When I breathe in again, it actually hurts. But I shove that old pain aside, willing it to go away.
Jenna’s shoulders hunch. “We need to get you used to crowds. Like a sporting event. Do you like baseball?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s just as well—there’s no baseball in March anyway. But hockey…we could go to a Ducks game?”
I shake my head.
“Come on. It will be fun. Hockey players are a lot like modern-day knights. They, um, wear their own sort of armor, they carry big sticks—like lances—and they fight a lot.”
I laugh at the thought of likening hockey players to knights. I’ve seen portions of hockey games before, and I would never view them that way. I chance a look at Jenna’s eyes and see that she’s not looking at my face. She’s staring at my chest. So I take this opportunity to study that dark circle of blue around those cornflower irises fringed with pale lashes. She’s fresh-faced and wearing hardly any make-up, and I think she’s more beautiful that way. I feel warm, like when the sun comes out on a cloudy day.
Her eyes meet mine without warning and I jerk my gaze away. I can’t look too hard or deep. It feels like I’m seeing things that I shouldn’t see.
“Do you trust me, William?” I hesitate to answer that. In all honesty, Jenna has given me no reason to trust her. She waits and then sighs. “If you go with me, we can practice. I can’t think of another way to acclimate you to crowds otherwise.”
“Did you do that? For your fear of loud noises?”
She nodded. “Yes…I went to see some movies. About war. And”—she shudders as she continues—“I went to a rifle range. That was hard. I freaked out pretty bad.”
I look up, suddenly wanting to know more about her—about when she struggled with panic like I do.
“How did you get through it?”
“I reminded myself that it’s mind over matter.”
Again she’s speaking in the language of metaphors. I’ve heard this expression before, but I still don’t get it and it’s even hard to envision. She seems to pick this up from my reaction.
“It means that I had to remind myself that I’m stronger than the fear.”
I nod, looking down, thinking about her words. How incredibly brave it was to force herself to confront that fear. Just the thought of her “freaking out” at a rifle range stirs something in me—a fierce protective instinct, I think. I imagine myself there with her, wrapping my arms around her, whispering that it will be okay, protecting her.
If she’s brave enough to do that…then I can be, too.
“And if I want to leave?”
“Then we’ll leave,” she says simply.
“Why did you freak out at the rifle range?”
“It brought back…memories. They took me by surprise.”
“What memories?”
Her face changes, along with her entire posture. “Bad memories. I’d rather not depress you with them.” She’s laughing as she says this and waving a hand in front of her. She doesn’t want to go into detail because, whatever it is, it’s dark. I remember the pictures and film I saw of that war. Horrible images come to mind.
And when she was little, she was there…in the middle of that. I’m marveling that she chose to expose herself to gunfire in spite of the terror.
I clear my throat. “I’ll go, then. If you come with me. But—”
“We’ll leave if you have to. The minute it becomes unbearable. No judgments. Okay?”
I nod, but my heart is racing. I’m not sure if it’s the idea of putting myself out there, or if it’s the fact that I’ll get to spend more time with Jenna.
***
I’ve purchased the tickets to the hockey game, and we are going after I leave work. I’d expressed doubts—via text message—about navigating the traffic around the hockey arena. She had the idea of parking at a nearby movie theater and walking. So that’s our plan.
I’m waiting at the curb outside her apartment. I’ve texted her twice now to tell her I’m here, and she’s finally just let me know that she’s on her way down. Minutes later, she appears wearing jeans and a long-sleeved sweater that accentuates the curves of her body. She smiles when she catches a glimpse of my car, her pale hair spilling out under a dark knit beanie. The more I focus on her, the harder it is to focus on anything else, so I blink and tear my eyes away.
“Right on time. Sorry I was late…” she says as she gets in.
“Again.”
As I reach over to adjust the temperature in the car, I note that her brows twitch, but she doesn’t respond. I pull away from the curb while she remains silent.