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"Okay."
"Seven minutes is a long time. I don't remember any of it. I don't remember seeing a white light. I didn't have an out-of-body experience. The last thing I remember is jumping into the pool and then nothing. It was hot outside, and it was the grand opening of the new pool our community had put in. Every kid in the neighborhood was there. All the parents were having cocktails and visiting. No one was paying any attention to us.
"My mom said someone kicked me in the head while I was underwater, and I blacked out. I sank to the bottom of the pool, and no one noticed. Not until the little girl who lived next door to me started crying. When her mom asked her what was wrong, she complained that she couldn't hold her breath underwater as long as I could."
I'm not breathing. Tears are building in the corners of my eyes, and if I blink, I know they'll fall and may never stop.
"They were able to resuscitate me. Our community was huge. Over one hundred houses. All brand new. One of the dads at the pool was fresh out of medical school, working as an EMT. If he hadn't been there, I may not be here right now. My mom was beside herself when I came to. My dad was crying. I'd never seen him cry before. And there were a lot of people looking at me.
"It freaked me out. All those people surrounding me, staring down at me. Shock etched in their features. Eyes filled with relief. I pushed off the ground, stumbling as I ran home. My lungs burned, and I didn't understand why. My body felt numb, weak. But I pushed on until I was in my bedroom with the door closed and locked behind me. That's where my story ends and begins again. I died that day, and so did a part of me. And when they brought me back, I wasn't the same person."
My eyes begin to lose focus as I stare at the beautiful man in front of me. The man I'm straddling, holding as he shares with me the worst experience of his life. My heart aches for what he went through, and for whatever he's about to tell me. Because it's clear his story isn't done. Far from it. I have a gut-wrenching feeling it's only going to get worse.
And I'm not prepared.
"I stayed locked in my room for three weeks. I refused to go outside. I refused to let anyone in. My friends thought I was overreacting. My parents were going out of their mind trying to help me. But I couldn't see anyone. I wasn't ready. It wasn’t because I was scared of how they would look at me. It was because I was just plain scared of them. Of people. Of being around anyone.
"I'd been kicked in the head because there were so many people in the pool. There were so many of us that no one noticed when one of us was missing. By the end of summer, I'd made my way out of my room, out of the house, but I wouldn't leave the yard. Kids would ride by and make fun of me. I lost all my friends and started to spiral. It wasn't until my parents convinced a therapist to come to the house that we were able to identify what was going on with me."
Closing his eyes, Brady rests his forehead against mine. It's a long few minutes before he continues. I give him as much time as he needs. To find the right words. The confidence to say them. The strength to relive all of it.
"Enochlophobia. A fear of crowds. Which led to my high anxiety. The therapist thinks that because it happened in a crowded pool and then I woke up to a crowd of people, that I subconsciously developed an adversity to large groups. That my anxiety rose even at the thought of being around that many people. And he was right. We found that out on the first day of school. I didn't make it through my first class before I freaked out and called my mom to pick me up.
"That was the start of fifth grade. It took me four years of therapy and homeschooling to finally be able to go back. And even then, we moved to a smaller town with a smaller school. No one there knew what had happened to me. No one knew about my social anxiety. When people looked at me, they didn't see the ten-year-old version of me lying dead next to the community pool. They only saw a high school freshman with a beautiful life ahead of him."
Leaning in, I press my lips to his. He kisses me back, and the intensity of the moment has both of us restraining ourselves.
"Ask," he states, his grip on my hips tightening.
"Ask what?"
"Whatever it is you want to know. Ask me. It's okay."
