True Story

Christmas Eve

It was bad. I knew that immediately.

"It's not that bad," she mumbled uncomfortably. Liar. "It's just, I'm struggling. Theresa is the only other one who knows. I have really bad anxiety. I'm scared."

I could tell she was holding back, but I didn't pry. I reached for her hand, but she quickly retracted it. I saw something resembling fear in her eyes. Realization and dread dawned on me.

"Oh no," I whispered inaudibly. "Nonono. Avie," I said, my words catching in my throat. I looked into her eyes and saw welling tears. I slowly reached for her hand and she lay it out in front of me. Heartbeat racing I took her hand gently and pushed back her bracelets.

I stared. I knew I shouldn't have but I couldn't help it. Say something. Anything. I thought. But as I looked in her eyes all words left my mind. "Avie... Av..." I stuttered. Her face, her smile, was broken. I finally saw the truth between her self deprecation. The pain behind her contagious laughter.

"Please," I choked through my tears. "Please. Don't. For me."

She just stared at me. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay." She said it with a dismissive tone as if it were nothing.

Even then, I knew the emptiness of her promise. But I held onto it for dear life. But I still smiled. But I still had faith. Even now, every time the promise breaks, and the fragile skin is sliced, I stayed. No hesitation. I have no regrets.

I realize how naïve I was. And how horrible it was for me to feel even an ounce of happiness in that moment. And yet, I was selfish and I did feel happy. Just a little twinge, but enough. She had trusted me. I'm so ashamed of that person I was.

I was immature. I was too young. I wasn't ready. But life doesn't care if you're ready.

Christmas Eve, later, over winter break

I laugh. We all do. My mom, dad, brother, grandparents, aunt, all of us. It is perfect. A warm light radiating through the dark night as we rejoice as a family. I finish a scoop of ice cream and dig into our quaint little gingerbread house.

Playing with our gifts left over from Hanukkah (We celebrate both winter holidays) and bursting at the seams with excitement. It feels like excitement. Until it doesn't.

My heart tightens. It accelerates along with my lungs. Out of nowhere tears pour down my face as I run toward the bathroom.

Not again, no not again, NOT AGAIN. My fear makes it worse. Confusion arises. Shouting voices so loud they beat at my eardrums in time with my lungs. No. Not now. Please. My stomach ties itself in knots. I can't see. The warm light is too bright the merry laughter of those oblivious family members sounds like taunting.

I can't breathe. No matter how much air I take into my lungs it's not enough. My cries echo so agonizing the entire family comes running as I cower, knees to my chest, hands over my ears. Please! I scream, but my mother is busy holding back the mob. My father whispers for me to breathe and I shake my head. I'm hopeless. Helpless. Please. Please. No.

No. Nobody cares if you're ready.