Page 15 of Past Tents

It wasn’t the reassurance I was hoping for. “Basically?”

He tipped his head from side to side as if considering whether to continue the conversation. “Yeah.”

“As in, you eat all the dessert today because of it?” I was trying to be chill, but he was freaking me out.

“No, more like I don’t do relationships because of it.”

Um, okay.

This was my longest conversation with Clay that didn’t involve students or curriculum and I found myself lapping up details like vital nutrients. So that was why none of the dating rumors ever turned into the real thing. He was staying away. Running. Like a greyhound. Like I’d always thought of him as.

And my mind was teeming with other questions. What kind of health condition? Was that the thing he was struggling with? My own malfunctioning hormone center wanted to know.

“Things you want to talk about?” I knew I was being nosy, but I was interested and he could always shut me down. I expected him to shut me down.

“Not particularly.”

I should have left it alone, but the mixture of concern for his well-being and guilt over never looking beyond the surface made me keep pushing.

“It’s just...if you’re sick, I’d, um, like to help you. I mean, if you have a condition that requires hospitals and tests and drugs, I’d want to, you know...I’d want to make things better.” Iwas spiraling, unsure what I could offer that would make any difference, but I needed him to know I’d try to help.

“Thank you.” His hand moved to cover mine for a brief moment of reassurance before returning to the steering wheel. But I didn’t feel reassured.

“Is it fatal?”

“No.” I was studying his profile and saw a heavy blink. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “At least, not when managed properly.”

“Clay . . . that sounds bad.”

He blinked rapidly a few times, opened his mouth, and closed it again. I sat motionless, watching him. Then he started talking, haltingly at first. “I...it’s, um, depression.”

He waited, and I nodded. “That’s . . . I’m sure that’s hard.”

“I figured you were going to say I don’t seem depressed.”

“No. Do people say that?”

He raked a hand through his hair. A piece fell over his forehead and he flicked it away. “I don’t tell many people. Or anyone, really.”

“Why not?” I wasn’t trying to be nosy, but I wanted to understand him better. I knew how so many of our high school kids were struggling with mental health issues, how it took time for them to open up about it. But hearing him say he kept it to himself broke my heart. To feel so isolated, so alone, unable to talk to people about this weight pressing in on him.What must it be like?

Eyes narrowed, Clay glanced at me as though gauging my interest. I returned his look with a wide-eyed stare, and he shrugged.

“I guess it was impressed upon me that feeling sad is no big deal. Everyone feels blue sometimes and they just handle it. You know...that depression is just someone being lazy and not trying hard enough to be happy. That it isn’t a real condition.”

I felt the need to shake my head as though that might dislodge such a crazy notion. “What? Of course it’s real. What does that even mean?”

“Nothing. Bottom line is that I struggle with it, and my therapist wants to change my dosage but I already have side effects and I don’t want more. The meds make me feel like I’m not myself. If I could, I’d stop taking them altogether.”

“That’s ridiculous. Depression is serious. If your doctor thinks you need meds, take the meds.”

“I am. I do.” He sounded exasperated, and I sensed that he was done talking. I waited for a moment, but he pressed his lips together and said nothing. I couldn’t help feeling foolish for not being more observant and somehow knowing this about Clay. And it touched me in a deep place that he trusted me enough to tell me now.

I couldn’t get over the idea that he’d struggled with his mental health under the false narrative that it wasn’t real. And he held all of it in, only letting people see his outward strength. It broke my heart. And made me want to gather him up like a baby chick and smooth his feathers until he felt loved.

My stomach chose this moment to let out a loud rumble. “Guess I should’ve eaten more than just a salad all day.”

I was so caught up in my confession, I didn’t notice Clay signaling and pulling his truck over until we’d stopped on the side of the road, right in front of Donner Bakery. He unlatched his seat belt and turned his whole body to face me. He brought one knee up, rested his elbow on it, and leaned his forehead on his hand.

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