Page 10

I need to be alone. I need just a moment of quiet and an ounce of space.
And now I hate myself for choosing the doors to the balcony and not the ones that would’ve led me outside down below, out into the parking lot where no one else seems to be.
I glance around, my eyes darting all over the balcony in search of some sort of reprieve, but I find none. The realization that I have to push myself back through the party makes everything that much worse, and I seriously contemplate jumping off the balcony as my panic attack consumes me before I notice that it continues farther, curving around the side of the building.
Thank God.
I follow it around with quick steps and find a shred of relief at the sight of no one there. Making my way to the farthest end just in case, I slide down the brick wall until my ass meets the floor and give the effort to take a full breath all I have.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
For what feels like an eternity. Until I feel the smallest slice of calm finally settle into my nerves.
And then I recite the five steps that sometimes help, sometimes don’t, hoping this time they’re successful in dragging me further out of the darkness.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Five things I can see:My hands clasped together in my lap, releasing their tight hold on each other as they slide down my legs; my converse-covered feet slipping over loose rock on the concrete as I drag my knees up to my chest; a parking lot full of cars, rows of them filling the spaces below; a streetlight that shines over the lines of them, casting shadows across the asphalt; and an elderly couple making their way down the sidewalk arm-in-arm before ducking into an Italian restaurant together.
Four things I can feel:My heart slowly calming, thudding in my chest with a more and more regular rhythm; the grainy-smooth texture of my Levi’s beneath my fingertips; my breaths slowing now, too, coming and going a little more effortlessly. My forehead knocking down onto my knees with a relief that forces my entire body to sag into itself, pressing back against the wall and down into the ground with the weight of it, and I want to cry.
It takes everything I have to swallow the urge down.
Three things I can hear:Laughter. Muddled conversations. The faraway buzz of a crosswalk signaling someone’s turn to cross.
Two things I can smell:Alcohol, and the fresh, warm breeze fluttering through my hair.
It smells exactly like what you’d think an Oklahoma summer night smells like. Humid, and thick, and…buttery.Which doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, but it makes me crack a smile.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the brick wall behind me.
These are the things that make me question my own sanity. Wanting to cry one second and laugh the next. Feeling like I’m dying one moment and then knowing it was all in my head five minutes later, my mind spinning twisted tales into my reality.
It is what it is.I release a breath. At least I’m sitting here in one piece, despite the mess of my life and the mess of who I’ve become as a result of it.
And the last step,I remind myself.
One thing I can taste:Relief. Relief that I’m still standing, even if there is a world of wreckage crumbled and scattered around me. And the fact that I keep getting back up despite all of it.
I realize that’s not technically how it works for taste, but I feel like I’ve got a good grasp on myself now. On the panic and anxiety slipping further and further away in my rearview.
______
Just as I’m fully relaxed, fully grounded in reality, I hear footsteps round the same path I took to get here. All it takes is one look at my intruder’s shoes, and I already know who it is.
Jude.