by PJ Nakfoor
* * *
The day that started so beautifully began to unravel. I recognized an acquaintance in the obituary section of the newspaper, found two overdue bills under a stack of old magazines, and dropped a glass of orange juice, which plastered my kitchen floor with sticky glass shards. Outside, rainclouds forced their way overhead, blocking the sun’s healing rays. The day plodded on as I pushed away a looming apprehension. While I was looking forward to the evening, anxiety loitered like a park vagrant. I took half a Valium, and after fifteen minutes, I began the task of sorting through the contents of my kitchen junk drawer and tossed out about half of it. Where did this stuff come from? We’d collected old batteries, ragged notepads, twisted paper clips and all sizes of nails and screws. I wiped out the drawer and rearranged the rest neatly. As always, cleaning and organizing calmed my nerves. If I ever beat this phobia, our house would become a shambles!
I decided to dress up a bit for the show. I put on a knee-length denim skirt, a short-sleeved, floral, chiffon blouse, and white low-heeled sandals. Looking in the mirror, I was pleased to see a sun-kissed complexion and a few seasonal freckles. I added a swipe of tawny blush and brown-black mascara, and even touched up my eyebrows with light brown shadow.
I heard the side door open and close—Carl must be back from work.
“Viv? I’m home—just need to take a quick shower. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
“I’m up here!” I shouted.
Carl came upstairs and walked into the bathroom. His eyes widened with pleasant surprise and he emitted a low catcall whistle. “You’d turn my head if I saw you walking down the street, Viv.”
I kissed him on the cheek, cherishing his attention and approval. “Go ahead and get ready,” I said, as I shooed him out of the bathroom.
* * *
We stopped at The Neighborhood Pub and ordered an oversized plate of their famous nachos. Carl had a beer, but I stuck to Diet Coke since I could feel the Valium starting to calm my stubborn bit of tension.
As we dug into the nachos, we made small talk about our day. Finally, I had to ask. “So, did you keep your promise?”
Carl looked at me, puzzled. “What promise?”
“Did you call the cardiologist?” I tried not to sound like a total nag.
“I did,” he said proudly.
“And?”
“Dr. Kahn is off for a month recovering from surgery, so I can’t see him until then.”
“A month?”
“I could see his partner Dr. Prescott sooner, but Dr. Sheffield had specifically referred me to Dr. Kahn.”
I couldn’t contain my irritation. “I’m sure Dr. Prescott would be fine.”
“Viv, I did what you asked. Now can we change the subject?”
We finished our meal in silence, and then drove to Faith’s school.
* * *
The auditorium had recently been remodeled and looked as grand as any theater I’d imagined on Broadway. We chose to sit near the aisle about five rows back from the stage, and I was pleased to see a sparse audience. Crowded places were often precursors to my anxiety. Soon, the heavy mulberry colored curtain opened, and the play began. Faith’s character, Susanna Walcott, was a minor role and most of her lines took place in the first act.
The play was a semi-fictionalized version of the Salem, Massachusetts witch trials, which took place in the late sixteen hundreds . The first act opened with a local reverend discovering a group of girls and young women from the village dancing and singing while naked in the forest. His daughter, Betty, his Barbadian slave, Tituba and his niece, Abigail were part of the group. They had drunk chicken blood and put a curse on the wife of a man who had an affair with Abigail. The following morning, Betty is found in her bed in a coma. Other villagers hear of the sick girl and initially accuse Tituba and Abigail, and soon many others of practicing witchcraft.
When the reverend can’t awaken Betty, he sends Abigail’s house girl, Susanna, to fetch a medical doctor. When Susanna returns, she tells him that the doctor cannot help since he does not practice that type of medicine. Begrudgingly, the reverend sends for a man known to be trained in demonology.
I was astonished when Faith entered the stage wearing a full-length, drab cotton dress under a dark green corseted tunic and a winged ivory bonnet. Her hair had been pinned up with a few curly strands peeking out from under the bonnet. She looked so… Puritan.
“Dr. Griggs he bid me to come and tell you, Reverend, sir, that he cannot discover no medicine for it in his books,” was Faith’s first line.
She was captivating. Her voice was strong and clear, and she looked as composed and smooth as an Olympic figure skater. I erupted with pride and was relieved that she didn’t seem to have crippling fears hindering her independence. I was thoroughly engrossed in the rest of the play and completely forgot about the other half of my Valium. Carl and I gave a standing ovation at the end.
We waited for Faith to change out of her costume and wash off her makeup. When she came from backstage and saw us, she ran over, her brown curls bouncing, and gave us quick hugs. Her speech was fast and animated.
“Did you really like it? I’m so glad you got to see it tonight. We were less nervous knowing it wasn’t opening night. Some of the cast is going out for pizza. Can I go? Please!”
“Slow down a minute. Who’s driving?” Carl asked.
“Anabelle. She has her mom’s van—I think two other girls are riding with her. George Hinson—he’s the one who plays Reverend Pariss—is driving a couple of the guys.”
Carl and I looked at one another, both unsure.
“Well, you’ve worked hard, and you deserve some fun. But remember, tomorrow is a school day, so we want you home by eleven,” said Carl, looking at his watch. “That gives you about two hours.”
