Behind the Falls Page 17

  “I got tired,” is my lame excuse.

  “What did you boys do?” She doesn’t really want to know, she’s just prolonging the conversation so she can gauge how I am.

  “We just played some games,” I say vaguely.

  “Are you okay, Sweetie? You look…pale,” she finally asks. I shrug.

  “I think I ate too much pizza,” I lie. “I don’t feel very good. I’m just going to go to bed.” She studies me a bit more than puts a hand on my forehead.

  “You don’t feel warm,” she says as if a temperature is proof of anything.

  “Well yeah, it’s a stomach ache from too much pizza, not a fever,” I try to convince her. Eventually it must work because she gives me a sympathetic smile.

  “There’s Pepto in the bathroom,” she says and gives me a kiss on the cheek before continuing on to the living room where Dad is presumably waiting. I hurry to the bathroom down the hall and go through the farce of taking some Pepto. Actually, my stomach is in knots now. Anxiety stomach isn’t usually fixable with Pepto though.

  In my own room I shrug out of my jacket and grab something to sleep in before closing the door. I don’t lock it. My parents don’t like locked doors. They like to be able to check on me in the middle of the night, make sure I’m really sleeping and not panicking or something. I haven’t had a nighttime panic attack since well before we moved but they still don’t like the locked door. I can’t blame them really, not after the time they had to break the door down a few years ago.

  I take my pajamas into the bathroom and I do lock that door. They can’t expect to just walk in on me in the bathroom whenever they want. I turn on the shower then close the shower door without getting in the tub. I sit on the floor with my back against the tub hugging my knees to my chest. It’s all a mess. Everything is falling apart and it’s all a mess. I tried to be normal and I thought I was finally fine but I was just fooling myself.

  It’s escalating quickly, the anxiety. I’ve already moved on from overthinking, over analyzing and being over anxious about what happened tonight and now I’m just worrying over well, fear if I’m going to be honest. I’m afraid of being afraid. I’m afraid of this lack of control. I just want to be normal. I will never be normal. I never was normal. I wouldn’t even know normal would I? I go for the small pill container that’s kept in my medicine cabinet but it’s empty. I forgot that I used them at the amusement park and didn’t get more from Mom.

  I don’t want to ask Mom for pills right now. First of all, I don’t want her to know what’s happening but there’s more to it than that. If I take them after I’m already freaking out I have to take a larger dose just to get the desired affect and usually that will end up making me numb. I don’t want to be numb. I’ve spent a lot of my life too numb to really feel anything. Why can’t I just feel things like a normal person and not lose it over everything?

  I can’t do this. I can’t pretend to be normal and go to school and make friends and pretend that everything is going to be great. It hasn’t been much more than a month and I’ve already failed. I was riding that false sense of security and thinking I was doing great, going to school, making friends getting through the day without feeling afraid, getting through life without drugs…none of it was real. Maybe it’s a good thing, what Tabitha did tonight. Maybe it’s easier to lose them like this than to lose them when they find out who the real Noah is.

  His eyes! I can’t stop thinking about how much pain there was in his eyes. I did that. I’ve felt so much pain in my life and just because it’s all in my head that doesn’t make it any less real. I never would have hurt someone like that on purpose. I did that. Tabitha started it but I didn’t stop it. I let it happen. It doesn’t matter what her motives were or what mine were the end result is the same. I’m NOT a good person. I don’t deserve friends. I don’t deserve to be normal. I deserve every bit of what I feel right now.

  I sit this way on the bathroom floor while the room fills with steam and then when the water starts to run cold and the steam dissipates I’m still sitting there. My mind runs in circles. What’s worse, feeling this or feeling numb? I wish I could call Dr. Bachman. I don’t trust Dr. Cooper.

  “You will never get better until you stop trying. You will never get well until you admit that you’re not and just accept who you are,” is what he told me a few weeks ago. What kind of advice is that? If he was trying to confuse me it worked. I WAS well! I was fine until tonight! I wish I could take this whole evening back and do it all differently.

