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I try to focus on her, to tell her that something is wrong, to tell her that I can’t breathe, but the words won’t come.
My throat is dry as the desert and as I lean forward, my leg protests. I try to focus on the pain, to remind myself that I’m not in war. I’m fine. I’m going to be fine.
“Breathe with me,” Corrine says, her hands cupping my face and forcing me to look at her.
Her eyes are wide and filled with concern and I hate it.
“Breathe in. One, two, three,” she says slowly and I try to do as she says.
“Good! Now out, one, two, three.”
We sit there like that for I don’t know how long. She walks me through breathing and eventually, the pressure that was in my chest fades and I start to feel back to normal.
“Thanks,” I say, not able to look her in the eye.
“No problem. I used to get panic attacks like that a lot when I was younger.”
A panic attack.
Is that what that was?
I’ve never had one before but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what triggered it. I look down the aisle to where the kids disappeared and frown.
“Ready to go home?” Corrine asks and I nod.
She hands me my cane and then pushes to her feet. Neither one of us says anything as we head for the checkout. I insist on paying again and she puts the things in the trunk and wheels the cart back to the return as I climb into the passenger seat.
I feel drained, like I could fall asleep standing up and I wonder if that’s an effect of the panic attack too.
“Why did you used to get panic attacks?” I ask Corrine as she starts to head home.
“Um, my mom and her boyfriends.”
She doesn’t elaborate and I give her a minute, hoping that she will.
I like learning more about her. I think that’s why I let my guard down a bit in the café. I was hoping that if I told her about me, she would tell me more about her.
“Her boyfriends, well, two of them anyway, they would just creep me out. They were always watching and I just felt on edge all of the time around them. Gave me anxiety. One time I woke up to one of them trying to come into my room.”
“Son of a bitch,” I hiss and her hands tighten around the steering wheel.
“Yeah.”
“Please tell me that you told her and she dumped them and threw them out on their asses.”
“Not quite.”
“Which part,” I seethe and she shrugs.
“I told her, but it was their house and she… well, she never really believed me.”
“I hate your mom,” I tell her flatly and she lets out a surprised laugh as she turns into the driveway.
“Yeah, I hate her too,” she admits quietly.
“How did you deal with them?” I ask as she parks.
“The boyfriends or the panic attacks?”
