Behind the Falls Read online

  By the time we get to my house I’m shaking so much I can barely get out of the car. Is this going to be another attack? My ears are ringing and I’m shaking…it sure seems like another attack. At the front door my hands can barely grasp the key. My fingers shake and don’t seem to want to bend properly. I drop the key trying to fit it into the lock. At least my parents aren’t home.

  I pick up the key and get dizzy when I stand back up and I have to steady myself against the doorframe. Once again, I drop the key. I prepare to pick it up but Max is already there. He picks it up easily and unlocks the door, pushing it open. I enter the dark house and head straight for my room. Max turns on a light then I hear him follow me.

  I flop across my bed still wearing my shoes and coat. Max enters and puts my backpack on my desk. I’m glad he thought of it. It would suck tomorrow to have to call him to pick it up when I decide to do my homework.

  “Noah, I don’t know what I can do for you,” he says as he stands by the foot of my bed. “If I would have thought for a second you’d react like this…well I guess I never expected this. Honestly what I expected was something along the lines of, ‘Uh, I’m flattered but not interested’ or something like that. Even a punch in the face would be preferable. I don’t know what to do with this…with this meltdown. Please just tell me what to do.”

  “You can get the Hell out of my house and never speak to me again,” I say, voice muffled due to the fact that my face is buried in my pillow.

  “Noah, come on. I’m your best friend. You have to speak to me again…”

  “You’re nothing to me. Just get out,” I say and I want to be angry and forceful to prove to him that I mean it but I’m just spent and it comes out toneless. He stands there for a while. I can feel his presence at the foot of my bed even though I refuse to look at him. Eventually he sighs and leaves my room. When I hear the front door close I get out of bed and rush to lock it. I glance out the front window and I see Max in the car, hands on the wheel just staring straight ahead. Whatever, sit there all night, Max, I’m not letting you back in this house or back into my life.

  I stumble back to my bedroom and shut and lock the door then I turn out the light before flopping across the bed again. I don’t know if I’m shaking because of my nerves or because I’m crying or maybe it’s both. Maybe Max is right. Maybe a normal person would have said something like “Thanks but no thanks” or whatever but I didn’t say that did I? I let him do it. I felt something when he did…

  No, I was just taken by surprise that’s all. This has nothing to do with me. This is all Max’s doing. I don’t know why I’m acting like such a child, crying like an idiot. I should be pissed. I should be so angry right now. He took me out to the middle of nowhere, basically trapped me in the room behind the falls and then…

  I thought I knew him. I looked up to him. Hell, if I’m going to be honest I admired him, practically idolized him. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that my hero jumped off his pedestal or that for the second time in less than a week I’ve lost my best friend.

  It escalates again and I’m right back where I was when I first got home and couldn’t unlock the door. I know this is a panic attack and it still feels like I’m dying. I can’t catch my breath and my chest hurts more than I remember it ever hurting before. I start to think maybe this isn’t actually a panic attack. Maybe I finally AM dying. Maybe this is my punishment for what I felt! My mind pushes that thought away quickly.

  I shake and I feel sick but I can’t move. I can only moan. I’m definitely dying and maybe that’s okay. That’s preferable to the way I feel. How long can this go on? God, just take me now. I can’ live like this.

  I’m sick again and I barely make it to the bathroom but it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing in my stomach. I’m wrecked and I don’t have the strength to even go back to bed. I just curl up on the bathroom floor in the dark and shake and cry until eventually I just fall asleep or actually it’s more like passing out rather than falling asleep. It’s like it’s all too much and my body just says oh screw it and shuts it all down until…nothing.

  I don’t know how long I stay like that on the bathroom floor but when I wake up it’s dark in my room. I’m stiff from tension and sleeping on the cold tile. At first I can’t remember what I’m doing here on this floor. Did I lose time? Did I lose myself? I hear a distant banging and my name being shouted. I get up slowly and realize I’m still wearing my coat. I take it off and throw it on the bed as I turn on my overhead light and make my way slowly to the door.