  Finally my stomach gets the better of me and I throw up repeatedly. Pizza and Pepto is such a nasty combination that it makes me puke all over again. When was the last time I worried myself sick? I blow my nose and get in the shower. By now the water isn’t hot anymore. It’s barely warmer than lukewarm. I shower quickly while I break out in goose bumps.

  I think of the way Tabitha gave me goose bumps. I think of the way she kissed me, the way she touched me, her hand in a place no one else has ever had their hand. No one has ever touched me like that before tonight. I try to remember exactly how that felt but right now I’m so upset I can’t remember anything good about the night.

  I dry off quickly and shove still damp skin into pajamas. When I pull the string on my pajama bottoms I notice that my hands are shaking more than when I got home. I feel…uneven. I brush my teeth hurriedly and crawl into bed where I lie for hours. I can’t sleep. Of course I can’t sleep. I’m way too wired and nervous and anxious. It wasn’t long ago that every night was like this, lying in wakefulness, nerves on end, muscles tight and mind going around in circles.

  I’m not even aware that I’ve spent most of this time crying until I realize that my pillow case is soaked. I’m ashamed of the tears as if they had anything to do with what happened tonight or my feelings in general. I mean, at what point is a boy too old to cry? These tears are frustration and fear and the fact that I have no control over myself. I wipe my face and flip my pillow over to the dry side just before I hear the sound of the door knob turning. I close my eyes and try to keep my breathing deep and even. I’ve feigned sleep for my parents’ sakes before.

  “Noah?” whispers my mom. I ignore her. “Noah?” she tries a little more volume.

  “You see, Beth? He’s sound asleep. Everything is fine,” says Dad quietly.

  “He may have taken some meds. He’d probably be able to sleep if he took some meds. Something wasn’t right when he got home. I’m worried Oliver,” Mom insists. She’s always been the one that can really read me. She’s the one that’s so hard to fool. Dad is one of the smartest people I know but he’s not really observant. He can be a little scatterbrained. It’s so hard to take long, deep breaths while they talk about me in the doorway.

  “He’s been doing great here, Beth. Moving here has been the best thing for him, really.”

  “You didn’t SEE him, Ollie,” Mom persists.

  “Well what did he say exactly?” Dad asks. I can imagine Mom’s shrug. She really doesn’t have anything more than woman’s intuition and a mother’s knowledge of her son.

  “He just said he had a stomach ache from eating too much pizza…” she begins and Dad chuckles.

  “I’ve seen the boy eat pizza. That’s not so hard to believe,” he says.

  “It wasn’t what he said or even how he said it. It was his eyes,” Mom persists.

  “Did he ask for his meds?” Dad says. Dad may be the oblivious one, the one that’s easiest to fool but he’s also the one that won’t hesitate to use tough love if he thinks it’s needed.

  “He didn’t ask for any but he has his single dose in his medicine cabinet if he needs it,” Mom responds.

  I can’t go through this again, having them worry, having them shadow my every move, making me go to a doctor I don’t trust. I have to handle this on my own. Geeze, I’m sixteen freaking years-old. I’ll be going to college in another year. I don’t need Mommy and Daddy.

  Before they leave my room I feel the bed sink as
someone sits and I know it’s Mom when she brushes my too-long hair off of my forehead. It’s almost impossible to keep your eyes closed and not moving when you know someone is looking at you. It feels unnatural to lie so still. People move in their sleep. I make a small sleepy sound in my throat and wriggle deeper into the covers. Mom leans forward and kisses my cheek before getting up and following Dad from my room. They don’t close the door.

  I roll onto my back and stretch out with a sigh. My head is killing me. I’m so tense that the muscles in my neck are tight and I know I’m not going to sleep any time soon. My mind won’t shut off and I just keep going over and over it again and again. Because my parents left the door open I hear their bedroom door open hours later when one of them gets out of bed and I roll over and close my eyes again before they enter my room.

