“Wow! Don’t move. You look sexy standing there. You’re like my very own bare-chested, sexy waiter.”
He laughs and puts the tray in front of me on the bed. There is a glass of orange juice, some slightly burned toast sloppily spread with butter, a card, and a small, wrapped gift.
“Sorry, I don’t know how to cook. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”
“Right. It’s perfect. PJ, come sit down. I want to talk to you for a sec.”
“Okay, is something wrong? You sound serious.”
“Well, don’t freak out, but I had to use the paper bag again. I had a brief little…episode while you were in the kitchen.”
“What? Oh, no! Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay, and I feel fine now. It’s just…I don’t feel like a big celebration today. I know we have a reservation for all of us at Olive Garden for dinner, but I was kind of hoping, maybe it could just be the two of us today. I don’t have the energy to put on a happy face and celebrate with everyone. Do you know what I mean? Tomorrow, it’s back to school, and Carole will be flying back home, and I will need to pick her up at the airport. I don’t know how, or if, I should even mention all this nonsense to her. Can we have a quiet day instead, with just the two of us? Is that okay?”
“Absolutely! I’ll send out a group text to everyone telling them you aren’t feeling well. Maybe food poisoning? I’ll think of something and reschedule for next weekend. Sound good?”
I nod in reply and lie back down. PJ picks up his phone and starts typing. I pull the covers all around me and start trembling again. Am I cold or is this panic? I just don’t know anymore.
The rest of the day is quiet. Just what I need. PJ and I lounge in jammies watching TV and playing video games. We take a shower together, and that leads to some serious fooling around and a second shower to clean up. We go to Tara Thai for dinner to get coconut punches and Pad Thai and stop by Barnes & Noble for some books on coping with anxiety and panic attacks. Back at home, I place calls to Carole, Dad, and Mags while PJ gives me a back rub, nearly putting me to sleep.
“Hey, what time is it?” I ask.
“It’s about 9:30. You’ve been going in and out for about an hour now. You have the cutest little snore. I’ve been enjoying watching you.”
“You must need to leave soon, don’t you? We have school tomorrow.”
“We do, and I have one more surprise for you. I called my dad, and he said it was okay to stay one more night with you as long as we make sure we are at school on time tomorrow. He doesn’t want you to be alone either. He also said my mom is coming around. She will need some time, he said, but she may be starting to accept the fact that I am gay and that it’s not going to change. Isn’t that great?”
I’m not sure if I answered PJ or not. All I remember is he led me to my bedroom and tucked me into bed. I remember him crawling over me to get in bed and spooning me. I remember him putting his arm around me and feeling safe. So safe. Until…
I wake up with a start. PJ snores lightly behind me. I lie there and stare at the clock: 11:22 p.m. Here it comes again, the shaking, the sweating, the itchy hives, the heart pounding and gnawing in my stomach. I don’t want to alarm PJ, but my sudden movement wakes him. I sit up abruptly. I need to get out of here; I need to run. I pace the apartment frantically. PJ chases after me with the little brown bag. He gets me to sit down in the living room, and we let the bag do its magic. It takes a little longer to work this time, but it does eventually help.
PJ brings me a cup of chamomile tea from the kitchen. He places it on the coffee table in front of me. I feel exhausted and defeated. I pick up the tea and look at him. He looks back at me nervously. What is he thinking? Does he wonder what else he can do to help me feel better? Is he worried this craziness will never go away and I will always be like this? Will I ever get better? I take a slow sip of the tea.
“I need help.”
42
The Monster Under the Bed
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” PJ asks.
“Yes,” I whisper, slowly nodding.
We’re sitting in PJ’s parents’ Toyota in an empty parking lot in front of a nondescript building somewhere in the suburbs. It’s now after 2:30 a.m. I need to be at school in a few hours, but all I can do is tremble.
The Montgomery County 24-Hour Crisis Center looms in front of us. PJ found the center while doing research on my laptop after I told him I needed help a few hours ago. We walk inside and the experience is terrifying. Several people huddle under thick blankets in the waiting area. They’re also shaking, but I get the distinct feeling it’s from something worse than panic. PJ gets me settled into a seat as far from them as possible, then approaches the lady working the desk. The window between her and PJ is bulletproof thick.
He returns with a clipboard of paperwork for me to fill out. With a shaky hand, I answer as many of the questions as I can. Some are easy—name, age, and address—but other questions have me stumped. I must have health insurance, but I don’t know what it is. I can’t ask Mom, and Carole is asleep across the country.
“The lady behind the desk says to just fill out the paperwork as best you can. Simon, don’t worry about filling out everything,” PJ whispers to me.
After scratching down a few more answers, I hand the clipboard to PJ, and he takes it to the desk for me. I can’t stop thinking about why they have the desk behind bulletproof glass but decide it’s best not to think too much about it.
After an excruciating half hour wait, a door to the back opens and a short, bald man with a kind face calls my name. I am terrified, and I don’t want to go.
“Go on, Simon, it will be okay.” PJ squeezes my hand. “I will be right here waiting for you when you get back.”
