Page 40 of Glass Half Full
“Your turn.”
My arm trembles when I reach out, but I manage to grab one between my fingers. I give him a ‘Seriously?’ look that he returns with a ‘Seriously’ nod before I stick the marshmallow up my left nostril and repeat with the right.
My vision is no longer hazy and the alley has stopped spinning by the time I meet his eyes again, waiting for the next step. He looks so goofy, squatting there in front of me with two white nubs sticking out of his nose, that I can’t help but laugh again.
“Now what you’re gonna do is try to shoot them out of your nose like this.”
He exhales as hard as he can, nostrils flaring and face scrunched up with the effort, but the marshmallows don’t budge. I let out an actual guffaw.
“Don’t leave me hanging,” he warns. “This is a competition, whether you like it or not, and I want to know I won fair and square.”
He starts attempting to snort the marshmallows out again, and it only takes a few seconds before we’re both killing ourselves laughing as we try and fail to clear our nasal passages.
“To be fair,” Dylan admits when it’s clear the marshmallows aren’t going anywhere, “you’re supposed to do this with fresh ones, and these marshmallows are really fucking old. I wasn’t even sure we had any left.”
“I wouldn’t have put them so far up my nose if I knew what we were doing.”
I’ve almost finished recovering. Experience has helped me learn to bounce back faster, to pick myself back up after an episode knocks me down. I’m still shaking, but the bands that slipped around my lungs have loosened enough that I can’t feel them anymore.
“Ah, but then you may have beat me,” Dylan chides.
“I thought you said you wanted to win fair and square?”
“Did I?” He shrugs and reaches for one of the milk cartons, dragging it closer so he can sit down in front of me. I watch as he plucks the marshmallows out of his nose before opening his mouth like he’s about to toss them inside.
“Dylan!”
“Just kidding.” He winks at me before shifting around so he can pitch them into the dumpster a few metres down the alley. “He shoots, he scores!”
I follow his lead and manage to sink the shot too.
“Do you need anything?” he asks after applauding my aim. “Water? A snack?”
I shake my head. “No, uh, I’m good.”
Now that we don’t have the marshmallows to distract us, the awkwardness begins to settle in—at least for me. Dylan looks perfectly content to sit here in silence, but I know that’s probably an act for my benefit. He must be wondering what he just walked in on and what the hell is wrong with me.
“Thank you,” I begin. “For...I don’t really know how to describe what we just did, but thank you. It really helped.”
“Anytime.” He stretches his arms out behind him, lacing his hands behind his back before letting them drop to his sides again. It’s something I’ve seen him do often enough that it’s athing—a Dylan thing—and it makes me feel a pang of something like longing and possession all mixed up in one.
“Do you need some space?” he asks. “I can go back inside.”
“No.” My answer comes out quick and sharp enough to surprise us both. I try again in a softer voice. “No, um, I just need a minute, and then I’ll come back inside with you.”
The thumping of the music and the muted rumble of voices fills the quiet. Above us, a few diehard moths that have managed to survive the early October chill flit around the spotlight, casting shadows on the alley walls. I tug my coat closer around me, glad I thought to bring it out here.
“You’re probably wondering what just happened.” I break the silence, pulling my legs in closer so I can rest my chin on my knees.
“You don’t have to explain,” he answers calmly, “unless you want to.”
I was bracing myself for questions I wasn’t sure I could answer, but his openness to taking whatever I can give him, to walking away with nothing if that’s all I’m capable of, makes me feel like I can share more than I thought.
There’s no pressure from him, only support. He asks for me to share my story the way he used to ask us to share our poems in his workshops. It didn’t matter how much or little we had to say, only that it was sincere and honest.
No small talk.
“I have these...” I stop myself before I can call them ‘episodes’ or ‘incidents’ or any other watered down name I give them to stop myself from facing what they really are. “Anxiety attacks. I have anxiety attacks sometimes.”
