Behind the Falls Read online

  When my parents first told me the plan I totally lost it. I told them I wasn’t ready. I told them I couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it. I panicked, I puked, I even went to my closet at one point and I needed a couple of emergency sessions with Dr. Bachman.

  Finally they convinced me that it’s really not that big of a deal. If it doesn’t work out then I can go back to being homeschooled again. I’ll just have to do the work with my mom when she’s not subbing or at night after she’s done working. That’s what finally calmed me down enough to at least try it…the knowledge that it didn’t have to be any more permanent than that two weeks of Kindergarten.

  I must have fallen asleep after all. Mom is gently shaking me awake and we’re in Gran’s garage. I’m so tired I wish I was small enough to be carried into the house by my dad. That’s another issue I have. When I finally do get tired I crash hard. I can tell by how tired I am that the anxiety is there in the background. It’s not unmanageable yet but it’s worse than it has been in a long time. I’m not going to school for another week, thank God, but just knowing that it’s looming is enough to derail me.

  It’s only eight o’clock at night but we’re all worn out from the drive. My parents check the house to make sure everything is as it should be. Mom plugs in the refrigerator. When we were here in July she cleaned it out and unplugged it. She’ll go shopping tomorrow to stock up the kitchen.

  Gran’s kitchen, our kitchen now I should say, is pretty modern. There was a fire a few years ago and the kitchen was gutted. Gran stayed with us for a while when the house was being fixed up and I remember her arguing with my dad about too many luxury items. Dad argued that the insurance was paying for it and an updated kitchen would be a good selling point when she was ready to downsize into an apartment or move in with us. Gran said she’d never sell and I guess she was right after all.

  I get a glass of water from the fridge. There’s no ice in the ice maker yet and the water doesn’t come out cold but I remember the tap water here isn’t very good. At least the water in the fridge runs through a filter. Mom stops her fussing around the house to really study me.

  “You doing okay, Sweetie?” she asks. I nod but I know she sees my hand shaking as I hold the water glass. I’m admittedly tense but I don’t want her to worry. “Maybe you should take your meds tonight,” she instructs.

  “No, I’m good. I don’t want to take them unless I really need them okay?” I’ve spent years trying so hard to control myself without drugs. It hasn’t been that long since I’ve been able to go without them. I don’t want to fall on them like an easy crutch just because things are stressful. I have a week before I have to go to school. I should be able to handle this. Mom looks like she’s going to argue but I preempt her. “I’m really tired from the ride. I’m going to go to sleep.” She kisses me goodnight and I wander down the hallway to my new room.

  This house is all one level. Our place in Naperville is a split level. For some reason I can’t explain I think I’m going to miss the stairs. This house is a lot smaller than our house too but our house in Naperville is really too big for three people anyway. It would have been the perfect size for the siblings I never had. This house is what I would call cozy. Unlike the new kitchen the rest of the house is homey and comfortable.

  Starting tonight and for as long as we stay here I’ll be sleeping in Gran’s old room. My things are already here I just have to make the bed before I can sleep. All of our things were sent here by movers. We didn’t bring much furniture. We left most of that in Naperville. I brought my own bedroom things though. It skeeved me out to think of some stranger sleeping in my bed so I convinced my parents to let me bring my things.

  It’s totally cool of my parents that they gave me the master bedroom. It’s not just bigger than the other two bedrooms in the house but it also has its own private bathroom. It makes sense though. I mean, a teenaged boy spends way more time in his bedroom than his parents do. I probably spend even more time in my room than most. Sometimes what I really need is solitude and quiet.

  I pull on some flannel lounge pants and trade my polo shirt for a tee shirt. I don’t really like polo shirts but Mom usually does my clothes shopping for me because I hate stores and crowds and malls. Maybe we’ll have time to update my wardrobe a bit before school. I’m afraid of looking like a dork my first day there.

