At 12 years old Callie has gone further into a shell that none of the teachers know how to get through. At 14 their brother John on the other hand has flourished. High School is treating him well. Apparently the high school they're destined to go to is one of the few that values arts over sports. Which means John the artist is practically a celebrity.
Callie will still be an outcast though. They know it. Cause that's all they ever are. They don't fit in anywhere. The girls give Callie a weird look anytime they try to join in conversations. And the boys still act like cooties are a real thing that Callie is swarming with. A dull ache has begun in Callie's chest and they're not sure what to do about it.
"Hey, Callie, have you decided what you're doing your exit project on?" Callie tilts her head and looks searchingly at the teacher asking. After the whole debacle two years ago Mr. Science and Callie have become semi-close. Ish. Callie will at least try to pretend she's engaged in his classes. He tries to be conscious of the things that tend to shut her down. It's about the best both of them can come up with. He wishes she would open up to him but he honestly has no idea how to start that conversation. And if he's really honest...he's scared of where that conversation will lead.
"Well...you guys said anything right?"
"Uh...well..yea...but....what's your plan?" There's a little bit of nervousness is his eyes as he watches the strange but painfully nice child in front of him shift from foot to foot. "Callie?" A far off look was entering her eyes and the anxiety in him builds up a bit as he tries to think of a way to help her. "Hey! How about we go to the school barn and feed the horses? I think it's my turn today." A brief moment of confusion crosses her eyes but is quickly pushed aside.
"Uh, yea, okay sure." That was the moment Mr. Science wishes he could have thought of this 2 years ago. The change is instant. Callie's eyes went from slowly spacing out to all back in the presence in a second. Her reaction was actually relatively normal. And it stopped the shutdown. At least I can do this for the rest of the year..animals and helping together = Callie not shutting down. Will have to talk to other teachers and see how we can monopolize on this. A smile spreads on his face and he jerks his head toward the barn and leads the way. A small kernel of hope planting in his brain. Unaware that the same hope he was feeling was also planting in Callie's brain. Because, for once, someone actually helped. And now she knows a new trick to stop the flash backs other than just shutting down.
"So....what's your idea?" He carefully looks ahead and refuses to look at Callie, hoping that will help her relax and tell him her plan. He wants to help.
"Well...actually... I was gonna do mental health..." He almost falls straight on his face as his whole body seizes. A realization he didn't want to think about but was forced to smashes his brain. This child knows they're mentally ill...and none of the adults that he's aware of have tried to give them any resources. This child knows they are sick, but no one is helping them learn to be well. They've all just been letting her do her own thing and dealing with the shut downs. He doesn't know why that seems so important. But it does. It feels immensley important that this child knew they had a cancer, and the adults knew they had a cancer, but the adults didn't bother to talk to the child about the cancer because they didn't want to..didn't want to what?
His whole brain hurt.
"Well....that's a bit vague. And too much to fully go into. So...what specifically?"
"PTSD." And honestly that was the last thing Mr. Science heard before he had his own mental shut down. He desperately wanted to be angry. But his brain was confused on who to be angry at. And he wanted to feel sorry, but he distinctly remembers that Callie hates that. His brain is racing in so many directions and so fast that he can't think a single thought. Nothing is sticking. Nothing makes sense. "Mr. Science?" A quiet soft voice. "Sir. You need to breath." Slightly more demanding. "Mr. Science I know it's hard to concentrate, but you have to take a breath." A voice that sounds so small but words that sound to deep. "Sir...please...you're gonna pass out." Worry.
And then someone is blowing in his face and he's taking a painful gasp of air he hadn't realized he needed. Stars dance in his vision as a small hand takes his and places it on a moving object. A controlled movement. Careful. Methodical. "Mr. Science you need to match my breath." There's a hard demand behind the shaky words. Realization that a child is helping him through a panic attack almost makes the situation worse, but he has to get better. Slowly but surely he matches the child's breathing. Realizing the object is their sternum he removes his hand as if it caught fire but studiously watches their face as they breath in an exaggerated manner. In the nose, and out the mouth. Slowly helping him return to normal.
"Thanks...i should go." And Mr. Science runs away. Because his brain can't comprehend the pain a 12 year old must have felt to know how to calm an adult out of an anxiety attack, and that 12 year old apparently knows something about PTSD. He doesn't know what to do with this information. So he does nothing.
And the rest of the year he watches Callie go from watching him every day, to ignoring him, to ignoring everyone, to being a shell, and then she graduated and stopped being his problem.
He forever wonders what Callie goes on to do and be in her life, and desperately hopes he never hears about a Callie Millner committing suicide.