  “Noah?” It’s Dad this time. When I don’t answer him he enters the room and takes the chair at my desk. How many times have my parents done this same thing? Sitting here in my room watching me sleep, at least he thinks he’s watching me sleep, do they do this a lot? Are they that concerned? God, what must it be like for them, having a kid like me?

  Dad sits there for at least an hour. I think I’m finally starting to doze off when he gets up and the creaking of the chair pulls me awake again. He goes back to bed but I’m just wide awake and restless still. The sky is getting light outside when my eyes finally feel heavy, when I finally fall asleep.

  I may have slept for three hours at most when I’m awoken by the smell of coffee and bacon and the sounds of my parents in the kitchen. I debate staying in bed until I fall back to sleep but Mom will probably come looking for me soon anyway. It’s Sunday but she doesn’t believe in lying around in bed all day even if there’s no school to get up for. She has no clue that I barely slept last night. After a half-assed job of making my bed I shuffle towards the kitchen.

  “Feeling better?” Mom asks as she puts a plate of bacon on the table.

  “Mmm hmm,” I mumble as I sit down. Dad looks at me shrewdly over his cup of coffee.

  “You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” he says. Thanks, Dad, that’s good for my ego. I just answer him with a shrug. Mom brings a plate with a large stack of pancakes to the table with her when she sits down.

  My stomach is still not great. It’s a miracle I don’t have ulcers the way worry plays Hell with my guts. I take two slices of bacon and one pancake. I’m usually a big breakfast eater. With the hit or miss kind of dinners Mom makes it’s best to fuel up and fill up when you can around this house. She notices and raises an eyebrow.

  “I thought you said your stomach was okay?” she questions.

  “I’m going for a run. I can’t do that on a full stomach. I probably should have done that first but this smelled too good,” I lie. I’m only eating to keep them off my back. After breakfast I change and head out for a run I really don’t feel up to but that I need.

  I need to clear my head. I need to work off some nervous energy. I need to get out of the house. After I stretch I hit the pavement hard. I run much faster than I usually start but I don’t care.

  I have a regular pattern that I follow when I run. I go around my block first then I go an extra street over before turning and the block becomes two. The next time around I go a street further in length before turning. In this way my circles become increasingly larger. I don’t know why I choose to run this way. When I’m ready to go back home I collapse the circles a street at a time as well.

  This morning though I have to change up my pattern. I’m just about to turn down the street Max lives on when I realize I just can’t. It’s not like I’m afraid I’ll see him. He was probably up late last night and with no one else in the house to wake him he’s most likely still sleeping but I can’t do it. I skip his street but now I’m back in my head again. I can usually clear everything out when I run and just exist but not today.

  I get really bad side stitches when I’m not even halfway through my usual distance. I shouldn’t have tried to eat first. I slow to a walk until I get to the end of a block and then I just sit on the curb and put my elbows on my knees. I debate the pros and cons of talking to my parents or keeping my mouth shut.

  On the one hand if I tell them the anxiety is really back they’ll worry, they’ll force extra sessions with Dr. Cooper and they’ll shadow me all of the time. Dad’s writing will probably be affected and he’s really been making good progress. Mom may choose not to take any work and I know how much she loves it.

  If I don’t tell them the only downside I can really see is dealing with it on my own. What can be really bad about that? I won’t need to see the doctor. My dad can continue on with his book. Mom can keep looking for that full time position that would really be good for all of us. Of course there are downsides like the sleepless nights and the upset stomach but I’ll have those even if I do tell them. I can’t count on them forever. Eventually I’ll be on my own anyway.

  I get up and start running again but I take it easier this time. The fact that I’m more worried about the anxiety than what triggered it is not lost on me as I skip Max’s street again. I mean, I’m still really upset with Tabitha and frankly devastated over the way Max had told me he needed me “gone” last night but all of this worry since then has been about the fear itself. I know I’m obsessing about it and you’d think I’d be able to just let it go but that’s not possible. If I knew how to I would. If I knew WHY I’m like this I’d change it.

