Chapter 40 The Alien Arrives!
The Alien Arrives!
Help me! I can’t breathe. PJ, please help me. I gasp for air, my body shaking with seizure-like intensity.
I try to say the words, but my speech comes out slurred.
“What? What did you say?” he asks, but I can’t answer him. I try, but it comes out garbled. Messy.
“Oh, my God! I think you’re having a stroke.
” PJ helps me put on my pants and shirt then quickly dresses himself.
He blows out the candles and leads me by the hand to the living room where he grabs his keys.
He pushes me through the front door without our coats, without our shoes, out into the brisk January night.
There is something inside me! My mind screams, but the words won’t come. All I can manage is a garbled “help me.”
“I’m sorry, Simon, I can’t understand you.” He moves us down the stairs one step at a time. “But don’t worry, I’m going to get you help. I’m going to get you to a hospital.”
Somehow, he manages to get me down the stairs and out to his car. He directs me to lie down on the back seat as I shake uncontrollably. I still can’t speak without slurred speech, and I still can’t catch my breath. My heart races as the alien punches and kicks to get out.
“Hold on, Simon, just hold on. Siri, where’s the closest hospital?” PJ fumbles with his phone and takes off like a maniac.
I call out again but still have no idea what I’m saying. The car comes to a hard stop.
“Goddamn stupid stop lights.” PJ bangs on the steering wheel.
Despite the empty street, the red light goes on forever.
“Fuck it! Change of plans.”
He makes a hard right and the wheels squeal as he accelerates. I can’t tell where we’re going and I don’t know what is faster: his driving or my beating heart. The alien is making everything unbearable, and I’m scared I’m dying. This thing trapped inside is killing me.
The car comes to an abrupt stop and the next thing I know, PJ is helping me out of the car.
But we’re not at the hospital, we’re in front of a large, Victorian-style house in a nice neighborhood.
We must be in Rockville, we couldn’t have gone very far, but I don’t recognize the surroundings.
What’s happening here? None of this makes sense.
“Help! Please, I need help.” PJ is frantic as he guides me into the house.
“What the hell?” A man rushes down an ornate staircase dressed only in boxer shorts. “Who is this? What’s going on here? It’s the middle of the night.”
“Please, you’ve got to help him. I think he’s having a stroke. His speech is slurred, and he is shaking uncontrollably.”
“Quickly! Bring him in here and get my medical bag from the closet.”
PJ brings me into a sitting room off the foyer and sits me down in a chair. Tremors course through my body and my breathing is labored as though in the middle of an asthma attack. PJ disappears and I’m alone with the strange man.
He takes my pulse. I look at him and it’s PJ taking care of me.
But also, not PJ. The jawline is the same.
He has the same coloring and coarse patch of chest hair.
But this PJ is much older. His blond hair is receding at the temples.
He has wrinkles and more body hair. He is taller and thinner.
This is not my PJ! I try to get up. I need to run, I can’t sit still, but the strange man holds me steady.
The real PJ comes back with a brown leather bag. The stoic-looking man takes my blood pressure, listens to my chest, shines a light in my eyes, and takes my pulse again. He turns to PJ who is standing there with tears running down his cheeks.
“PJ, I need you to get me a small brown paper bag. Can you do that?”
PJ leaves and I’m alone again with the man who must be his father. I don’t know why this wasn’t clear to me right away, but there’s no mistaking it now.
“Just relax, you’re going to be fine. I promise. What’s your name, son?”
“S-S-Simon.”
“Simon, good. Focus on your breathing.”
But I can’t breathe, I can’t. I try to tell him, but my speech is too slurred. I don’t think he can make out what I am saying. I don’t even know what I’m saying.
“PJ, where is that paper bag I asked for?” he yells down the hall.
PJ comes back with a woman in a bathrobe and hands his father the bag. “Sorry, it took me a while to find one.”
“Catherine, get this boy a glass of water.” She is also tall and thin with thick, wavy blonde hair. I guess she is his wife and PJ’s mother. “Now, son, I need you to breathe into this paper bag. Nice deep breaths.”
I try to fight it and explain to him that something is wrong. That there is something alive inside my stomach and it’s trying to get out. I don’t think I am making any sense to him.
“Just breathe into the bag, please,” he says, much more firmly this time.
I try to do as he asks, but it’s difficult with my labored breathing.