  Mind still groggy and disoriented with sleep I open the door in confusion. My parents are in the hallway, Dad’s fist raised to pound again. It must have been the knocking that woke me.

  “What?” I look from Dad to Mom and can’t miss their worried expressions.

  “Don’t ‘what’ me,” Dad sounds angry, or maybe upset? “Why is this door locked?”

  “Why else does a person lock a door? I didn’t want to be disturbed,” I say as I turn and walk across the room to flop across the bed.

  “Noah, you know how we feel about locked doors. We were calling and knocking for ages,” Mom says and I can hear the worry in her voice. “Why didn’t you answer?” Everything is coming back to me now, the walk with Max, the falls, everything else. I shove my shaking hands under a pillow and try to act normal.

  “I guess I was really tired. I’m sorry,” I mumble. I can’t let them know. I can’t let them see. They can’t know about the THREE attacks this afternoon and they especially can’t know about what happened with Max. Why am I afraid to tell them? I’m not sure yet. I haven’t had time to examine it. I just need to get them out of my room quickly.

  “I think I’m coming down with something,” I lie. “I just don’t feel well. Can you just turn out the light and let me sleep some more?” I yawn for effect and I can feel their lingering doubts even though they don’t voice them.

  “Did we just see Max leaving? Why didn’t you invite him in instead of letting him sit out there in the car? We brought dinner home…some sushi and Udon. Why don’t you come have something to eat with us and maybe you’ll feel a little better,” Mom tries to coax me.

  “I think if I tried to eat right now I’d be sick,” I say and it’s no lie. I especially can’t stomach any sushi right now. They linger for a few more minutes before Dad speaks.

  “Get some rest then,” he says. “Best thing for an illness is sleep. Just don’t lock this door again.” I mumble an agreement. “I’m serious, Noah. If you lock this door again I will remove it.”

  “Fine, I won’t lock it. But don’t think you can just barge in whenever,” I grumble.

  “It’s for your own good, sweetie,” Even Mom is distrustful.

  “I’m FINE!” I shout even though it’s not true. I see them exchange a look.

  “I’ll check on you later,” Mom says as she places a quick kiss on my head. They turn out the light and finally leave me alone. I can hear them talking to each other in hushed voices on the way to the kitchen. Normally I would drag my chair over to the vent near the ceiling by my door so I can listen to them because the vent is like a direct line to the one in the kitchen and voices carry but I just don’t have it in me to care. Amazingly, I soon fall asleep again.

  It’s just after midnight when my stomach wakes me. My mind and my taste buds don’t really want food but my stomach is demanding. I roll out of bed and shuffle my way to the kitchen. The house is quiet. My parents probably turned in hours ago. I dig around the carry out containers in the fridge and take the Udon to my favorite leaning spot against the kitchen counter. I pull some noodles out of the container with my fingers and have to hold my hand way over my head to feed them into my mouth because they’re really long. They taste like sawdust to me.

  I try a dumpling and a bite of egg roll all with the same results. I decide my stomach can just shut up and deal. I put the leftovers away and drink two large glasses of water. I shuffle back to bed where I think I’ll li
e awake for the rest of the night but surprisingly I fall right back to sleep.

  Three in the morning and I’m gasping awake heart racing and ears ringing. This one is really bad. On a scale of one to ten of the worst panic attacks this one is an eleven. This is the kind where I feel like there’s just too much space around me. I feel like I’m going to float away. I need to feel contained and safe. In my old room in Naperville this is the kind of attack that would send me to my closet. This large closet here in Gran’s old room is way too big to offer any security. I curl into the smallest ball that I can and hug a pillow over my head.

  I never really do fall into a deep sleep. I keep having night terrors where I’m dreaming I’m awake and panicking but then when I do wake up with heart pounding I realize I was asleep. I dream so vividly that there is someone in the corner of my room just sitting in the dark that I imagine I can hear their breathing. I’m afraid to open my eyes or move because I don’t want them to know I’m awake. How did they get in here and what do they want? Is it Max? Why did he come back after I told him to never speak to me again? Is it a crazed serial killer that stumbled on our house because my parents forgot to lock the doors? I wake up abruptly and realize it was only another dream of being awake and terrified.

