how to breathe. I was beginning to wonder whether I was suffering from panic attacks.
I had a friend sophomore year who’d been clinically depressed and suffered from panic attacks. I remember having to take her home from a party one night after the music got too loud, the room too hot. She had turned ghostly pale, complaining that her chest hurt, and even after taking her out into the cool winter night, she’d been unable to stop sweating. She’d been genuinely scared and I had too. We’d thought she was having a heart attack.
I didn’t feel depressed though. I knew things weren’t exactly right, but honestly, so what if my hair wouldn’t grow? So what if I couldn’t swim? Lots of people couldn’t swim. And really, so what if I grew up without a mother? It’s not like I had ever known her to miss her. All I had of her was a picture. You couldn’t miss what you’d never had.
So instead of continuing to sit on my balcony contemplating my rather bizarre but inconsequential list of genetic quirks, I went in search of cute animals. Usually, I would head straight to YouTube and watch a gazillion puppy and kitten videos, but I needed to get out of the house. So I ended up at the local aquarium.
The giant wall murals of smiling dolphins already had me feeling better. I watched a sea lion show while eating a box of popcorn and sipping a cherry Icee, surrounded by red-faced tourists smelling of piña coladas. I skimmed my hand under the water of the “petting zoo,” a shallow tank housing stingrays and horseshoe crabs gliding under the surface. I lifted my hand when a small shark swam by, not quite trusting the thing not to make a snack of one of my fingers. The sign said it was a nurse shark, which sounded like an oxymoron to me.
The aquarium was nestled against the beach with a wooden fence running along the back of the complex that separated it from the white dunes and the masses of beachgoers. The Gulf was a flat, smooth sheet of tie-dyed glass. I was able to relax more when the surf was quiet, when I didn’t hear my name in the turn of the waves. I didn’t feel as crazy today.
The sound of laughter brought my head around. I watched two girls about my age sitting at one of the picnic tables in front of a silver trailer where they sold hamburgers, and hot dogs, and other greasy overpriced snacks. The hamburgers smelled particularly mouth watering.
Both girls wore the same blue polo shirt with an embroidered dolphin leaping over the left side of their chests. I had spied them in the gift shop on my way inside the complex. The blonde was rather chatty, picking at her food between wild gestures and “Oh my Gods.” She had beach-wave hair and her skin was the perfect shade of bronze, not a fake bake, but a tan that could only be the result of hours spent in the sun.
Her friend had her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, and she was easily the prettiest girl I had ever seen in real life. Even from where I stood—maybe I was staring—I could tell she had flawlessly smooth skin. She wore a pair of those sunglasses with the big round lenses that would make me look like an alien but made her look like a movie star. She wasn’t saying much. She smiled occasionally whenever her friend laughed, which was a lot. Apparently, Blondie was a real comedian. The dark-haired girl seemed distracted though. Every now and then she would look out toward the beach, and I imagined I could hear her sigh every time. At one point, Blondie put her arm around her shoulders, squeezing her close and whispering something in her ear. They both laughed and I watched as the dark-haired girl wiped at her eyes under her lenses.
I suddenly felt intrusive and I had to admit to being a little jealous. I’d never had a best friend before. I’d had plenty of acquaintances, been invited to all the parties back home, even had a boyfriend or two. Since I’d been here, I might have texted my friend Molly a half a dozen times, but there wasn’t
I had a friend sophomore year who’d been clinically depressed and suffered from panic attacks. I remember having to take her home from a party one night after the music got too loud, the room too hot. She had turned ghostly pale, complaining that her chest hurt, and even after taking her out into the cool winter night, she’d been unable to stop sweating. She’d been genuinely scared and I had too. We’d thought she was having a heart attack.
I didn’t feel depressed though. I knew things weren’t exactly right, but honestly, so what if my hair wouldn’t grow? So what if I couldn’t swim? Lots of people couldn’t swim. And really, so what if I grew up without a mother? It’s not like I had ever known her to miss her. All I had of her was a picture. You couldn’t miss what you’d never had.
So instead of continuing to sit on my balcony contemplating my rather bizarre but inconsequential list of genetic quirks, I went in search of cute animals. Usually, I would head straight to YouTube and watch a gazillion puppy and kitten videos, but I needed to get out of the house. So I ended up at the local aquarium.
The giant wall murals of smiling dolphins already had me feeling better. I watched a sea lion show while eating a box of popcorn and sipping a cherry Icee, surrounded by red-faced tourists smelling of piña coladas. I skimmed my hand under the water of the “petting zoo,” a shallow tank housing stingrays and horseshoe crabs gliding under the surface. I lifted my hand when a small shark swam by, not quite trusting the thing not to make a snack of one of my fingers. The sign said it was a nurse shark, which sounded like an oxymoron to me.
The aquarium was nestled against the beach with a wooden fence running along the back of the complex that separated it from the white dunes and the masses of beachgoers. The Gulf was a flat, smooth sheet of tie-dyed glass. I was able to relax more when the surf was quiet, when I didn’t hear my name in the turn of the waves. I didn’t feel as crazy today.
The sound of laughter brought my head around. I watched two girls about my age sitting at one of the picnic tables in front of a silver trailer where they sold hamburgers, and hot dogs, and other greasy overpriced snacks. The hamburgers smelled particularly mouth watering.
Both girls wore the same blue polo shirt with an embroidered dolphin leaping over the left side of their chests. I had spied them in the gift shop on my way inside the complex. The blonde was rather chatty, picking at her food between wild gestures and “Oh my Gods.” She had beach-wave hair and her skin was the perfect shade of bronze, not a fake bake, but a tan that could only be the result of hours spent in the sun.
Her friend had her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, and she was easily the prettiest girl I had ever seen in real life. Even from where I stood—maybe I was staring—I could tell she had flawlessly smooth skin. She wore a pair of those sunglasses with the big round lenses that would make me look like an alien but made her look like a movie star. She wasn’t saying much. She smiled occasionally whenever her friend laughed, which was a lot. Apparently, Blondie was a real comedian. The dark-haired girl seemed distracted though. Every now and then she would look out toward the beach, and I imagined I could hear her sigh every time. At one point, Blondie put her arm around her shoulders, squeezing her close and whispering something in her ear. They both laughed and I watched as the dark-haired girl wiped at her eyes under her lenses.
I suddenly felt intrusive and I had to admit to being a little jealous. I’d never had a best friend before. I’d had plenty of acquaintances, been invited to all the parties back home, even had a boyfriend or two. Since I’d been here, I might have texted my friend Molly a half a dozen times, but there wasn’t
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