“Just keep at it, it will get easier. I promise,” he says. “You need to balance your oxygen flow. And get some carbon dioxide back into your lungs and body.” I keep at it, like he asks, and begin to feel a little better.
“Dad, is he having a stroke? Is he going to be okay? Please, tell me he is going to be okay.”
“Yes, PJ, don’t be so dramatic. I’m going to get dressed, and I’ll be right back. Keep him breathing into the bag. Don’t let him stop.”
I keep breathing into the paper bag, and I really do start to feel better.
“Here’s your glass of water.” The tall blonde woman appears out of nowhere, towering over me.
“Mom, stop! Dad says he needs to keep breathing into the bag.”
“I’m only doing what your father asked me to do, Peter John. Don’t take that tone with me. And who is this boy? Why is he here?”
PJ ignores his mother’s questions and kneels in front of me.
My breathing slowly returns to normal, and the alien’s attack has lessened.
But I can’t get my heart rate back to normal.
It’s beating so freaking fast. Fortunately, the fog in my head has cleared a little, and I am able to start thinking normally.
That’s when it really sinks in what’s happening.
I’m at PJ’s house. This was not how my perfect evening was supposed to go.
PJ reaches out and holds my hand. I’m still breathing into the brown paper bag, but when PJ takes my hand, I quickly glance up to see what his mother’s reaction is. Her arms are crossed tightly across her chest and her already pinched face turns to a sour frown.
“I see,” she says curtly, and quietly turns to walk away.
I hear her climb the stairs, then…silence.
I look into PJ’s eyes, and he doesn’t seem to care.
His eyes are filled with only love and concern for me.
He sits on the floor in front of me but never lets go of my hand.
With my other hand, I continue to breathe into the paper bag.
The alien goes mostly dormant, my breathing returns to normal, and my heart rate subsides.
I start to feel like myself again, just extremely embarrassed.
I remove the paper bag, and PJ hands me the glass of water. I drink the whole thing.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Can you talk?”
“I-I think I can. I’m okay now. Oh, PJ, I’m so sorry. I feel so ashamed of myself.”
“What do you have to be ashamed about? You were having a medical emergency. I’m just glad you didn’t have a stroke. I wasn’t sure what was happening to you. Was it a seizure? Do you know what’s wrong with you? Has this happened before?”
“PJ, this will sound strange, so please don’t judge me, but something is living inside of me.
I call it the alien. Like I know it’s not an alien.
But I’ve been thinking it’s a parasite? Maybe something laid eggs in me when I went swimming in the lake last summer?
Sometimes, it feels like it is trying to claw its way out of me.
I’m not making this up. Please, don’t think I’m crazy.
I know it sounds crazy, and listening to myself say the words out loud, I hear it… it’s crazy!”
“That’s quite the imagination you have there, young man. I will give you that.” PJ’s father, now dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, stands in the living room with us.
PJ quickly lets go of my hand and gets up to sit in another chair.
“You were having a panic attack, son, that’s all. There is no alien living inside you. I promise you that.”
“But, sir, what about the clawing, scratching sensation I get in my stomach? It truly feels like there is something inside me.”
“I understand you feel that way, but you must watch too many horror movies. What’s happening to you is called anxiety.
You are suffering from acute anxiety, and it caused a panic attack.
I can teach you some breathing exercises and small tricks to help you with this if it ever happens again. Would that be helpful to you?”
“Listen to him, Simon,” PJ says. “He’s a doctor; he knows what he is talking about.”
I close my eyes and count to ten. I’m completely embarrassed and ashamed. I’ve heard about panic attacks and anxiety before, but I never knew what they were exactly or that they could happen to me. So, there is no alien or parasite after all? All I want right now is for this night to be over.
I open my eyes, and I look up at PJ’s father. “Yes, please teach me.”
PJ, his father, and I sit around the table in their spacious, pristine kitchen.
I had no idea that PJ’s family was rich.
PJ never told me his father is a doctor.
I guess there’s a lot I still don’t know about him.
He doesn’t talk about his family much, and I don’t ask many questions.
I’m sipping chamomile tea with lavender which his father has prepared for all three of us.
The added lavender, according to PJ’s dad, has calming effects, and the combination is a winning brew.
PJ’s mother has not resurfaced, and I don’t think she will.
She did not like seeing PJ hold my hand.
