Reunion In A Restaurant In Michigan

Alfred's Origin Story Part 3

Alfred is not the most reliable narrator. He dissociates a lot bc of the eBPD. Tw Alfred threatening to kill himself in one scene. 

Alfred POV

"Alfred?"

Who is saying my name? Where...where am I?

"Alfred, it's time for you to go home. Can you stand up?"

Can I stand up? Surprisingly, I can. I stumble, wondering why everything is so staticky and fuzzy. 

I have no idea how I end up sitting in the truck with Mattie, but I do. 

A nudge on my arm lets me know we are home. I gasp, wondering how on Earth I missed the entire car ride. Vaguely, my lips move. "Mattie, something's wrong with me."

He pats my shoulder. "You'll hate this, but Mom and Dad actually agreed to take you to see someone."

I stare, my brain being unusually slow. "See...someone?"

He smiles a little. "You know, like...a doctor."

My eyes tear up. "Yeah, I...I think I need a doctor."

Mattie pats my arm, a sympathetic look on his face, and guns the engine. I hug my backpack, eyes closed, letting myself drift through my head. When I feel the truck pull into the driveway and hear the beep of the garage door, I open my eyes, following Mattie inside.

"Why home so late again, Alfred? Did you redo that test?"

I pause, backpack still hugged to my chest, staring blankly at Dad as he loads the dishwasher. I can't come up with an answer. What was I doing? Why can't I remember?

Just as Dad is giving me a suspicious look, Mattie saves me. "Yeah, he redid that test."

I frown. Did I do a test? What subject was it? Why can't I remember? What's happening to me?

"Good. What subject was it, math?"

Again, I can't answer. My body feels numb and I nod, unsure of what I'm agreeing to. Why is my brain so slow? "Uh-huh."

"Oh, isn't Ivan coming over today? I found pierogi at the store, it's in the freezer. I thought maybe you'd like to help me make it while I cook the poutine."

I chuckle. "Dad, pierogi are Polish."

He grins. "Well, surely Ivan has nothing against Polish food."

"He probably likes them, Dad, don't worry. But really, what time will Ivan be here?" Mattie asks, opening a pack of maple cookies.

Fuck. I rub my forehead, beginning to feel panicky. Okay, I do need a doctor. Maybe it's a brain tumor. Didn't our great grandfather die of glioblastoma? Fuck, fuckity fuck!

"...breathe, okay, Alfred? Shit. Mattie, hand me a paper bag."

Something crinkly is put over my mouth and nose. The sound grounds me, and I realize I'm whimpering, curled into a ball with knees to my chest, tears streaming down my face. Oh...there's a paper bag on my face.

Dad smiles encouragingly. "That's right, Al. You can breathe, you're okay."

My voice shakes and I sound much too young. "What the fuck was that."

"Panic attack." Mattie answers, also kneeling on the floor with me and Dad. 

There's a knock on the door, and I get to my feet, a grin on my face, a bit dizzy and still catching my breath but suddenly full of joy. Why do Mattie and Dad look so worried? I'm fine. No, I'm great!