  At five thirty my stomach is in knots, I’m wound so tight that my muscles are already sore and my heart is racing. I take my heart rate by counting the beats while a minute ticks by on my alarm clock. Over one hundred beats per minute…can that be right? My head aches. It hasn’t been this bad in years. I wish I could call Dr. Bachman. Maybe I should wake my parents…

  “Noah?” Mom’s cool hand on my forehead wakes me. When did I finally fall asleep? It was after six I’m sure.

  “Mmm?” is all I manage.

  “Put this under your tongue. I can’t find the digital. You’ll have to use Gran’s,” Mom says as she slips the thermometer under my tongue. I imagine clamping my teeth down so hard that the glass breaks and glass and mercury leak into my mouth and down my throat. Where exactly did that thought come from?

  “I’ll be back to check that in a few minutes with some juice and ibuprofen. Do you want any breakfast?” I don’t even think I could eat Lydia Maxwell’s homemade waffles this morning. Shit. Max.

  “Just some toast,” I say around the thermometer just to keep Mom out of the room for a few more minutes. She smiles and pushes my too long bangs off of my face.

  As soon as she’s gone I hold the old school thermometer up to the light bulb of my bedside lamp. I don’t know why I’d rather have them think I’m physically ill than tell them what’s really going on with me. Maybe it’s because I can’t even figure it out yet. Shit. 104 degrees will get me a trip to the doctor’s office. I shake the mercury down to an even 100. That’s warm enough to count me ill but not so ill to need a doctor. When Mom comes back she takes the thermometer out of my mouth.

  “You do have a bit of a fever,” Mom says in a tone that implies she didn’t believe me. She brought toast, juice and the promised ibuprofen. I choke down the tablets with some juice then try to eat the toast. It tastes as much like sawdust as the udon did last night but I choke it down because I know I need something in my stomach. When I’m done with my scant breakfast, Mom turns out the light and draws the shades and I hunker down into the blankets once more. I might never leave this room again.

  I nap for another couple of hours and then I’m just too wide awake for any more sleep. I don’t feel up to going as far as the couch to watch TV. My head hurts too much for a book. I’m debating setting up my laptop on the bedside table for a movie when my cell phone vibrates with a text. Hoping it’s a return text from Kimber, who I haven’t spoken to for days, I pick up the phone. Max. I drop the phone face down on my bed. When I ignore the text the phone vibrates again. It will continue to do this a few times until the text has been read so I pick the thing up again reluctantly.

  WE NEED TO TALK. I’M REALLY SORRY. I CAN’T EVEN TELL YOU HOW SORRY. CAN’T WE JUST LET IT GO?

  When I don’t respond he sends another text. I hate this feature that lets people know when you’ve read their message. Technology won’t let me pretend that I didn’t see it.

  LOOK, NO, I UNDERSTAND. I FREAKED YOU OUT. I FREAKED ME OUT. I WASN’T PLANNING FOR THAT TO HAPPEN BUT COME ON. DON’T MAKE SUCH A BIG THING OF IT. DIDN’T I TELL YOU I’M JUST A KISS SLUT ;-)

  Okay, so he knows I’ve read both of these texts. I debate how to respond. On the one hand, he did apologize profusely AND he’s right about the whole kiss slut thing. It probably wasn’t as big of a deal to him as it was to me. It probably meant less than nothing to him. Just grow up, I tell myself and I’m trying to decide what to say when the memory of the kiss makes my stomach flip. No…just…No! I can’t ever look at him again let alone be friends. This is all just so fucked up.

  My phone rings and of course it’s him calling. The picture I chose to go along with his ring is one where he’s grinning crooked while biting a piece of licorice. I took it at lunch a few weeks ago. The blue eyes bore into me as I debate answering. Finally I do.

  “Don’t call me again. Don’t text. Just delete my number,” is how I answer the phone.

  “Noah, come on, don’t leave it like this,” he says. Why is he being so difficult? He’s got dozens of friends. Why does he care that our friendship is over?