PJ’s father, whose name is John, has now taught me some deep breathing exercises and a trick about how I can ground myself if I feel another panic attack coming on.
I’m supposed to look around and find five things I can see.
Four things I can touch. Three things I can hear.
Two things I can smell. And one thing I can taste.
Dr. John is not a psychologist. He’s a general practitioner, but apparently, he has had some experience with this before.
“Focus on what’s around you. What it looks like, the smell, the texture. It will help. I have many patients at my practice who use this technique. I’m afraid you are not special, Simon. Anxiety and panic disorders are very common these days.”
“Thank you, Dr. John,” I say appreciatively.
“Just John will be fine, Simon. So…let’s change subjects now. Do either of you boys want to tell me how you two know each other? PJ has never mentioned you.”
PJ goes red in the cheeks and looks away. He pushes a large crumb back and forth across the kitchen table and takes a deep breath.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Dad. Simon’s my boyfriend.”
John squints his eyes at his son and pauses before he speaks. “Yes, PJ, I’m not na?ve. I can see that. But how did you meet?”
PJ relaxes a bit. He flicks the crumb off the table and looks his father in the eyes. But before he can speak, I interject.
“We met at school, sir. I moved to Rockville over the summer, and PJ and I met on the first day of school. We went out for bubble tea.”
“And do your parents know about you dating my son?”
“They do.” I keep my answer simple. I’m not about to relate the story of my parents divorcing, my mom coming out and meeting Carole, then passing away.
John turns his attention back to his son. “I take it you were not at Suzi’s house tonight?”
PJ doesn’t say anything and looks down at the table.
“I see. Okay, boys, I’m going upstairs to have a talk with PJ’s mother. She is not happy about any of this. She saw this as a phase, Peter John. She did not want a homosexual for her only child. She had dreams of a wedding, a daughter-in-law, and grandchildren.”
“But Dad, it’s not like that anymore. She can still have those things. A wedding, grandchildren—not the daughter-in-law so much—but you know what I mean. Nobody cares about these things anymore. Why does she?”
John stares at PJ for a good long while, and for the first time, I see a hint of compassion on his otherwise emotionless face.
“Well, son, she does. And to be honest, I don’t fully understand it myself. But I’m more pragmatic than your mother, and I only want you to be happy. Are you happy?”
“I am, Dad. I really am. I’m in love with Simon, and he loves me.” PJ’s eyes tear up.
“Well, that’s all that matters, I guess. I will deal with your mother, and here’s what I would like you to do for me. Take your…boyfriend…home and get him settled. Tell his parents what happened and then come right back home. Deal?”
“But Dad, he’s all alone tonight. Carole, I mean, his parents are away. I don’t think he should be by himself.”
“Ah, I see. Now, this is all making much more sense. Okay, take him home. I would prefer you come straight back here, but if you truly feel he can’t be alone, you can stay with him.
But I’m trusting you, son. I hope you boys are playing it safe.
But, I guess, that’s a conversation for another time.
It’s late. Be safe driving back.” John claps PJ on the back.
“Thank you for your help. I really appreciate it.” I extend my hand to PJ’s father.
“No trouble, son.” He grips my hand in a firm shake. “It was nice to meet you even under the circumstances. Please know you will be just fine. Remember the techniques I taught you. Practice your breathing and…take care of each other.”
And with that he leaves the kitchen and makes his way back upstairs. PJ is wide eyed and has his hand over his mouth.
“What the hell just happened?” he exclaims.
I’m lying next to PJ with the cats asleep at our feet. It’s almost 3:00 a.m.
“What a night. I can’t believe everything that’s happened. So much to unpack and to think about.”
“Wow! Maybe my dad isn’t such a bad guy after all. How are you feeling, Simon?”
“I’m good. Calm even. I feel much better now that I know what’s been happening to me. Embarrassed, but good. Um, did you still want to…”
“I do, but now just doesn’t seem like the right time.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say. “Maybe we could cuddle instead and fall asleep like that?”
“Yeah, that would be nice. I would like that.”
We turn on our sides and face each other. PJ gives me a little kiss, and I stroke his soft, golden hair.
“Hey, I just realized something,” he says.
“What?”
“It’s after midnight!”
“Yeah, it’s several hours after midnight. What’s your point?”
“It means…happy birthday, Simon! You’re seventeen!”