Is That All There Is?

 

It was years before they pushed me out.

I was working with Barney on some fucking thing, I can't remember, in some sweaty sardine can of place. I was holding--lifting really--something heavy. I did a lot of that.

Barney was laser-focused on whatever it was he was doing.

You couldn't talk to him when he got like that.

Sweat's running down my back and into my eyes. I can taste the salt. I kept blinking like my mom cried at those Douglas Sirk movies we used to go to whenever I was home on leave.

This was my life now.

Sure I was serving my country, seeing the world and defending everything Superman stood for, but, somehow, it always sounded better when I described it to someone else than it did when I told it to myself.

And they'd made sure there wasn't anybody I could tell it to....

The more I thought about the decisions that lead me to that moment, that precise location, the more I thought about all the other things I had promised myself I was going to do with my life.

I'd always wanted to drive through the Alps in a really nice road car--you know, something that could really handle the corners. I wanted to have a room lined with bookshelves floor to ceiling, a really comfortable chair and a fireplace. I wanted a place to dream, to draw, to create. I wanted to get lost in Scotland, more than once. I wanted to see Australia....

But there I was, a human jackstand.

I started having trouble breathing.

I couldn't catch my breath. It came and went faster than money when I was on leave.

And then it felt like I was breathing into a paper bag. I know that's supposed to calm you down, but it only ever made me panic more.

I could feel the shaking deep in my legs. It wasn't visible right away, but I knew it was coming.

I was going to drop the heavy thing and there wouldn't be anything I could do to stop it.

And the more I tried to control myself, the worse it got. It was one of those "don't think about pink elephants" moments. Don't think about the panic attack. CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

I tried to get Barney's attention.

By now I couldn't speak. My mouth was pasty-dry.

I nudged him with my foot.

He swatted in my direction like I was some sort of house fly.

I'd worked very hard so that he would never see me like this, and now it was coming and there was noting I could do about it.

I could feel my pulse throb on the side of my face, down my neck, and in my legs.

My palms were sweating.

Up until that moment, I had usually been able to get through by making promises to myself, things I would do, actions I could take to change my circumstances, get promoted.

I think they call it "hope."

The calendar kept turning, the threats kept coming, and I kept lifting, sweating, and handing Barney a wrench whenever he'd ask for one.

Promises, no matter how hollow, would not work this time....

My equilibrium was shifting.

I wasn't moving--aside from the throbbing--and yet I felt like I was going to lose my balance.

I tried once again to get Barney's attention, but he wasn't having any of it.

All the bad thoughts in my head, suddenly, like a group of lemmings, rushed to one side of my brain.

Just before I fainted, I managed to kick Barney clear.

After that, things were different.

After that, the cake mix was in the bowl and the eggs were cracked.