  “I won’t say anything to anyone but I don’t think I can be around you anymore. I don’t WANT to be around you anymore,” it’s the best I can do.

  “You think I care that you’ll say something? That’s not what I’m worried about. I care about you. You’re important to me. Noah, you freaked me out yesterday. I was so worried about you that I sat in the damned car in front of your house until your parents got home just in case…I don’t know what for…just in case you needed me I guess. I was late for dinner and mine were furious.” At one time it would have bothered me that I freaked Max out but now it’s the least of my worries.

  “I’m fine. Just leave me alone, Holden,” I say before I disconnect the call. I put the phone aside and slide back down into the covers. I put one of the extra pillows over my head. Forget the movie. Maybe what I really need is a few more hours of sleep.

  The ringing of the damned cell phone wakes me a few hours later. I hesitate to even look at it but I want the ringing to stop. To my relief it’s not Max. It’s Sherrie. I suddenly remember the plans for tonight. Oh, no way am I going to a club in Lancaster tonight. I’m likely to completely freak out in front of an entire club.

  “Hi,” I yawn into the phone.

  “Hey, Noah, I just wanted to let you know I’ll pick you up at eight. None of the guys are dressing up, bunch of party poopers but the girls are so you know, whichever you were planning is fine,” she says too quickly. She sounds a little nervous.

  “I don’t think I can go,” I say, feeling like a complete jerk. “I have a temperature of a hundred. I’m actually sick in bed,” I explain. I lie.

  “Aw, are you sure?” she sounds really disappointed. I’ll make it up to her somehow. I just can’t deal today.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. My mom even shoved a thermometer under my tongue. I’m pretty sure I won’t be leaving my room let alone this house all weekend.” I yawn and it’s not even feigned for her benefit. How much freaking sleep do I need?

  “I’m sorry you don’t feel well. Maybe some other time,” she says. “Feel better, Noah. I’ll miss you tonight.” She disconnects and I feel like such a complete asshole but then I just shut my eyes and I’m out again.

  Mom wakes me up for dinner. Seriously? I slept all day? Maybe I am coming down with something. Maybe it’s just my body’s way of protecting my mind. You know, knocking me out so I don’t have to think or feel or deal with anything. Actually, it wouldn’t be the first time but I don’t want to think about that either. I tell Mom I don’t want dinner but she won’t let it rest.

  “When was the last time you ate, Noah?” she says as she sits on my bed and stroke
s my hair. I always found that gesture so soothing when I was a kid. It’s soothing now.

  “You brought me toast this morning,” I say and I sound so tired to myself.

  “Well that’s not enough. You need to try to eat something to keep your strength up so you can feel better. I’ll bring you a tray.” I know there’s no point in arguing with her. She’s not wrong. I probably should eat something.

  She comes back in a few minutes later with probably the best and worst meal of all. It’s one Gran always made for me when we visited, chicken soup and a Lebanon baloney sandwich with chips crushed into it. My dad said he grew up on that meal, usually as a Saturday lunch. The reason I say it’s probably the worst meal is that it really makes me think of Gran. I manage to eat the whole sandwich and most of the soup while Mom sits by my bed. She feels my forehead before she leaves the room and then I fall back to sleep.

  It’s probably due to the fact that I slept for almost twenty four hours straight that I have so many dreams on Saturday night. Most of the dreams are vague and disjointed, the kind that you wake up and try to capture what it was about and it’s just gone. A few of these I try really hard to hold on to because I woke from them feeling peaceful and like everything was going to be okay. The others are as vivid as real life. Sometimes I’ll be dreaming and I recognize during the dream that I’m asleep…especially bad dreams. These dreams aren’t like that. They are so real I think it’s really happening until I wake with a start.

  Most of these dreams are typical worry. I’m running late and can’t remember my locker combination, or I have a test and can’t even remember the subject matter. I’ve lost something important and search and search and can’t find it. Every time I wake up from one of these dreams I’m surprised to find myself in my bed. At least I don’t have a panic attack.