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“Crap. Now what?” Shay looks around frantically.
I glance up the hill and see what looks like a ski patrol shack. I point to it. “What about there?”
“We should try.” She wraps her arms around herself, shivering.
I know the feeling. I can barely feel my hands. “Let’s go.”
We hike the hundred yards or so up the hill in the powdery snow. My feet are soaked. Aside from the short walk from the gondola to the restaurant, I didn’t plan on being out in the elements tonight. I’m not dressed for this. At all. The shack is tiny, about the size of a small tool shed. I try the handle and nearly shout with relief when the door opens.
“Let’s get inside.” I gesture to Shay, who follows close behind. “Hold it open for a sec so I can see if there’s a flashlight or matches.”
Shay leans against the door so it won’t slam shut. “Wait. Here’s a switch.” She flicks it and the little hut is bathed in a dim but illuminating light.
“Well, that’s a bonus.” I glance around. It’s quite sparse but there’s a counter with a coffee pot. A small fridge. A bunch of fences, ropes, bamboo poles, and signs are propped against one wall, ready for the morning. A few jackets and helmets are on pegs on the back wall. A square fold-out table and some metal chairs are the only furniture. Aha! A heater. “Let’s warm this place up.”
I flick the switch and the orange glow makes me sigh with relief. This isn’t going to be so bad. In fact, it’s perfect. Shay and I can spend some time together and quash all of this shit once and for all.
Taking two seats and pulling them closer to the heater, I swallow hard and sit down. Shay takes her snow boots off and tosses them against the door, then sits sideways facing me as if she’s ready to dive back in. Her cheeks are red from the cold but her tears have dried. She’s strong. Resilient.
Stunning.
The lump in my throat seems insurmountable as I find the words to form questions that remain unasked. “So, how did you find out...um…” My words trail off.
“My original episode happened at the Miss Teen Washington qualifiers when I was sixteen, I had a grand mal seizure in the dressing room. I spent two days at the hospital because I bit through my tongue. Word got around quickly on the circuit.” She winces as she recalls the incident. “I’ll never forget what Salvio, my coach, told me the day he dumped my ass, ‘Sweetheart, facial beauty matters, body proportions matter, your fashion sense matters and your inner diva matters. You might check all those boxes but, unfortunately, the harsh reality is you’re not winning anything if you start convulsing on stage. I’ve got to focus on girls who can place.’“ Shay rolls her eyes. “He wasn’t wrong, but what an asshole.”
I can’t help it. I reach over, hug her tightly then release her. “I’m so sorry, Shay. That’s inexcusable.”
“Yeah. The thing is, without Salvio, I didn’t have a chance in hell of competing at the top level, so I quit. What was the point if I couldn’t be Miss Washington and get the scholarship money? It’s not like I loved the pageants themselves, there’s something ridiculous about walking across a stage in a bikini and six-inch heels.” Shay rests her head on her arm, which is draped along her chair.
“I vaguely remember you being in the hospital. I also remember you talking funny for a couple weeks.” I mirror her position to see her better.
She smiles. “God. It sucked. Particularly because my mom didn’t want anyone to know because she saw how awful the pageant people were to me. We made up a story about how I fell down to explain how I bit my tongue. I’m surprised no one ever found out at school.”
“How did you handle it?” I stare into her blue eyes that seem to hold so many secrets. “I’d never have known you were dealing with something so traumatizing. To me, you were the popular, unattainable sister of my best friend. I was always tongue-tied around you.”
Shay crosses her eyes then laughs. “Smoke and mirrors. It took a few years for me to find the precise concoction of medicine to control things. Luckily, we were able to stop the grand mal seizures immediately—they’re the type most people associate with epilepsy. The problem is, my incidents are so subtle I didn’t realize they were consistent with my diagnosis. I thought things were under control so I was too casual about taking my medication.”
“What do you mean?” I’m fascinated. I had no idea about the nuances of epilepsy. Never had reason to.
“Well, for instance, for a long time I was actually blacking out without realizing it. It took some time to recognize what was happening. It’s kind of like losing consciousness in my own brain but to everyone around me, I seem perfectly functional. When I’d come out of an episode, I’d be confused and groggy. Conversations and activities wouldn’t register at all.” Shay scrunches her nose. “It was freaky. I thought I was going insane because I wouldn’t remember chunks of time.”
My mouth drops open. “How did you figure it out?”
“It took a while for me to piece it together. People would tell me I did something. Or said something. I’d have no memory of it so I was immensely defensive—I thought people were definitely fucking with me. They thought I was lying. When it started happening more often, I was scared.” She shudders. “I didn’t want to deal with it, though. I used the skills I learned in pageants to cover it up. Laugh it off. Cause chaos to divert attention elsewhere.”
“Is that what happened that night?” I reach over and cup her face. She leans into me. “Did you have a blackout?”
She nods sadly. “Yeah. It’s the likely explanation. Plus, we were binge drinking, which is a big no-no. Back then, I didn’t care. I wanted to be normal. I didn’t realize how grave the implications were.”
“And you do now?” My thumb strokes her cheek. We stare into each other’s eyes and I feel like I’ve never been closer to anyone in my life.
“Yeah. That summer before college. Miles figured it out. He convinced me my behavior was erratic and unpredictable and did some research online and suspected it related to my epilepsy. He started keeping track of things I’d said and done that I had no recollection of. Scary? Yes. Dangerous? Undoubtedly. Hilarious? Sometimes!” Shay stares off in space and chuckles. “My mom and dad took convincing. They thought I was being a difficult and rebellious teenager. Eventually, they listened to Miles and took me to a new doctor who got to the bottom of it. The official term is ‘complex partial seizures.’”
Shay shifts positions and leans toward the heater, rubbing her hands. “Over the years I’ve worked with my doctors to find the perfect cocktail to control it.”
“So you’re better now?” I bend down and untie my wet shoes. Take off my socks and extend my toes toward the warmth.
Shay shrugs off her coat. “I’ll never be cured, but I manage it through various wellness mechanisms. Medication, of course. I don’t drink except for an occasional glass of wine or champagne. Get a lot of sleep. I eat clean and stay away from carbs.” She peeks up at me. “Except for mashed potatoes with lots of butter. Oh, and hot chocolate, because yum. A girl’s gotta have at least a couple of indulgences.”
