9. Now
Now: October 10th
L uckily, I’d only blacked out for about thirty seconds. All the times this had happened previously had all been under a minute. Most of them were more like distant dreams I could no longer reach, save for a few that had stuck with me. Once, in an undergrad biology class, it was lab day and we were studying the workings of a pig's lungs. I’d never considered myself squeamish until I walked into class that day and saw a pig carcass on every table.
The teacher demonstrated how a pig's lungs fill up like a balloon and then deflate. It wasn’t the inhale that got me, but on that exhale I swear I saw something come out of the pig. While some students gagged, mostly the girls, I blacked out. I quickly came to, my vision fuzzy and my head spinning. The teacher gently ushered me out of the classroom and encouraged me to rest in the commons until class was over.
At that moment I knew for sure that a nursing degree wouldn’t be for me. Not that I’d been considering nursing, but with current circumstances, the possibility had been ruled out for me.
There’d been too many occasions similar to this for me to count… but there was one instance in particular that has left a permanent scar on my memory. The pieces I remember about it anyway. The other time was over a decade ago. It’d been so bad that I’d completely shut down. I don’t remember blacking out. But the parts that I do remember still haunt me in my sleep. I’m scared one of these days they will suck me under completely.
After the incident at the bookstore, Wendy had driven me home. She’d tried to make small talk for the first ten minutes, and eventually gave up and turned on the radio to mask the silence.
I kept my eyes glued on the scenery out the window. Lost in thought. Trying not to think about anything at all. But of course, that was asking for the impossible. When I first started blacking out when I was sixteen, the hospital had tried to put me on medication at the time. Mom refused but hadn’t explained her reasoning. She’d been on medication herself but hadn’t wanted me relying on anything. But now I’m thinking that she should have told the doctors yes. Maybe this wouldn’t keep happening. Especially on days like today, of all days.
We turned a corner nearing my street when I called out abruptly, “Stop!”
Wendy, who is normally an extremely cautious driver, slams on her brakes, and I lurch forward. My arms fly out and slam against the dash, stopping my forward momentum. I huff out a breath and she whispers, “Sorry.”
“Here is fine. I’d like to walk the rest of the way home.” We are stopped in the middle of the street a few blocks away from my house. I begin to unbuckle when Wendy gently pats my arm.
I glance over in her direction to see her eyes dancing with concern. I get it, I’d be worried too if the roles were reversed, but I don’t need her worrying about me. I’m fine. I’d gotten a little overwhelmed today is all. That’s the most people I’ve interacted with in decades. Maybe it’d been too much too soon. I need the fresh air the walk home will give me. Even though the temperature will only be dropping this time of night, I need it right now.
“Nicki, are you okay? It’s freezing, almost dark, and I don’t want you walking home by yourself. Especially not after you just…” her words trail off.
Her look is full of pity, and I shake my head. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. “I’ll be fine, Wendy. I felt better during the drive, and I’m fine now. I’ll text you as soon as I make it inside, okay? Stop worrying, I need to clear my head.”
I am telling the truth, I do need to clear my head, and I also want to be alone for a bit. The air is crisp, chilly, and just enough to keep my mind awake. Active. Alive.
I can tell she’s skeptical, but she lets it go for the time being. “Alright. But if I don’t hear from you in the next fifteen or twenty minutes I’m calling you. And if you don’t answer I’m calling your dad. And if he doesn’t answer?—”
I cut her off again. “I will text or call you, Wendy. Thanks again for everything. You were great today.” I climb out of her car. She waves, defeated, before slowly driving off.
I know she means well. There are not many people who care about me the way she does, and I appreciate it. But right now, I need the space. I’m not ready to face Dad at home and all his questions about how the event went today.
Mom rarely thought twice about the things she did, she just did them. Kind of like what I’m doing now. I shiver. I’m not sure if it’s from my thoughts or from the cold .
I tug my coat closely around me to ward off the cold blast of autumn air and start making my way towards home.
I’ve been walking for close to ten minutes now, fully aware that if I’m not home in the next ten Wendy will start to worry. She’s the only other person, besides Dad, that knows the truth about my mom. But there’s another truth that nobody but me knows, and I plan to keep it that way.
I round the corner, my toes and fingers slightly numb from the cold. The sun has set and street lamps are starting to glow. I pick up my pace when my shoe suddenly catches on a pebble along the path, and I nearly fall. I glance around me to see if anybody else saw me, but it’s just me out here. Nobody else is crazy enough to be walking in the bitter autumn wind.
I’m about to keep going when my eyes dart to the house on my left. A single light is left on in the kitchen. All around it, houses flicker to life with families eating dinner or getting their little ones ready for bed. I can almost hear the echo of laughter coming from within, a time I’m remembering from long ago. I don’t hear anything now, and I don’t see any movement from within, but I remember.
How could I forget?
The grass is neatly trimmed, and there’s a tire swing hanging from the big tree in front. I don’t remember there being a swing before. But there’s one now. I can’t help but wonder about the family that lives here now and what they are like.
Do they know?
The wind has picked up and my arms are dotted with goosebumps. I should get going. I don’t have time to linger here, but I can’t help it .
But then I see it. The small, metal cross hanging from one of the tree’s branches, dancing in the breeze. Maybe the family is religious, but I wonder if it’s a symbol for something else. In the distance, I hear the sudden screech of tires on asphalt and my entire body freezes in place. My eyes blur from the cold, and I have to will myself to keep moving. Run!
I take off running and don’t stop until I make it home.
I’m out of breath and exhausted when I get inside. Luckily, I don’t see Dad as I make my way to my room to shower and sleep. I don’t have the energy to answer questions about the signing event right now.
As promised, I send Wendy a quick text letting her know I made it safely. Safe and sound. Only sometimes I don’t think I deserve to be.