Two Feet Off The Ground Page 15

  “You’re not just insane. You’re ridiculous. Do I look like I carry a spare tire around my belly?”

  I shut off the blow dryer. “No. But why would you? You don’t take anti-anxiety pills.”

  She licked her upper lip. She did this whenever she was stressed. “Well, I mean, I… Oh, what’s the freaking use? I take an anti-depressant. There. Now you know.”

  I placed the blow dryer in its holder. “For how long?”

  “Since last year when Heather broke up with me and I went to see that psychiatrist.”

  “I knew you were sad about Heather, but a psychiatrist? And pills? You told me you were jogging to help you get over her. That’s exactly what you told me.”

  “You’re right. I told Ashley, I think. I needed her to pick up my prescription one day before the pharmacy closed.” She traced her eyes around the ceiling as though plucking memories from the tiles above like fruit on a farmer’s market stand. “Actually, no, I asked Kimber, the old receptionist.”

  “You told Kimber?”

  “Yeah, Kimber.” She chuckled. “She was a real winner, huh? Talk about your classic airhead. Anyway, she was on them, too.”

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”

  “I think I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of it. You’re not the easiest person to talk to about this stuff. You’re a quick judge.”

  “A quick judge?” I stomped into the back room and locked myself in the bathroom. When Aziza knocked I barked at her like an angry junk yard dog.

  “I have a key,” she yelled back.

  I tore open the door and glared at my friend. “You could have told me.”

  “How do we always do this? We start out with one problem and gain another?”

  “Because after all these years you still haven’t learned that I am sensitive and sometimes you can be plain mean.” I marched back up to my station and plopped down in my seat. “How am I a quick judge?”

  She came up from behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. She massaged them as I stared her down in the mirror. I steamed like a pot of clams and Aziza confronted me like a worn out potholder.

  “I know how you feel about all these kids in America being put on Ritalin. So, I’m pretty sure you feel the same way about people running out and popping a pill when they get the blues. I didn’t feel like justifying my prescription to you because it would end up in a fight. Just like this.”

  I closed my eyes and worked out the anger bubbling over inside of me. A quick judge. Please! Look who was talking.”

  “Don’t be angry with me,” she whispered into my ear. “Come on, you know I love you.”

  She had a way of softening me into a moldable wad of clay. She was right. I would have jumped down her throat and explained she could handle her problems with exercise or diet or meditation instead of a pill. I watched my mother down those suckers like they were Jolly Rancher candies. She used them as crutches; without them she’d fall over and break. I never wanted to be so dependent on anything.

  “Do they help you?” I asked her.

  She bent over and wrapped her arms around me. We stared at each other and finally surrendered to friendly smiles. “You have to admit that I am less bitchy than I used to be.”

  “Um, News flash. You’re still bitchy.”

  “I guess that would be more like a miracle pill, huh?” she asked.

  “I would salute the inventor of that pill.”

  “They’ve helped me.”

  “I still don’t want to take any.”

  She kissed the top of my head. “Then, let’s go find you a good hypnotist.”

  Chapter Twelve

  After the load of high-maintenance clients I dealt with earlier in the day at Bella, I looked forward to my workout session with Paula. Since our initial personal training session, I had surprised myself with how quickly my muscles adapted to my new daily routine of dumbbell lifting. Every morning I stood in front of the mirror, blasted hip hop on my iPod, and supercharged my muscles with power lifts. I couldn’t wait to show off to her how much I’d developed my techniques and strength. The last time I could barely lift ten pounds above my shoulders, but now I could manage twenty.

  I walked through the gym door and smiled at Hank who was polishing a trophy. He caressed the shiny gold boxer statue like I would a new pair of Lia Sophia earrings. “Hey, Hank.”

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said with a wink. “Paula wasn’t good enough, huh?”

  “Huh?” I squinted as though that would help decode his grumbled string of words.

  “What happened, Paula didn’t work you hard enough last time?”

  I just smiled at the nice weirdo. “She pushed me just enough.”

  “Then why’d you fire her?”

  I wanted to pull on his ratty hair to make some sense come through the cracks in his yellow teeth. “What are you talking about?”

  “Chuck said he’s taking over today.”

  My heart sank. Did I act that pathetic the day before? “Chuck?”

  A piercing whistle screamed across the gym. I looked towards the back mirrors where the stair climbers were and saw Chuck dressed in an orange muscle shirt and black nylon mesh shorts. He whistled at me again and waved me over to him.

  A series of questions ran through my mind as I tripped over weight benches, barbells and floor mats to get to him. Did Paula go home and think about my selfish outburst and decide she’d rather spend the rest of her life in paradise alone than another second with me? If she didn’t plan to ditch me like some moldy sponge, then why didn’t she at least call me to warn Chuck would be taking over? More importantly, what was Chuck thinking when he decided to dress like a jack-o-lantern at the gym? Did he not look in the mirror and see that orange was ridiculously wrong for him?

  When I reached the halfway point at the lat pull-down machine, I began to sprint towards him. I needed answers.

