, and then eased onto the entrance ramp and merged with the seventy-mile-an hour traffic. It felt good to blend in with everyday people doing everyday things.
I returned home feeling elated and couldn’t wait to tell Carl and Faith about my success. Then I had an idea. Maybe Carl and I could go to the dress rehearsal of The Crucible when there wouldn’t be a “real” audience. I would find out from Faith if this was possible. I spent the rest of the afternoon working in the yard and watering my freshly planted flowers. I loved how the impatiens bloomed outward, joining their neighbors, and forming a connecting trail of pink and purple along the front of the house. Their lively colors amongst the green of the lawn and bushes heightened my mood.
That evening, I felt exhilaration as I rewarded myself by ordering a beautiful, caramel brown, leather fall jacket online from Macy’s. And in case I ever wore the blue cocktail dress, I added the Spanx.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
1997
Vivi’s mental health swung back and forth like a pendulum over the years. Some months she was nearly symptom-free, often followed by periods of obsessive fear. Dr. Sharon had diagnosed her with Anxiety Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and eventually prescribed Zoloft, which helped the pendulum’s swing stay closer to the middle. In junior high school, she tried out for and made the cheerleading squad which propelled her self-confidence. Nana and Papa eased their smothering and Vivi began to enjoy her new-found freedom. They were all cautiously optimistic that Vivi’s mental health issues were finally behind her.
Once she reached high school, Vivi formed a friendship with two girls, Bethany, a spunky redhead, and Astrid, a delicate blonde with blue-gray eyes. The three of them worked together on the student newspaper and both girls were fun-loving and genuine which instantly attracted Vivi. She eventually confided in them about her anxiety, and each admitted to having their own issues. Astrid struggled with an eating disorder and Bethany’s father was an alcoholic and made her home life unpredictable. Their willingness to be vulnerable with Vivi helped her feel less alone. The girls went to movies, hung out in each other’s bedrooms, talked endlessly about boys, and took drivers ed together. Vivi at long last felt normal—maybe she was finally cured of her panic attacks.
Vivi developed a crush on another sophomore, Jesse Magill. He was tall and thin with ink black hair and a Southern drawl; his family having moved from South Carolina the previous summer. He was in her homeroom and math class, but Vivi had yet to speak to him, except for saying hello in the hallway. He seemed introverted and hard to reach, so she imagined a relationship with him from afar.
In the spring of their sophomore year, Vivi and her friends went prom dress shopping at the Carriage Hills Mall. They didn’t have dates but planned to go with a group of eight or ten kids. In recent years, it had become fashionable to attend special school dances with a group, taking photos and going out to dinner beforehand.
“Wowie, look at that dress!” said Astrid, as they stood in front of a popular clothing store, staring into the window. A mannequin wore a floor length daffodil yellow gown, with a tulle overlay and sheer, long yellow sleeves.
“It’s gorgeous,” said Vivi.
“Go try it on, Vivi,” said Bethany.
“Why me? What about you?”
“Not me! Between the dress a
nd my hair, I’d look like Ronald McDonald.”
The girls erupted into laughter.
“Should I?” Vivi asked her friends.
Astrid and Bethany gently pushed their friend into the store. Bethany led them directly to a sales assistant.
“Excuse me. My friend,” she said, pointing to Vivi, “wants to try on that yellow gown.”
“Bethany!” Vivi protested, “I can speak for myself!”
The woman looked Vivi over and said, “You have to. The color is perfect, especially if you can tan a bit before you wear it. I’ll bring a couple of sizes to dressing room two and meet you girls there.”
Vivi sighed but relented. When she slipped into the dress and looked in the mirror, she felt a jolt of electricity from head to toe. If her hair and makeup were done, she could walk a runway. As she pulled back the dressing room curtain her friends gasped.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Bethany. “How much is it? You’re buying it.”
Astrid looked at the price tag affixed to the back zipper. “It’s seventy-five dollars, marked down to fifty-two. How much are you allowed to spend?”
“Fifty dollars,” said Vivi excitedly. “It’s mine!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
2020
Carl and I were given permission to attend the dress rehearsal of The Crucible, which was to take place on Thursday. The director, Mrs. Zimmerman, told Faith that the performance would be done before a minimal audience: those who worked on the set or the technical aspects of the production, teachers and drama students who were not acting in the play. The group was to evaluate and give feedback so the cast would be ready for opening night. She was fine with us attending, as Faith told her we couldn’t come to any of the real performances. I’m sure Faith didn’t disclose the reason, and I planned to take a half of a Valium and keep the other half on hand, so I wouldn’t make an ass of myself or embarrass Faith.
I woke up Thursday morning in a good mood. Sunlight streaked through the window blinds, projecting fuzzy stripes across the bedroom wall. The birds sang melodies to one another and I smelled fresh coffee—Carl must have brewed a pot before he left for work, which made me smile and lured me out of my cozy bed. He had asked his boss if he could start and leave early today, so we could have time for a bite before the play.