Standing By

Music Calms The Soul

(Tim) 

Breathing now like second nature and my best friends all around me lightened my load. I could feel my heart beating smoothly and easily again. And—oh! Austin! Oh my God! He wasn't in a coma after all! I reached out a hand.

"Austin," I said. He reached down and grasped my hand.

"I'm here," he assured me.

"Gave us all a mighty big scare there, Tim," Adam said, patting my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," I apologized. "I am so sorry. I honestly don't know what happened." I looked to Dr. Matthews.

"As long as you are OK," Chance said, his voice thick. Rob's hand fell on his shoulder again.

"I'm Dr. Bill Matthews," Dr. Matthews introduced himself. "I'm the attending over Tim tonight."

"I'm Adam Rupp—this is Austin Brown, Adam Chance, and Rob Lundquist. Tim's bandmates and best friends," Adam introduced us.

Kevin acted as spokesman for Pentatonix. "I'm Kevin Olusola, and these are Kirstie Maldonado, Avi Kaplan, Scott Hoying, and Mitch Grassi. We are a different music group, but all good friends of Home Free and Tim's."

Dr. Matthews gave a little nod to all of us. "It is my understanding that you have had a rather rough evening."

"To say the least," Chance remarked.

"I got a concussion," Austin told him cheerfully.

"You've been admitted for a 24-hour observation, correct?" he asked him, and Austin nodded. "How long have you all been working together?"

Adam spoke up. "Rob and I, since 2008. Tim and Austin since 2012. Chance since this April."

"A very long time of some of you," he acknowledged. "How are the rest of you holding up?"

"Stressed," Rob answered of all of them.

"Wound up tighter than a rubber band ball," Adam admitted.

"Anxious," Chance murmured. "When I get back, I'm going to take a Trazodone."

Dr. Matthews nodded at him. "Yep, that's a good idea, if you have a prescription for it. I'm going to prescribe some for Tim too here."

I sat up. "You are? That's for—anxiety, right?"

"Yes. I think you had a classic panic attack, given your circumstances tonight," he told me.

"A panic attack?" I mused. All that—the racing heart, my breath catching, my inability to breathe, the burning, the pressure in my chest—panic. "Well, you can't blame me—I was scared shitless about Austin here."

"Hey," Austin piped up. "I'm OK. I'm going to be OK. It's just for twenty-four hours."

"Unless you get worse," I muttered, feeling the flutter in my chest again.

Dr. Matthews' eyes fluttered to the EKG again. "Tim."

"Whaaat?" I groaned, my mind starting to race again. Oh shit. Oh shit. My throat clamped shut again and I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Calm down. Take a deep breath."

Too late. My throat had already clamped shut and no air was going either way again. My hand fell off the stretcher and onto Austin's arm, which I grasped tightly.

"Ow!" he yelped. "Tim! Let go—you're hurting me!"

I started trying to take some deep breaths, but seemed to have lost all control of my diaphragm again. Grasping at the bed sheets on my left and Austin on the right, I ended up letting out a loud, whistley breath. Chance and Adam looked alarmed as Austin squealed in pain and Rob tried to pry my fingers off of him. Kirstie, Scott, and Mitch bunched together again as I struggled for another breath. Dr. Matthews grabbed the oxygen mask and situated it on my face as Kevin put a hand on my shoulder and started to give me a neck rub, and Avi dropped to to his knees by my head.