  Just as I hurdled a weight bench some twenty yards in front of him he tossed a small medicine ball at me. If my feet hadn’t touched down on the mat just as it struck me, Hank would be calling an ambulance to come scrape me off the floor. “What did you do that for?” I yelled at him before slamming it back at him.

  “You’re late.” He caught the ball with one hand. “And, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

  “A bone to pick with me? What are you twelve?”

  Chuck ignored my dropping the ball on the floor. “Paula couldn’t make it,” he said picking up two twenty pound plates from a holder and racking them on the chest press machine.

  I walked over to the machine. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to lift those?”

  Chuck pushed me to the seat. “You’re going to lift those.”

  “There’s no way I can press a combined forty pounds.”

  “You have zero confidence in yourself. Very unappealing by the way.”

  My face flushed and when I exhaled, scalding steam, hotter than what usually comes out of my hair straightening iron, blew out my mouth. “I’m not interested in having you train me.” I turned to walk away and looked back over my shoulder before exiting the nautilus area. “You’re too mean.”

  I trotted away from him and he snuck up on me, flinging me over his shoulders and spinning me around in circles until I screamed so loud, Hank actually shut off Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer”.

  I punched his back, right between his shoulder blades as I kicked my feet wildly like a panicked swimmer drowning in a riptide. “Put me down.” I pinched the back of his neck, twisting his skin between my fingers. He squealed like a girl in pigtails and ribbons, and finally put me down.

  “That was meaner.” He narrowed his eyes at me as he rubbed his neck.

  I stood in front of him with my hands planted on my hips. “I most certainly do have confidence.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  My knees starting to quiver. “What did you hear?”

  “You’re a chicken shit. Your son said so.
” He twisted back towards the machine and unloaded the twenty pound plates. “And frankly, I think you are, too.”

  I wanted to bend down and kiss the ground that Paula wasn’t the one who spread word about my spineless back. I watched him replace the twenties with tens. “Stop.” I scurried up to him. “I’ll try the twenties.”

  “You get them, then.”

  He turned his back to me and waited while I put the twenties back. How ridiculous. We acted like an old married couple, bickering over something as trivial as whether we should order the oatmeal or a stack of French toast. I spared no one’s ears when I pushed the weights on the poles and let them slam into the base. How dare he accuse me of having being a chicken-shit?

  When I sat down on the bench, I finally looked him in the eye. “Satisfied?”

  “Impressed, actually.” He curled his lips up into his usual cocky smile. “Glad to see you have some fight in you. Means there’s hope for you yet.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes at him. “How come your sister’s not here?”

  “She’s interviewing right now.”

  “With the school?” I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Yeah, she’s using her Webcam. They called her fifteen minutes before I was ready to head out to meet you here. So, I jumped in instead.”

  Oh God, this was serious. What if they offered it to her today?

  “Do you really think she’s going to get it?” My eyes burned from blinking away the first drizzle of tears.

  “I’d be willing to bet my Cesna they’ll offer it to her.”

  I just stared at Chuck who stared back at me with surprising warmth and sincerity. He could’ve been my brother-in-law someday. He could’ve been Owen’s uncle. He could’ve been mine and Paula’s future son or daughter’s uncle. What if I never saw this big teddy bear of a guy again? Within seconds, my levee broke and a storm of tears flooded my face and poured down on my pink Lycra top.

  “Hey, don’t cry.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and pulled me into his big arms. He rubbed my head the way I did Owen’s when he got upset, which just created a tsunami of tears. The more he comforted me, the more I bawled.

  Thankfully, Hank was smart enough to blast the music again. Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” screamed over the loud speakers and drowned out my pathetic sob story on front and center stage. If I were in Bella right now, everyone would be gathered around me drenching me in sympathetic kisses and knowing stares. Not here. As I backed away and cleared the last of my runaway tears from my cheeks, not one person dared pay a single morsel of attention to the blubbering idiot on the floor, other than Chuck.

  I twisted my mouth into a half smile. “Sorry. I don’t know what just happened. I just…” my mouth started to quiver like Jello. “I just really like your sister and I don’t want to lose her.” I sniffed back the tears.

  Chuck’s eyes lit up. “She loves you.”

  “She does?” I wanted to hear it again.

  He nodded. “Do you love her?”

  “Of course I do. I love her so much that it actually hurts.”

  Chuck opened his mouth to speak, but closed it just as fast.

  “What?” I asked.

  “If you really love her, then you should want what’s best for her.”

  “I do.”

  “What’s best for her isn’t in Rhode Island. This new school needs her. She needs it. If you’re really in love with her, then you should know that deep-down, and not stand in her way.”

  I bit down on my tongue, anything to squelch the real pain from stinging me. “But my life is here. And we belong together.”

  “That’s a selfish thing to say. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t blame you. I don’t want her to go, either. Because my life is here, too. Flying six hours every time I want to hang out will be a little cumbersome.”

  “At least you have that option,” I said.