“Thank you!” Faith said, a bit dramatically, as Carl pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “You’re the best!” She hugged us and turned to leave the auditorium and find her friends.
“Faith,” I called, “wear your seatbelt and no shenanigans in the van!”
She stopped, turned around and looked at me as if to say really, Mom? then said, “The Sixties called—they want their lingo back! Just kidding. Love you both.”
She waved and ran out the door.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
2020
Carl and I sat in the living room watching the 10 p.m. news. About 10:45 a car’s headlights beamed through the front window and a few minutes later, Faith came in the front door.
Looking at his watch, Carl said, “You’re home before curfew, Faith. How was the pizza?”
“The pizza was fine.”
Without another word, she ran up the stairs and banged her bedroom door closed. We looked at each other, bewildered.
“What the…?” Carl started. “Two hours ago, she was giddy as a kid on Christmas morning.”
“I’d better go up and talk to her,” I said.
“Why don’t you give her a few minutes,” Carl said.
After a short time, I went upstairs and knocked on her door. “Faith, can I come in?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said in a stilted voice. She was sitting on her bed, teary-eyed, her face a collage of hot-pink splotches dotted with brown freckles.
“Honey, what happened?” I asked gently.
“Nothing really happened, I just feel stupid around the older kids. They laugh and joke with each other so easily.”
“Did they laugh at you?” I asked.
“A couple of people were telling dirty jokes. George put me on the spot and said it was my turn. The one I told was so lame. It was the first joke I could think of. No one laughed, and then he said something like, ‘Oh yeah, that explains it. You’re only a freshman.’”
I pulled Faith close to me and hugged her tightly.
“Honey don’t be so sensitive. Sometimes a boy’s way of flirting is teasing. You’ll be an upperclassman soon enough. Why don’t you try the joke on m
e?”
“Mom…”
“C’mon, just try me.”
“Okay, but it’s really stupid. Why do you tell actors to ‘break a leg’?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. Why?”
“Because there’s a cast in every play.” She turned a shade redder.
I burst into laughter and said, “It’s not dirty but it is lame!” Then she started to giggle. Soon, the two of us were howling and every time we tried to stop, we started up again. This went on for a few minutes till we both had tears streaming down our faces.
“Thanks, Mom. I feel better.”
She kissed me goodnight and as I left the room she said, “Mom, it was good to see you laugh so hard. I really think you’re getting better.”
“So do I, sweetie.”
* * *
I wanted to take advantage of my bravery at the play the previous night and planned to do Surprise Step Six, which was to go to a movie at a local theater by myself and watch the entire show. I decided to see Little Women. I chose the six o’clock showing because Carl would be done with work and could be available if needed. I hadn’t been to a cinema in at least two years because it was so much easier to watch movies at home on Netflix or HBO. I didn’t take a Valium before leaving home but made sure the pills were in my purse. Luckily, the show was in the Carriage Hills Mall theater complex, so having driven the route recently, it should be straightforward. It wasn’t so much the distance from home that made me anxious but being out of my everyday surroundings.
I had made a crock of white chicken chili and turned down the setting to “warm” so it would be waiting for Carl, along with some homemade corn muffins. My appetite was subdued by my tension. At five-thirty I said a prayer, got into my car and pulled out of the driveway.
I turned into the parking lot and watched other people leave their cars and go to the ticket booth. I did the same. Again, blending in with them felt so new but wonderful—I was just another movie-goer.
The theater wasn’t too busy for a Friday. I bought my ticket and went to the concession area. The smell of buttered popcorn made my mouth water, so I ordered a small tub along with a frozen Cherry Coke. I went into the theater and it took several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I chose a seat at the end of an aisle in case I needed to make a quick exit. Sinking into the cushioned seat, I tossed a handful of popcorn into my mouth. It was heavenly—each kernel fluffy and dripping with butter.
As the previews began, I felt my pulse quicken and my stomach quiver. I silently said another prayer, took three cleansing breaths, shook my purse to hear the Valium pills rattle, and forced myself to stay seated until the movie started. Once Little Women began, I gave myself permission to leave after the first thirty minutes. I did this throughout the show, and it worked! Keeping the choice available, one half-hour at a time, kept me focused and present. I enjoyed the movie tremendously, connecting to the plot, which told the story of four sisters living during Civil War times. Each survived harrowing experiences which pushed them into adulthood, leaving behind their childhood innocence forever. I thought of my own trauma and how it changed the course of my life.
I emptied the popcorn bucket, licking my fingers when the last kernel was gone.
* * *
I was on a roll, so I told Carl I’d like to do Superstitious Step Seven the next day since Faith would be busy with the play and he had the weekend off.
“Are you sure, Viv? You’ve pushed yourself the past couple of days,” he said.
“I’m concerned we may not have a full weekend again till later this summer,” I said.
Step Seven involved going with Carl on an Amtrak train trip to Chicago.
“We could do it all in one day if we have to. But I found some hotel specials downtown near the train station. If we left early in the morning and returned on Sunday morning, that would give us twenty-four hours—we could walk up and down the Magnificent Mile and do some shopping,” I said, hardly believing those words came out of my mouth. I’m getting better!
