Dependency Is a Dangerous Addiction
Lavender
ILOVE AND hate Halloween. Hate is a strong word, and Mom always tells me not to use it, but I feel strongly about Halloween.
I love the dressing-up part, and Mom always makes me a costume.
We sit and flip through picture books and look at pretty princesses and fairies and decide which one I’m going to be.
I like that part a lot.
My costumes are always bright and fun, so I stand out. I like clothes that make it easy to pick me out in a crowd, even though I don’t like crowds and try to avoid them.
But I don’t like that some kids dress up like monsters and try to scare one another. I’m always afraid they’re going to try to scare me too, and then I might cry in front of other people. This makes my worry monster grow inside me like ivy, choking out all the good feelings.
This Halloween, I’m dressed like the princess from Brave.
Mom did my makeup and everything. Robbie’s in high school now, so Mom says this is his last year trick-or-treating.
He still dresses up though, and he’s going as a mad scientist. It’s sort of a costume and sort of not, because he loves science—only he’s not mad.
Maverick is a hockey player, which isn’t much of a costume at all since that’s what he does all the time, and River is going as Batman.
It means he’s wearing all black, a mask, and a cape.
Robbie and Maverick get to stay out later, because they’re older and don’t have to go to bed as early. I only like to do our street, and then I come home and give out candy with Mom while Dad follows the boys. But he’s not allowed to walk with them because they get embarrassed.
Our street is busy with kids, and a lot of the houses give out really good treats like full candy bars instead of the mini ones.
Queenie, who lives on the same block, gives me a special present to go with my favorite chips.
It’s a felt pouch sewing kit, and now all I want to do is go home and put together the cute little yeti and beaver pouches, but I don’t want to make River come in with me because he’s still having fun.
Whenever there’s a scary costume, River flings his arm out wide and wraps his cape around me, shrouding me in darkness until the threat has passed.
Kodiak lives three houses down from us, so when we stop there, he joins Maverick and Robbie, and they walk ahead of us. Things have been different with us since the closet incident. It’s hard to explain. We’re closer but farther apart.
On nights like this, I feel like he’s a million miles away, and the invisible string that connects us is brittle and thin.
Sometimes I can feel him watching me, like he’s waiting for me to fall apart so he can piece me back together. It’s happened a bunch of times since I got locked in the closet—me falling apart and him picking up the pieces for me. He always really wants to do it.
I know I shouldn’t rely on him. Just like I know I shouldn’t eat ice cream because it makes my stomach hurt. But I do it anyway, because in the moment, it makes me feel better. Later I have guilt for not being able to handle it on my own.
“We’re gonna skip the next house.” River’s arm swoops up behind me, and I’m suddenly enveloped in darkness.
“What’s going on?” A shiver runs down my spine. I can hear Kodiak’s voice to my right, and Mav and Robbie laughing.
“It’s the haunted house, the one you don’t like.”
“Oh.” Another shiver. “Okay.” I want to be brave enough to go to the haunted house, but after that carnival, Halloween has never been the same. Maybe it never will.
After a few more seconds of darkness, River drops his cape and guides me to the next house. This one has cute pumpkins with happy, toothy grins. I glance at the haunted house and then away. There are too many flashing lights and ominous, ghoulish sounds.
When we reach the door, River is the one who knocks. A lady opens it, and River says, “Trick or treat.”
I manage to whisper the words.
She smiles at us, and her kind eyes focus on me. “Aren’t you the most beautiful princess I’ve ever seen.”
“Our mom made her costume,” River tells her, even though I probably could have if I tried hard enough.
“Well, it’s beautiful just like you.” She tosses a handful of candy into my bag and turns to River. “And who might you be?”
“I protect the princess,” River says.
“Is that right? Well, in some fairy tales, the princess slays her own dragon.” Her smile isn’t as soft now; it holds something else.
River tugs on my hand, but I stay where I am. I open my mouth once, twice, but nothing comes out. The third time I find my voice. “I would like to be that princess.”
“I’m sure you will be,” she says with a smile.
I want to believe her, but I’m afraid of cartoon dragons, so I don’t think I’d ever be able to slay a real one.
I thank her for the candy and follow a scowling River down the walk. He looks over his shoulder and at the same time three huge clowns with makeup that reminds me of horror movies come running down the path, making lots of noise.
I stumble back a couple of steps, trip over my own feet, and land on my butt on the cold, damp grass.
My mouth opens in a scream that doesn’t reach my throat.
I’m sucked back into the fun house with the hanging clowns, and the big teenage boys who were pushing, and the hollow-eyed, gray-toothed man.
I curl into a ball and cover my head with my arms.
I should do one of my calming exercises, but it’s loud, and River is yelling for our dad, and there’s a ghostly soundtrack playing in the background. It’s all too much. I can’t focus on anything but the panic as it sinks its teeth in and takes hold.
Someone tries to touch me, and I kick out, scrambling away from the hands.
“I can help. Let me help.”
I feel the thud of knees hitting the ground beside me. “Lavender, it’s Kodiak.” Warm breath that smells fruity like candy hits my cheek, and I shiver violently.
“It’s okay. I got you. I’ll make it better.” His voice is deeper than it used to be, like he’s hovering between kid and teen. His palm settles on the nape of my neck and curves around it.
The wave of relief is almost instantaneous.
It takes so much less effort to calm down when Kodiak is here.
I know it’s not good for me. Queenie and I talk about how relying on another person to calm the anxiety, even my mom or River, can be dangerous, but it’s hard not to let him help when it’s so much easier.
“It’s just stupid boys wearing masks. You’re safe right here with me.
Just breathe, and when you’re ready, I’ll walk you home,” he murmurs in my ear, his cheek almost touching mine as he speaks, reassuring me that it’s fine, to focus on his voice.
He takes my hand and presses it against the side of his neck so I can feel his pulse slowing.
His other hand stays anchored against the back of my neck, and his index finger draws figure eights on my skin.
The pattern is lulling, like his heartbeat, and it slows as our breathing does.
As the anxiety settles, a new emotion creeps in: embarrassment.
I had a panic attack in the middle of someone’s front walk because boys dressed as clowns scared me.
Usually when I have one, there isn’t an audience, or at least not one like this.
My parents and brothers and maybe my cousins might be witnesses, but not the neighborhood kids who will whisper about me.
And this will be another reason for River to be overprotective, and for me to want to hide from the world.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, Kodiak whispers, “We made a wall around you. You’re protected, Lavender.
The boys are gone, and no one knows you’re here.
We can cut across the front lawn and go back to my house, if that would make it better.
I can show you what I made the other day when I was at Queenie’s. ”
Kodiak has anxiety too, so he also goes to see Queenie.
But he’s better at managing his most of the time.
He has other things that make life difficult, though, like always wanting everything to be perfect, including himself.
Mom says it’s impossible to be perfect, so he’s always setting himself up to fail, and it makes me sad.
Kodiak gets straight A’s all the time, but if he gets one question wrong on a test, he has a meltdown.
They’re not the same as mine. He folds in on himself, a broken lawn chair.
Beats himself up. Pushes himself too hard until he cracks, like a chip in a windshield that spiders out until the whole thing threatens to shatter.
He usually manages to pull himself back together before it gets to that point. But not always.
Kodiak slips his hands in mine and pulls me to my feet.
River nudges him out of the way and puts his arm around me, hiding me in his cape.
All I want is the calm Kodiak brings, but now I have River’s possessive anger and his guilt because he didn’t see the boys with the masks before it was too late.
Sometimes it’s hard to balance the things I want with the things that make me feel bad, like River’s guilt and his overprotectiveness. And how much I like the attention from Kodiak.