Pam’s mind flashed each second of the day thoroughly, pin pointing every moment that seemed off. The slideshow shuffled through each happening, until she remembered the white sliver she had seen as she quickly zipped her bag close as the freeing school bell had rung. She was suspicious of the paper, but anxious to enter the safety of her car so she had simply brushed it off.
Her backpack was swung from her shoulders and fell onto the speckled carpet with a thud. She yanked the stubborn zipper, apprehensive to feel relief and prove her doubts wrong. Inside her backpack in front of her communication notebook was a neatly folded piece of white paper, with the word “Jim” scribbled on in a rushed fashion. It was written in crayon but had been retraced multiple times to fill the inconsistencies of the waxy crayon. Her gut twisted with a wanting for reassurance as her shaking fingers took a corner of the paper and began to unfold it gently. She gingerly pressed the paper to flatten it then allowed her eyes to process it for only half a second.
A messy sketch of a Philly cheesesteak. At first, she almost giggled. He hated those with a passion, he constantly complained about the existence of it. The comedic image flowed into a drawing of a square with slanted lines and poorly formed right angles. Above it, a sloppy triangle and door smack in the middle of the square. Undoubtedly it was his interpretation of a house. A red arrow was carefully drawn emerging from the doorway. Suddenly it clicked. She could feel the trepidation rising in her chest.
Pam compulsively turned the paper onto the back, where a careful note was written, gudbye Pam, always hav curage.
A rebellious tear slipped from the corner of her eye and fell onto her right sneaker. She couldn’t cry here. Too many people, she had to find Jim, he would help her. She wanted to shut off the panic like a light switch, the way she turned off her voice to keep herself safe. Suddenly it all came crashing onto her.
Her feet screamed to escape. It felt as if she was floating, reality escaping her grasp. A tornado chased away the sun, spinning and tightening around her lungs, stealing any breaths of air. Her eyes refused to focus, only able to concentrate on the images inside her mind, as if they were able to roll back and see the inside of her mind. Hands clung to her auburn hair, nails digging into her scalp. A cold liquid stung her fingertips, the red blending in with her hair. Her thoughts were intangible and her body shook uncontrollably in a seizure like way. Surges of adrenaline pumped through each vein, tingling with a need for motion.
Her chest felt like someone was firmly exerting pressure onto it. It had sharp, surging pains. Her heart was wild yet caged by her rib cage, aimlessly running into the walls that contained it.
I can’t.
How can I cope without him?
I can’t.
Was this a heart attack?
I can’t.
I’m alone.
I can’t.
Can’t.
Can’t.
Can’t.
I can’t do it.
A faint voice bounced and vibrated in her throbbing brain, wracking her frantic, windy mind. It interrupted the spiraling thoughts.
“Pam.”
The timid yet stern voice repeated, “Pam.”
••
Angela wasn’t sure what to do. She was placing her cat water bottle into her bag when she heard sharp, spastic breathing. She pulled her planted feet from her spot, forcing herself to approach the other girl. Pam’s face was soaked with tears, her body failing her and collapsing as if it lost all scaffolding. Angela whispered her name to ground her, but Pam’s panic overran any sense of reality. Pam looked so small.
“Calm down!” Angela begged, but her interruption was fruitless.
Angela urgently scanned the empty classroom for teachers and peers. Only Dwight remained as most of the kids had been picked up in the carpool or took advantage of the bus option.
In a last resort, she stretch her hand into the erratic traffic jam of anxiety and touched Pam’s stiff shoulder, yet was given a violent flinch in response. Mr. Flenderson was no where to be seen, he was probably taking a student to their car. His presence was merely an expressionless one too, he would be at a lost then try to find a manual of some sort. There’s no manual on panic attacks.
Dwight stood near, watching emotionlessly, clearly unaware of how to act in the situation, despite his constant paranoia. Suddenly, his voice which was usually monotone and unwavering squeaked into the chaos, “She’s gonna faint.”
Angela looked at the hyperventilating girl and saw Micheal from the sliver of clear window in the wooden school door. “Get Mr. Scott, Dwight!”
Dwight sprung into action. This was something he could do to help, even if his pepper spray had to remain untouched.
••
Pam could hear the commotion around her but her body seemed to be separate from any logic, searching for a solution to the void of uncertainty her friend once filled. She was now on the floor, knees rug burnt and arms wrapped around her stomach as if to keep them from bursting from her skin. She was dizzy and the tornado was making her go spin until she was nauseous. She couldn’t think, her thoughts were red. Now they were black.
I can’t.
Everything was black.
