Chapter 28 Calm Me
“GO PANTHERS! GO Panthers! Go Panthers!”
I stand on the bleachers, frowning through the loud chanting all around me.
Needless to say, everyone is excited about tonight’s game and the possibility of advancing to the finals.
The white lights of the soccer field glow in the semidarkness of the dusky orange sky.
Sports have never been my thing; I was more of the type to stay after school in the art room reading a book on painting techniques.
Then when my mother got sick, I was focused on her, and later on my own health, when it was my turn to be sick.
So I’ve never been drawn to sports and I have to admit I don’t understand most of them, not even soccer.
But I’m grateful for the existence of Google and its simplified explanations: two teams, one ball, put the ball in the opposing team’s goal to score points. Simple. Thank you, Google .
To my right, Perla sticks two fingers in her mouth and whistles so loudly that I have to cover my ears. Where did she learn to whistle like that? To my left, Diego is busy chatting with a girl on the other side of him. I envy his confidence and his ability to talk to anyone.
I can’t deny how strange it feels to be here.
This is the first time I’ve been in a place with so many people.
I don’t even know why I came. Maybe I wanted to venture out of my safety zone; crowds are something I’ve avoided for a long time.
And the truth is, here, in the stands, surrounded by so many people, I’m uncomfortable, but Perla and Diego assured me we could leave the moment I felt I could no longer handle it.
The cheerleaders take to the field and whip up the crowd with their pom-poms and black and blue uniforms. They look peppy and pretty, all made up with their hair pulled back. I hear Perla sigh and I look at her. Her eyes are full of sadness and longing as she watches the cheerleaders.
Finally, they leave the field, the crowd quiets down, and my ears get a break. We sit and I turn to Perla. “Are you okay?”
She nods, pursing her lips slightly. “I always wanted to be a cheerleader.”
“Oh, then why are you up here and not out there?”
“The world of cheerleading is not ready to accept my kind of beauty.” Perla looks at me and shrugs. “Being thin is still a requirement to make the squad.”
“Says who?”
“No one comes out and says it, but when I tried out in high school, they gave me excuses like I wasn’t flexible, I wasn’t motivated enough.” She snorts and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “At least they didn’t just come right out and say I was too fat.”
“That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”
“No biggie. I’ve learned that my particular brand of beauty is just too much for many people to take, but they’ll have to get used to it.”
“Your brand of beauty?”
“There is beauty in all of us, Klara. The problem isn’t that we come into the world with different faces or bodies.
It’s not about what we have or don’t. The problem is manmade beauty standards; when someone deviates from those standards, they’re made to believe that they’re hideous.
But that’s not true, because we all have our own particular beauty. We’re all created different.”
“I like the way you see things.” I take Perla’s hand. “It’s very encouraging.”
She squeezes my hand. “I think we might be soulmates, Klara.”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait…” says Diego, and I lean back so that Perla can see him, too. “Soulmates? Moving a little fast, don’t you think, Perla? Remember, Klara declared her undying love for me and I rejected her.”
Perla rolls her eyes. “If you turned her down, then she’s fair game.”
“Wow.” Diego shakes his head. “Piranha.”
“Excuse me?”
Diego puts an arm around me. “Poor Klara is devastated by my rejection and here you come along to prey on her poor heart like a piranha.”
I laugh and Perla pushes Diego’s arm off my shoulders.
“That doesn’t make sense, Diego. Piranha? Where did you get that?”
“Diego,” the girl next to him says, tugging on his sleeve.
“This isn’t over,” Diego whispers before turning to the girl.
The match starts and seeing Kang take the field makes me want to cover my eyes.
I’ll have to watch him for the entire game, which will only make my broken heart hurt more.
Even though it’s been a few weeks since I came to the realization he was only trying to help me, the pain still lingers.
We haven’t talked much since he handed me the tickets for the game three Fridays ago, which I didn’t attend; he’s been distant, claiming to be busy with soccer practice, preparing for this tournament.
As for me, I’ve tried to keep myself distracted—visiting my mother’s grave once again, this time with Kamila and Andy, for the second anniversary of her death; spending time with Diego and Perla; even focusing on schoolwork. Yet, I still miss him.
Seeing him now, he looks so different on the field, so sure of himself, but at the same time so serious, so closed off, so unlike the guy I remember blushing outside the auditorium or smiling at me in the hallway.