  When I’m a street away from mine I slow to a walk to cool down. I worked up a sweat while I ran but now that I’m cooling off I realize how cold it is. November is just around the corner. I’m not ready for winter. I hate when the days get shorter. I hate when it’s too cold and icy to get out and run. I still run in the winter but not nearly as much. I’m restless in the winter. Some of my worst times have been in the winter.

  “Noah?” Mom calls when she hears the front door close. Why does she always wonder who is coming in the door?

  “I’m back,” I call to let her know it’s me. She comes to the kitchen doorway which gives a view straight to the front door and me.

  “Max called while you were out. He called the house phone because you didn’t answer your cell. I really wish you would take that with you at all times. What’s the point of having it if you’re never carrying it?”

  I’m barely listening as I head to my room where I left my phone on my desk. Max called? Somehow I didn’t think Max would ever speak to me again. Of course he could just be calling me to tell me he wants his chem notes back or that he wants me to stay away from Tabitha or that the friendship is over in case I didn’t understand that after last night. Still, he called the house phone when I didn’t answer my cell. He never calls the house. He would just leave a message or send a text if it wasn’t important, right? Anything I’ve already considered he could have waited to tell me at school tomorrow. School tomorrow…how am I supposed to get through that?

  I’ve been sitting at my desk staring at my blank phone screen for at least five minutes. I don’t know why it’s so hard to make the call. I will the phone to ring. It would be so much easier if he just called me but I know he won’t. He’s already left a message. I get up and close my bedroom door and then I sit at my desk again, take a deep breath and make the call. It rings more than once, not that I’m counting or anything.

  “Hey, No,” he says. His use of the nickname that he created could be a good sign or it could be habit.

  “Uh, Mom said you called?” I still think this call has more to do with Max wanting his chem notes than wanting to talk to me. There’s a moment of silence then I hear Max sigh.

  “Noah? I…”Max at a loss for words is uncommon to say the least. Finally he blurts, “I’m just really sorry about last night. I’m sorry I chased you off like that. Things were just…getting out of control. Tabitha…Jesus, she just really made a mess of things last night. I just had to deal with her and it wasn’t until later that I realized you probabl
y took it the wrong way…”

  “No, Max I’m sorry. I had no idea. I mean, she was upset and I was just there and I don’t know why but then she was kissing me and I should have stopped it. I know I should have but I didn’t think. I mean, I know how she feels about you. That alone should have made me stop her but I had no idea that you…I thought you were just friends. I mean, I never would have done that if I thought otherwise. Even she said…”I realize I’m rambling and I’m not really saying anything Max doesn’t know so I shut up.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, No,” Max says quietly and I feel such a ridiculous amount of relief.

  “So what about Tabitha? Are you guys finally official?” I ask. I’m not sure how long it will take me to get over being angry with Tabitha but I guess for the sake of my friendship with Max I’m going to have to get over it eventually. Max sighs on the other end of the line.

  “I didn’t know,” he says. “I never realized how Tabitha felt. I really thought we were on the same page…”he lets his words trail off as if he has no idea what to say next.

  “But then why were you so angry?” I prompt.

  “Because she was trying to hurt me and she used you to do it and she’s supposed to be my FRIEND, and yours. I feel terrible that she’s hurting because of me. She’s had enough pain in her life. I don’t want to be the cause of more but I can’t give her what she wants. I just don’t feel that way about her. It just got so messed up last night. I didn’t handle it well. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Are you sure?” I don’t even know why I’m speaking on her behalf but I just don’t believe that he doesn’t have feelings for her after last night. “I mean, come on, Max. She really hurt you, I could see that. You seemed like there was more to it than just being angry that she tried to hurt you…”

  “I’m sure, No. I care about Tabby a lot, love her even, but as a friend. I’m just not IN love with her. There’s someone…someone I do feel that way about and I told Tabitha all about that because it’s been so hard…I needed to talk to someone. I mean, it’s senior year and then I’m out of here. What is the point of starting a relationship I know can’t last? Hell, I’m not even sure it could START. But still, I don’t know. I feel like I’m cheating myself if I don’t even try…but I’m getting off topic.