  Of course as soon as I think about not wanting to look like a dork the first day that’s ALL I can think about. Kids don’t dress any differently here than they did in Illinois, right? Will I stick out like a sore thumb? Will I look wrong because I never had peers to measure myself against?

  My mom used to home school my cousins along with me. Her sister lives two blocks away from us in Naperville. My cousin Kimber is my age and her brother Chris is two years younger. They were my only peers. I can’t really judge myself against them since they didn’t have any real school experience either. They went to public school until they were in third and fifth grade and then my Aunt Sarah asked my mom to homeschool them too. Kimber is pretty social though. She has a lot of friends. I think she would have told me if I was a total spaz. At least I hope she would have.

  As I brush my teeth I lament my hair. I should have had it cut before we moved. I still have time to find a barber before school but I’m uneasy about that. Once it’s cut it’s cut and if it looks bad there’s not much you can do but wait for it to grow out again. I think I’ll let my dad go first and judge the barber’s skills after I see Dad’s hair. My hair doesn’t really have a style. I’ve got shaggy bangs that are really starting to be in the way of seeing. It’s straight and pretty much all one length except the bangs and it’s getting long enough that it’s touching my collar now. I’m surprised my parents haven’t said something about the length already.

  I can never figure out what color my hair wants to be. Too brown to be really auburn but with way too much red to be considered plain brown it’s completely a different shade in the sun than it is inside the house. I guess I got it from my mom. Her hair is redder than mine but there’s no mistaking that Dad’s is dark brown in any lighting. I got Dad’s dark brown eyes instead of Mom’s green.

  I wish I looked older. I’m sixteen, won’t be seventeen until April but I swear I look younger. I’m just baby-faced. My eyes are too soft. My nose is too small. My lips are entirely too full and pink. Yeah, I definitely need to get a haircut or people are going to think I’m a girl. I lean in to the mirror as I brush my teeth. My cheeks and chin are fair and completely smooth. There’s no hint of a whisker. I think I’ll feel better when I need to start shaving.

  I’ve always been rather thin and since I took up running it’s like I have a crazy efficient metabolism. This doesn’t really help me look any older either. I was five ten the last time I was measured and I’m just thin and lanky, straight up and down. My shoulders aren’t really any broader than my hips, no athletic tough guy V shape for me. I’m not weak but I have no real muscle definition either. My stomach is flat but it’s not like I have washboard abs and my arms don’t have any real definition. I’m a sixteen-year-old boy with girl arms.

  After I wash my face I hold out my hands and see that there is still a slight trembling but I feel okay. I don’t feel overly tense and anxious. Sometimes I think I worry more about being sick than actually being sick if that makes any sense. I can worry about just about anything. I’m not taking any meds. I’ve spent too many years working to not need them to take them over a slight case of nerves.

  As tired as I am once I climb into bed I feel restless. I realize there’s a streetlight right outside of my window. How did Gran sleep with that shining right on her bed? I’ll have to ask Mom to pick up some black out shades for me. A sudden siren somewhere on a neighboring street has my heart racing unnecessarily. I hate when I startle easily. Jumping at the slightest unexpected sound, heart racing for no reason, it’s just one of the smaller symptoms of a bigger problem. I curl up on my side and fold my arm under my pillow. I try to
center myself, deep breathing, counting down from one hundred and it works. I’m asleep before I get to twenty.

  The next day Mom is up first and gets breakfast from a local bakery on her way home from the grocery store. She leaves the groceries in the car in the cool garage while we eat the donuts that are still fresh and hot from the fryer. These things are heaven! The promise of these donuts almost makes living in Lansing worth it.

  After breakfast and after I help Mom unload the groceries from the car we get to work on the house. The few pieces of furniture we brought need to be placed. Boxes need to be unpacked. Mom and Dad already went through Gran’s clothes and things and donated them before we went back home after the funeral. Before I really start unpacking I look around my new room.

  “I really hate this color,” I tell my parents. Mom looks around the room and shrugs.

  “It seems alright to me,” she says. I groan.

