Page 57 of It's Always Sonny

Tears rush to my eyes, spilling on her.

“What’s going on?” she asks, discombobulated. “Is it raining? Why am I on the ground?”

“You passed out on the ropes course,” Daniel says. I didn’t even realize he was sitting on the opposite side of Parker. “Are you okay?”

She blinks several times and pushes herself up. Anthony has unhooked himself and is coming down the ladder to her. He’s not a medical doctor, but he had to take a few classes with the MDs for his PhD, and he knows more about the human body than anyone.

He pushes Daniel out of the way and sits next to Parker. At the same time, Aunt Helen, Cousin Victoria, and Dad arrive in a golf cart. Aunt Helen runs half marathons, so even though she’s in her early sixties, she beats my spry cousin up the ladder and is by Parker’s side in no time.

I get out of their way and watch as my family hovers over Parker.

“I’m going to check your pulse and pupils, okay, sweetie?” Helen says. She crouches close in order to inspect Parker’s already dark eyes.

“Have you eaten today?” Anthony asks.

“When was the last time you had water?” Victoria asks.

Parker’s big eyes widen more and more as she tries to answer their questions. “Uh, yes, I’ve eaten and had plenty of water.”

“Did you feel dizzy before you passed out?”

“Have you fainted before?”

“Uh, maybe. And yes.” She answers Victoria and then Helen. “I have vasovagal syncope. I can’t always tell when I’m going to faint.”

“Oof,” Helen says, putting the back of her hand on Parker’s forehead. “Let’s keep you down for a bit longer. The last thing you need is to get up just to drop again.”

They pepper her with more questions about her condition, and Parker starts to look more and more uncomfortable.

But I know it’s not discomfort.

She feels stupid.

I know her so well, and I’m not allowed to use any of that insider knowledge right now.

It is killing me.

“Guys, let’s lay off her a bit,” I say.

Parker looks like a wounded cat, ready to run. She keeps trying to smile, and I can see the strain of her trying to be positive, trying not to freak out. Her neck and ears are bright red.

This much attention after passing out would be a lot for anyone. But this much attention from family figures? From a doting aunt? From a concerned cousin? From a protective big brother? It doesn’t matter that they aren’t Parker’s actual family. This is more familial than anything she’s ever experienced.

So when she stands abruptly, I’m not surprised. When she says, “I’m sorry to be so much trouble. I’ll run to the kitchen and eat something,” I see it coming a mile away.

She ignores everyone’s inquiries and pushes past them wordlessly. But I grab her hand as she passes, and our eyes meet. Her normally sharp eyes are wide open. The smile she’s tried to keep on has almost slipped from her face, and the effort to keep it up seems Herculean.

This isn’t only fear. It’s … shame.

It’s panic.

My heart shreds watching her climb down the ladder with her chin quivering. I feel like I’m bleeding internally again to see her stride away. When she hops into one of the golf carts and drives off, I’m cracking in two, the part of me that wants to go after her and the part of me that remembers how adamant she was that I leave her alone anytime she had a bad conversation with her parents. She refused to let me see her cry. She would go into her bathroom and I wouldn’t hear her make a sound. The first time it happened, I asked her what she needed and she yelled at me to go. The second time, I waited outside her door, and when she came out an hour later, she looked wrecked.

“What are you doing here?” She ran back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

“I needed to make sure you’re okay!” I said, standing at the door, holding the handle.

“I told you to go! You can’t see me like this!”

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