Page 89 of The Trouble with Players

“Losing someone in a tragic way like you did is like death. You go through all the same emotions. Denial is the first stage of grief. You wanting it to be a joke is you wanting to deny that this is unfortunately your new reality. Anger is the second stage. You wanting to hit something or scream—rightfully so—fits that stage.”

“So, if I go through all the stages, will I still have my panic attacks?”

“I don’t know. But, you sought me out. Therapy is a great first step. Have you considered medication?” she asked.

“I don’t want to be medicated.”

“That is your choice. But just know there’s nothing wrong with using medication to help with something that’s out of your control. There are many options out there—some stronger than others.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to go that route.”

“Then you won’t. Let’s discuss other techniques then.”

* * *

My headlights led the way as I picked up Gina in my mom’s Jeep and drove to the next town over.

“Just tell me where we’re going?” she asked, staring out the window at the passing restaurants and stores.

“Nope.”

“Are we meeting anyone there?”

“Nope.”

“And you said this was my aunt’s suggestion?”

“Yup.” I flipped on my blinker and pulled into a parking lot.

Gina read the big neon sign. “Smash Zone?” She looked to me confused.

“You ready to break stuff?”

Once we were in our one-piece jumpsuits, helmets with face shields, ear covers, and gloves, we were led into a dark room lit only with black lights making the graffiti on the walls glow. The worker pointed to the rack of weapons we could choose from: a hammer, sledgehammer, bat, crowbar, metal pipe. I grabbed the bat and Gina grabbed the hammer.

“Once the music begins, you can start smashing,” he said to me. He glanced to Gina who seemed completely out of her element assessing the bottles, mannequins, mirrors, tires, and windows that we could rage out on. “Just make sure your friend is nowhere near you when you begin,” he instructed me.

I laughed to myself as he stepped out of the room. I looked around at the many smashable items, and my body itched to begin.

A few seconds later, heavy metal music blared into the room.

“Ready?” I yelled to Gina.

She shrug-nodded.

I swung the bat with everything I had at the bottles dangling from ropes from the ceiling. They smashed instantly. Gina lifted her arms over her head to protect herself from flying glass, even though the protective gear wouldn’t let anything hurt her.

I turned to a nearby window propped up on the floor. I swung the bat, smashing all the glass panes.

I looked to Gina. “Hit something!” I yelled over the music.

She turned to a mirror and hit it with her hammer. It made a small spiderweb fissure.

“Swing harder!” I yelled.

She did, winding up and smashing the mirror completely. She spun to look at me. “This is fun!” she yelled.

I laughed.

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