  “Come on, Dad, you wouldn’t want this color would you?” It’s a shade darker than peach. I have no idea what the name of this color is but it’s definitely a Gran color and not a boy’s color at all.

  “Beth, Noah and I are going to the hardware store,” Dad says and I smile.

  “Do you really need to do that today? He won’t even be able to sleep in here tonight,” Mom argues. I think she just doesn’t want to figure out the rest of the house on her own.

  “There’s no point putting off until tomorrow what we can get done today,” I say something my mom has said about a thousand times. Dad grabs his keys.

  “The boy has a point,” he says and kisses Mom on the cheek before motioning me to the door. They could be a complete universe of just the two of them. I love that my parents are so in love.

  The hardware store actually has a decent selection of paint and I end up with a sage green. It’s a calming color and it will go with what I already have as far as bedding. Dad also spends some time picking out brushes and rollers and other supplies. By the time we get home it’s getting close to lunch but I start painting right away, assuring Mom and Dad I can handle this on my own. I’d much rather paint than move furniture and boxes around the house.

  The day goes by quickly. Okay, so Mom was right and I can’t sleep in my room. The first coat of paint needed to dry before I could put on a second coat and that needs to dry some more. It’s kinda smelly. It’s the couch for me but that’s fine. The couch is really comfortable. Each end reclines which makes for comfortable TV watching but I don’t bother with the recliners. I fall asleep to some movie I’ve seen a half dozen times before and one of my parents must turn off the TV because it’s off when I wake in the morning.

  The next day Dad mentions that there are hard wood floors under the old carpet in the living room and dining room so tearing out the carpet becomes an all day job. After hours of pulling carpet tacks and staples out of the wood on my hands and knees I’m happy when it’s time to break for dinner.

  My room comes together quickly. I can’t stand walking around boxes and digging through them for what I’m looking for so I spend hours and stay up late to get everything organized. I’m worried that somehow something got left behind like maybe the new pastels I got recently didn’t get packed or maybe my portfolio accidentally ended up in the trash pile instead of the move pile but everything is there. I know I’m not going to get a chance any time soon to use any art supplies but it’s comforting to have them at arm’s reach where they belong.

  At the end of the week I have to go with Mom to take a test for school placement. Technically at my age I should be in eleventh grade but the school wants me to take tests anyway to make sure that I’m where I should be. I’m sure I’ll end up where I should be because I’m smart and Mom pushes me so I’m not worried about the tests. I used to have concentration issues and she worked hard with me to get me to be able to focus and keep up with my work.

  Actually, I’ve become a bit of an overachiever when it comes to school. It’s something Mom keeps a close watch on though. She doesn’t want me to get too stressed over grades. Sometimes I really wish I could just be normal and my parents wouldn’t have to worry so much but I try not to dwell on that because it will just turn into a larger worry which will turn into something more and I’m beyond that. I’ve had brief moments of worry and nerves but with the understandable exception of the freak out I had when my parents originally told me about the move I’ve been pretty steady for almost a full year. If only I can get through the initial process of going to school.

  School has already started here but I’m starting late because of the move and I think Mom didn’t want me to be overwhelmed by the beginning of a new school year. The rest of the students should already be in a routine. I’m supposed to start school on Wednesday and we don’t hear anything back from the school until Monday. Mom takes the call because Dad is finally setting up his office. Dad finally has time to set up the spare bedroom as his office. He should be getting down to writing soon I should think.

  “Well that was…surprising,” Mom says after she hangs up the phone. Maybe there was a mistake….

  “What was surprising?” Dad asks as he enters the kitchen looking for coffee.

  “Noah’s test scores came back and they’ve placed him in twelfth grade,” Mom says.

  “Way to go, Buddy,” my dad claps me on the shoulder.

  “Twelfth grade?” I ask to be sure I heard correctly. Is it worse to be younger than the rest of my classmates? Why couldn’t I just be in the right grade for my age? I say as much to Mom. “Can you just tell them to put me in eleventh?”