His black hair is plastered to his face with sweat, highlighting his chiseled jawline, and the black and blue Panthers jersey sticks to his body, showing his defined muscles.
I try not to stare at him, to force my eyes to move to the other players, but, unable to help myself, I always come back to him.
This is my first… like, love, something?
So I assume it’s normal to feel sad after finding out that all this time he’s just been trying to help me.
I can’t even be mad; it’s not his fault that I fell for him.
I hear a sigh and turn to Diego, who’s not looking at the playing field, but at someone else on the sidelines. I follow his gaze, and, to my surprise, I see that he’s staring at Yana. The sparkle in his hazel eyes tells me that she’s special to him. Or am I imagining things?
“Diego?”
He can’t hear me.
“Diego?”
He comes out of his spell and blinks. “Yeah?”
“Are you into her?” I ask, nodding toward Yana.
“She’s my ex-girlfriend.”
“Really?”
Diego furrows his brow at my expression. “Yes, why are you surprised?”
I shrug. “No reason.”
Diego narrows his eyes as if he doesn’t believe me.
“Why did you break up?”
He looks away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course, I understand. Let’s focus on the game.”
Our team scores and the awkwardness of the conversation is dispersed by the crowd’s euphoria.
Perla goes to get a drink after I assure her I’ll be okay, and Diego resumes his conversation with the girl on the other side of him.
Turns out I lied to Perla. I begin to feel overwhelmed and alone in the middle of the crowded stands.
I look down and stare at my hands in my lap, noticing how thin my fingers are, how brittle my nails look.
My body has mostly recovered from the chemotherapy, but there are still some parts that have yet to bounce back.
I look up and see that it’s almost halftime, but something has changed in me.
Seeing so many people, all focused on something I’m not a part of, causes my heart to race.
I clench my fists and try to discern the shortest way down the bleachers and away from the field.
It will take me a long time. I need to get out of here.
I can’t breathe. I’m going to make a fool of myself in front of the whole school.
“I’m going… to the bathroom,” I say, short of breath.
I stand up and rush past Diego.
“Klara?”
“I’ll be right back.”
I hurry past the other people seated in my row and rush down the steps of the bleachers, clutching my chest as if my life depends on it.
I can’t breathe.
I try to inhale but the air seems to get stuck in my throat, and I begin to panic.
I reach the bottom of the steps and turn the corner to stand against a dark wall hidden behind the bleachers.
I can feel my heart in my throat, tears of fright rolling down my cheeks.
I can’t get any air into my lungs. I’m suffocating.
I’m alone… I’m going to die here, alone, no one is going to help me.
With trembling fingers, I pull out my cell phone, but it slips from my hands…
A tingling feeling spreads over my face and limbs…
I’m hyperventilating. I’m going to pass out if this keeps up, so I try to remember what Dr. B.
has told me: “When you’re having a panic attack, your body goes into fight or flight mode and the rational part of your brain is completely blocked.
That’s why you can’t think clearly and you truly believe that you’re dying, even without any real reason to justify this belief.
The first thing you have to do is calm your body and your mind to get out of this state of fight or flight and be able to think rationally again. ”
Calm my body.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the ground, my legs stretched out in front of me and my hands on my thighs, next to my knees.
I close my eyes, raise one hand, and then lower it, letting it fall against my thigh.
I then do the same with the other hand, repeating this movement over and over, patting myself in a gentle, quiet rhythm.
I focus on this sequence, on the sensation of my fingers as they fall on my thighs, first one hand and then the other, over and over.
“I am calm.” I repeat the mantra Dr. B. has had me practice.
“I am safe, I am”—I swallow—“protected.” Whenever my mind wanders back to worrying about my racing heart or my difficulty breathing, I refocus my thoughts on the rhythmic slapping. “I am calm, I am safe, I am protected.”
I repeat the words over and over, keeping my hands moving.
My breathing begins to regulate, as does my heart rate, but I don’t stop.
I continue until I can breathe normally.
I open my eyes, processing what just happened.
A smile spreads across my face and I feel my chest swell with pride.
For the first time, I’ve overcome a panic attack on my own, without anyone’s help or assistance.
I used the tools Dr. B. gave me and it worked; I was able to get through it.
There, sitting in the lonely darkness behind the bleachers, I smile over my accomplishment.