How It Feels to Fly(11)

Andrew listens. Then he says, slowly, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that’s a lot of ‘coulds.’”

My heart rate picks up again. I pull my knees into my chest and hug. “I know,” I admit. “But it’s the only plan I’ve got.”

“What else is on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said ‘a lot.’ So what else?”

“Oh.” I don’t want to tell him what else. “Just . . . stuff.”

“Stuff. Got it.” To my surprise, he doesn’t push it. He sits next to me, in silence, until his watch alarm beeps. “Time to go back in,” he says. “Packed schedule today.”

“Okay.” But before standing, I lie flat on my back and stare into the clouds. I picture myself as light and breezy as they are. I picture floating away.





four


BACK IN THE DOGWOOD ROOM, DR. LANCASTER asks each of us to tell the group about our experience with the blindfold exercise. When it’s our turn, Andrew talks about walking to the gazebo, and how I described the landscape clearly and didn’t let him run into anything. He talks about how it was obvious I’m a dancer, because of how aware I was of my body when I was blindfolded. True to his word, he doesn’t talk about my panic attack—though he does shoot me a meaningful look when he’s done.

“How about you, Sam?” Dr. Lancaster asks.

“It was nice to be outside,” I say, after a long pause. I know that’s a cop-out answer, but just because I’m sort-of-kind-of willing to confide in Andrew now, it doesn’t mean I want to bare my soul to my fellow campers.

“Anything else?” Dr. Lancaster prompts.

“Um.” I drop my gaze to the floor. “Pass.”

I’m not the only one who’s holding back. Zoe and Jenna answer Dr. Lancaster’s questions in single syllables. Their body language couldn’t be more different—Jenna is sitting up ramrod straight, hands clasped in her lap, lips pursed, while Zoe slouches in her seat, arms folded across her chest—but it’s clear that they both want out of this room. Omar, who was paired with Yasmin, fidgets and stammers out his answers. Dominic and Katie are the only two who seem remotely comfortable with each other.

“Dominic was a great guide,” Katie says.

“Yeah I was,” Dominic congratulates himself.

“I wasn’t nervous at all,” Katie goes on. “But stuff like this isn’t what makes me nervous.”

“And Dominic, how about you?” Dr. Lancaster asks. “Did you trust Katie? And do you feel like you might be able to open up to her now?”

Dominic snorts, shaking his head. “You mean, like, talk about our feelings or whatever? No, thank you. Not my thing.”

Katie looks thoughtful. She sticks her hand in the air. “Dr. Lancaster?”

“Yes?”

“Can I talk about my feelings?”

Zoe laughs, and Dr. Lancaster shoots her a look.

Katie pales but keeps going. “I want to say why I’m here. I want to get it out of the way. Rip off the Band-Aid, you know?”

Dr. Lancaster nods. “Of course. Each of you can tell your story when you’re ready. And if you’re ready now, Katie, we’re ready to listen.”

Katie clears her throat. “So, about eight months ago, I fell off the balance beam. I was working on my new dismount—a roundoff double back—and my foot slipped going into the roundoff. But I had too much momentum to stop. My hand missed the beam and I just . . . crashed. I slammed into the beam and then hit the floor. I broke my collarbone in two places. I was lucky it wasn’t a lot worse.”

She lifts her hand, running her fingers across what I can see, when I squint, is a slight bump on her collarbone. “It took about three months to heal. And then I got back to training. But now, every time I get on the beam . . .” She blinks, her eyes wet. “When it happened for real, I didn’t know it had happened until it was over and I was on the ground. It was so fast. But now I see it in slow motion. I see my hand slide and the mat get closer and closer. I hear my coach gasp. I watch myself land on my head, snap my neck. I look down, and I’m curled up on the floor. I can’t move or breathe.”

“Whoa,” Omar says.

Katie sends a watery smile in his direction. “Yeah. So anyway, a few months ago, I started doing these rituals. Like, making a deal with myself. If I coat my hands and feet with extra-strength deodorant—twice—before my routine, I won’t slip and fall. If I always listen to the same song before I get on the beam, I won’t fall. If I take the right number of steps to get there, and if I breathe the right number of times before I touch the beam, I won’t fall.”

Everything she’s saying—I get it. I have my own set of rules. Only eat at certain times of day. Sip water constantly, to fill my stomach up faster. Count calories, count servings, count bites. I can’t help asking, “Do the rituals make a difference?”

Katie makes a face. “They used to? But now I have to do more and more of them, and I still don’t feel anywhere close to how I used to feel.” She sniffles. “I really want to get past this. I want to feel normal again.”

Normal, my inner voice sneers. Maybe she can go back to how she was before, but you’re living your new normal. Welcome to the rest of your life.