Carl hemmed and hawed a bit, and I could tell he wasn’t up for the trip.
“Well, it sounds like you’ve already done some planning. Let’s talk to Faith.”
As if on cue, she came bounding through the front door.
“Opening night was amazing! We got a standing ovation at the end,” she reported, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. “I wasn’t nervous once the play started—when I came on stage, I couldn’t even see the audience because of the lighting.”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” said Carl, and gave her a bear hug. “We are so proud of you. Your mom and I are thinking of taking the train to Chicago tomorrow as part of her therapy—we’d be back Sunday. How would you feel about that?”
“Wow, really? I’m cool with it. I can have Anabelle pick me up on the way to the show tomorrow night.”
I made the final arrangements for the train tickets and the hotel reservation, then went upstairs to pack my overnight bag.
* * *
I woke up Saturday feeling exhilarated, but the closer we got to leaving, my confidence deflated like a punctured bicycle tire. I drank three cups of coffee and had some peanut butter toast. But the caffeine backfired, raising my heart rate and stirring up anxiety. I showered, dressed, and popped a whole Valium.
On the way to the Amtrak station, I began to hyperventilate. Carl pulled over and retrieved the brown paper bag from the glove compartment. I breathed in and out for several minutes and felt a bit better. Now we needed to hurry to catch the train, but the light turned red at every intersection and this made my anxiety surge. By the time we parked and unloaded the trunk I was close to panic mode.
“You’ll be okay, Viv, I promise,” Carl said, as if he was trying to convince himself.
We had to walk quickly to the platform as boarding had started. Just as we reached the train, I escalated and couldn’t stop hyperventilating. I grabbed my chest while electric jolts shot from there to my arms and legs. I felt like my lungs wouldn’t expand enough to get the oxygen I needed, so each breath was progressively deeper, worsening my symptoms.
“C’mon, Viv, you’re okay,” Carl said, as a small crowd of people looked on. This angered me, and between gasps of air, I shouted, “I’m not okay, do I look okay?”
A man stepped forward and said, “Ma’am, should I call an ambulance?”
“No, she’ll be…,” Carl answered, his speech sounding hollow and distorted.
I saw faces filled with concern and pity fold in on me. They swirled together, like water draining from a bathtub, and then there was nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
2020
The gentleman who offered to call an ambulance must have dialed 911 when he saw me slump to the ground. I woke to the sound of sirens and Carl thanking people for their concern but requesting that they stand back. He was kneeling next to me and gently stroking my hair.
As two twenty-something paramedics took a quick history, I felt ashamed. I could almost feel the pity oozing from the bystanders. Carl told the medics of my panic attacks and that the hyperventilation most likely caused me to pass out. They checked my vital signs, palpated my scalp and neck for injuries, used a penlight to inspect my pupils, listened to my heart and lungs, and finally, surveyed my back and extremities.
“Everything looks great, ma’am, but we should transport you to the emergency room to have a more thorough work up,” the taller paramedic said.
“Please, no! I’m feeling fine now. I promise to call my doctor today,” I pleaded.
“We are obligated…” His tanned face was creased with concern.
“I have panic attacks and was breathing too fast for too long. That’s why I passed out,” I said.
Carl spoke up. “I’m comfortable with taking her home. I’ll watch her closely and go to the hospital if anything changes.”
“We’ll have to call the ER to get approval for non-transport,” the paramedic said.
He walked back
to the ambulance while the other one stood by. He looked almost as young and vulnerable as Faith.
“Carl, I’m so sorry,” I said, breaking into a sob. He didn’t respond but continued to stroke my hair.
By now the passengers were loaded, and an Amtrak worker was asking Carl questions and taking notes. In a few minutes, the paramedic returned and asked me to sign a “refuse to transport” form. They stood me up to make sure I could walk steadily, and then checked my vitals one more time. I didn’t feel lightheaded anymore, just embarrassed.
“Okay, ma’am, I hope you feel better.” Then he turned to Carl and said, “Sir, call us back if needed.”
Carl retrieved the car and the Amtrak worker helped me get in. I sobbed the entire drive home, feeling ashamed and angry with myself.
* * *
Faith opened the front door when she saw us pull into the driveway.
“Why are you back?” she asked, looking bewildered.
Once she saw my face, she ran towards me, hugged me tightly and said, “I’m sorry, Mom. Remember what you always say to me, ‘Life is sometimes one step forward, two steps back.’” I was emotionally depleted and didn’t want to hear Faith’s advice, although I knew she meant well.
I took a two-hour nap and then put in a call to Dr. Buhari.
“Hello, Vivian. How are you doing? Don’t we have a video appointment next week?” he asked.
“Yes, doctor, we do. But I failed miserably today while waiting to get on the train to Chicago with Carl. I’m angry—I’ve been doing so well, and now I’m right back to the beginning. My panic attack was the worst one yet!” I knew I sounded whiney.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” he said, in a voice as soothing as a lullaby.
I related the story and doing so made my shame and humiliation gush to the surface. I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to push away the image of my episode.