How It Feels to Fly(76)

I am neither excellent nor perfect. I am not achieving my goals. I have no opportunities.

I’m crawling through today, waiting for it to end so I can crawl through tomorrow.

I feel the others orbiting me. I don’t give them anything. I have nothing to give.

Dr. Lancaster spends an hour with me on Saturday afternoon, and another hour on Sunday morning. I barely say a word either time. I stare at a spot on the floor between my toes. I run my fingers over the bruise on my wrist, which has gone from blue and purple to green, with yellow around the edges. I melt back into the couch cushions and want to keep melting.

But after lunch on Sunday, Katie approaches me while I’m sitting on the front porch, gazing out at nothing. “Hi,” she says, sitting down next to me.

I nod to let her know I heard her.

“You know we’re doing my challenge at the ropes course this afternoon, right?”

“Yeah.” My voice feels creaky from disuse.

“I’d really like you to be there.”

“Oh.”

“I need you to hold my hand while I cross. Do you think you can do that?”

I can walk across a beam. I can hold her hand. I can be good for something.

You’re not good for—

“Sure,” I say, sighing and leaning back. “Are we leaving soon?”

“In, like, an hour?”

“Okay.”

Katie puts her arm around my waist. “Thank you. This means a lot.” She drops her head onto my shoulder. “By the way, Jenna said to tell you that you should tell Dr. Lancaster about the thing. She didn’t tell me what thing, but she said you’d know what she meant.”

I go rigid. I was wondering, somewhere behind the fog, when that was going to come up. My inner voice starts whispering, You can’t tell. There’s no reason to tell. And anyway, you didn’t do anything. At least, not here— “You know what she means, right?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know what she means.”

AN HOUR AND a half later, we’re standing on the wooden platform in front of the suspended balance beams. “Katie,” Dr. Lancaster says. “Tell me how you want this to go.” Unlike last time, she’s harnessed in next to us, wearing khaki shorts, a yellow T-shirt, and white Keds with yellow ankle socks.

“I want another pair to cross first, and then Sam and I will cross,” Katie says, lips set in a line. She looks upset, but it’s a different kind of upset from last week. Then she was pale and shaking, on the verge of tears. Now it’s like she’s staring at a mountain she has to climb. And she doesn’t want to do it, but she knows she has to. She knows she can.

Looking at Katie—seeing her bravery firsthand—I realize that all of them have changed. I can see Jenna’s gradual opening and letting go. Omar’s moments of confidence and Dominic’s moments of vulnerability. Even Zoe has changed for the better since getting here. I’m the only one who’s gotten worse.

Dr. Lancaster stands next to Katie, asking her questions as Yasmin and Jenna cross the beam. I try not to listen in, but it’s hard not to overhear, given that I’m harnessed two feet away.

“How are you feeling?”

“Anxious.”

“How anxious, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Eight. No, seven.”

“Are you breathing?”

“Yes.” Katie gulps in air. “See?”

I look down at the ground, where Zoe, Dominic, Omar, and Ron are waiting. They look really far away. Or maybe it’s how far away I still feel. I glance at Katie’s determined face, then at her white-knuckle grip on my hand.

I should try to focus. This is important.

Dr. Lancaster extends her hand toward the beams. “Take your time, girls.”

Katie steps right up to the edge. “No rituals today,” she tells me, looking grim. “I just have to walk across, like it’s no big deal. Like I’ve done it a thousand times.”

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.”

We take a step. The beam sways under my foot and I check my balance. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Katie do the same thing. Her fingers dig into my hand, but she doesn’t stop moving. We bobble again, then hit our stride. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. My vision narrows to the beam in front of me. All I see is a camel-colored line in space. And all I feel is my feet and my right hand. Three points of contact that keep me from falling.

In what seems like seconds, we’re at the other side. Katie steps up onto the platform and stands completely still, looking stunned. Then she lets out a loud whoop. She turns to me and wraps me in a bear hug. She lets go, gives another ear-piercing whoop, and starts jumping up and down and shaking her butt in the happiest happy dance I’ve ever seen.

Cheering from below. Dominic is pumping his fist in the air. Omar is shouting “Bravo! Bravo!” Zoe gets everyone to chant Katie’s name. Next to us on the platform, Jenna, Yasmin, and even the ropes-course coordinator are applauding. And when I look back at the opposite platform, where Dr. Lancaster is still standing, I see her wearing her “proud parent” smile.

Katie hugs me again, and I want to cry. It’s not that I’m not happy to see her conquer her fear. I am. If it’s possible to be simultaneously thrilled for someone else and devastated for myself, that’s what I am.