  “You do, too.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Not many people do.”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand how you can let some silly fear get in the way of living your life.”

  “If she loved me, she’d understand that, too,” I said, as if reasoning with Chuck would really keep Paula grounded.

  “You’re about to lose someone really special. How are you okay with that?”

  “I’m not okay with that,” I said.

  “Please don’t try to convince her to stay here out of your inhibitions.”

  “But we love each other,” I said in a tone that begged him to understand my dilemma.

  “You’re the only girlfriend of hers I’ve ever actually liked. But, if you intend to stay here, then the right thing to do is to let her go.”

  “But, I don’t know how.”

  “You’re a smart girl,” he said. “Figure it out.”

  He walked away, straight to the entrance and left without looking back.

  I added another pound to each side of the machine and focused all my energy on pushing the weights, convinced that I needed to get my act in gear more than ever now.

  * *

  I admired Dr. Walters’ confidence, but come on? Like hypnosis could really work. If it wasn’t for Aziza poking my leg with a sharp pencil and following it up with a stern glare, I would’ve just completed my rise from the chair and walked right out the door. But Aziza had faith in all this crap. I discovered Dr. Walters’ latest breakthroughs on the Internet, where she detailed successful accounts of her star patients. I had the distinct feeling that the great doctor wouldn’t be listing my name anytime soon.

  I stared at a low-budget poster on the wall that Dr. Walters referred to as she confirmed, with utmost certainty, that I could get I riding on airplanes in no time. The simple drawings reminded me of the ones I’d find pinned to a corkboard at a local library, colored to ill-perfection by wannabe winners of an art contest. Who designed these posters? Ten-year-olds? I had a fear of flying not learning.

  I snapped my eyes back to the cuckoo lady who thought she could wave a little necklace in front of my face and make me forget years of phobic trauma.

  I peeked over at Aziza, wanting desperately to share a can-you-believe-this-crack-job moment, but Aziza focused on the doctor’s words like she was being hypnotized.

  “I’m sorry,” I stood up, despite Aziza’s reflex attempt to push me back down. “I can’t do this. I don’t believe in anything you’re saying. How could you possibly relax me enough to get me on a plane? Breathing exercises? I already tried and failed. When I focus too much on my breathing, I break out into a panic attack.”

  “Please sit,” the doctor said. “What do you have to lose? You paid for an hour session already, so why not see what it’s all about?’

  “But you just said a few minutes ago that it’ll take ten sessions to help me. What good is an hour?”

  “Each session teaches you something little, and when combined together, all these little things add up to one very big leap of progress. Let’s just focus on one session at a time.”

  I sat back down without blinking. The doctor did possess a gift of putting me at ease. A little anyway. “Fine. Alter my state of consciousness or whatever it is you do.”

  I ignored the daggering look from Aziza.

  The doctor walked over to a leather recliner. “Why don’t you have a seat here.”

  I followed, still biting back the urge to scoff.

  The doctor pulled the lever to raise my feet.

  “Now, what I’m going to do is help you relax like you would be when watching television or sitting at a red light. The purpose of relaxing is to get you to a point where you are deeply focused so that you will be more responsive to certain ideas and images.”

  I stared up at Dr. Walters. “So, in other words, you’re going to try and control my mind?”

  “Quite the contrary,” she said, easing a pillow under my head. “All I’m going to try and do is teach you how to master your own s
tate of awareness. By doing this you can affect the way your body functions in response to stimuli.”

  I couldn’t wait to see how that miracle would work. “I’ll give it a try.”

  “Now, I want you to take some deep breaths.”

  I inhaled deeply and blew it out.

  “Good. Now when you breathe in, hold it for a count of five seconds, then release it for ten seconds.”

  I followed the good doctor’s orders. After ten times, I no longer wanted to stuff my silk scarf into her mouth to stop her fake chamomile tone. In fact, her voice actually rocked me to a peaceful state.

  “Now as you hold your breath, I want you to tighten every muscle down to the little ones in your fingers and toes. And when you release your breath, imagine your muscles loosening like rising bread dough.”

  I squeezed and expanded my muscles into fluffy blueberry muffins, drizzled with sweet cream butter and sprinkled with sugar. Bread never did do a damn thing for me except bloat me.

  “Now as you inhale, count to ten. Visualize a place that brings you great comfort as you are counting. Hold onto your breath and flex again. Now on the release, imagine enjoying your bread in this safe place.”

  The shoe department at Nordstrom’s. One-two-three-, open-toed sandals in silver and gold and taupe, four-five-, knee-high boots with a two-inch heel, six-seven-eight, oh and huge sale signs, nine-ten. “I’m there,” I said, smiling.

  “Good, now hold onto your breath and tighten up.”

  I crinkled my toes up and curled my fingers, squeezing as tight as I could.

  Then, on the exhale, I sunk my teeth into a juicy blueberry as the clerk showered me with free shoe samples.

  “Lauren,” the doctor whispered. “I want you to tell me what your first flight was like. What scared you?”