  “Well it’s really up to you, Noah, but I think you should be where the tests placed you. When I first started teaching you at home I didn’t really bother with Kindergarten. I guess I knew all along that you were more advanced than your age. This is a good thing. You’ll be able to finish out your schooling here and not worry about transferring next year when we move back to Illinois. You could even take a year off between high school and college if you finish high school early.” She’s just trying to talk me into it. I could take a year off between high school and college regardless when I graduate. I could take two years, five, it doesn’t really matter. Mom is usually better about decision making than I am though so eventually I nod.

  “Okay, I’ll give it a try but if it doesn’t work out I’m not going to move down a grade. I’m going back to homeschooling,” I say. Mom gives me a hug.

  “You’ll do fine,” she says. I wish I had as much confidence in me as she does.

  ****

  Tomorrow I go to public school for the first time since I was five. Of course I can’t sleep. I’m going to go to school with circles under my eyes from exhaustion. I had to call Dr. Bachman after dinner. I don’t start seeing the new doctor until this Friday after school. I wish I could have gotten in before I started school but the schedules didn’t work out that way. I could have looked for another doctor but this guy was recommended by Dr. Bachman and I trust her. She told me to call her any time that I needed her during this transition until I was comfortable with the new guy.

  “What are you feeling?” Dr. Bachman asks when she gets on the line.

  “Scared,” I admit.

  “That’s understandable. It’s a big change for you. You will have a lot of new experiences and meet a good number of people. It’s normal to be a bit scared. Is that all it is? Is there more than normal fear?” I try to assess how I’m really feeling.

  “I’m nervous for sure. I’m pretty scared but anxious? I’m not really sure. I’m dwelling on it more than just a little to be completely honest. If I could just call it off I would,” I admit.

  “But you promised your parents you would try. You owe it to them and yourself to give it a shot. What’s the very worst that can happen? I mean realistically.” Dr. Bachman always works through things with me this way.

  First I admit I’m scared. Then she makes me face that fear and we work from the very worst case scenario back to the very best case scenario. In
the beginning the worst case scenario seems the most likely and inevitable but after we talk about it and take it apart and look at other possible outcomes I usually come to the conclusion that the worst thing is not likely to happen and I can relax. This is something we’ve worked on for years and it’s something I can usually do without coaching after all of these years of practice but tonight I need her.

  “Honestly, I think I’m pretty anxious,” I finally admit. “Worst case scenario?” I think for a moment. “Well really the absolute worst case scenario is that some psycho chooses tomorrow to make a statement of some kind and everyone dies in a bloody school shooting. Okay, maybe not everyone but me, yeah, that could happen.”

  “We’ve talked about this before, Noah. School shootings are terrible and a tragedy but the media sensationalism makes them seem much more likely than they are. If you compare how very many schools there are in your state alone against how many school shootings have happened you’ll see that it’s so much safer for you to go to school than to get on a plane.”

  “But I need to take Xanax to get on the plane,” I laugh nervously. If I was sitting in her office this is where she would smile and nod and fold her hands and wait for me to come to the next conclusion on my own. I can almost see her smile in my head.

  “Okay, there probably won’t be a shooting tomorrow. Odds are extremely good that I’ll live through the day,” I admit. I take a slow deep breath and let it out before we continue. We spend another half hour like that. I tell Dr. Bachman my fears and as I do so, each scenario while maybe more likely is also less frightening. She has a solid counter for every fear I mention, a way of making them seem like nothing.

  “People,” I finally admit my last fear. “What about the people?” People that I don’t know make me anxious. I don’t trust people I don’t know. I assume the worst about them. I’m convinced they mean me harm. I have a very small circle of friends and family back in Naperville. My cousin Kimber is my best friend. I’m friends with Kevin who grew up across the street from me and his girlfriend Julie and her brother Chuck. I know some of their friends but those people are mainly acquaintances. I don’t really have a lot of close friends or people I trust enough to actually hang out with them. I’m okay with that.