Five Things You Can See

My wallet. My wallet is gone!

I give myself a thorough pat-down that would put any TSA officer to shame. From my jeans pockets to the tiny square chest pocket on my shirt that wouldn’t even fit my wallet, I search every nook and cranny. It’s definitely gone.

Ten.

The half-drunk mob that surrounds me in the middle of Times Square screams the number into my eardrums, but I can’t think about that right now. My wallet is gone!

Doubt swims through my head. My parents were right. I’m not cut out for travel. I should be tucked under a blanket on the couch in my warm house in Texas, watching these festivities on television with a bowl of popcorn. Just like I have every year of my life to this point. But no, I had to leave the state, drive halfway across the country, and experience a “real” New Year’s Eve party, deep in the heart of New York City, surrounded by strangers, one of which has recently stolen my wallet.

Nine.

I scan the crowd around me desperately. I haven’t been without my wallet long, so surely the culprit can’t be far.

But it’s no use. The crowd is thick, bodies pressing against me, cell phones poised to catch a glimpse of the spectacular fireworks show that will begin any moment. I should be among them, a dumb grin on my face, relishing in this over-the-top touristy moment that will inevitably kick off my career as a travel photographer.

That is why I left in the first place after all. With my camera, a dream, and a few hundred bucks, I said sayonara to my parents and gathered up my confidence like Maria in The Sound of Music. I was off to see the world and find a better life for myself.

Now, however, I question just how much better this life actually is.

Eight.

Drew. I need to find Drew. He’ll know what to do. I search the faces around me for my best friend and travel companion. The one who I thought might be asking me on a date when he invited me to this New Year’s Eve party, even though I was already planning to come on my own. And when he showed up with five times as much camera gear as I had brought, I knew he was really only here for work purposes. He just wanted a friend to hang out with along the way.

See? Just friends.

Seven.

The last time I saw Drew he told me he was going to get closer to the stage to get a few pictures and he’d be back in a few minutes, so I push through the crowd toward the stage. It’s probably not smart to abandon our rendezvous point, but I need to find him now.

The first time I ever had a panic attack I was seven years old. I was going to my best friend’s house that night for a sleepover and I couldn’t find my favorite Barbie doll. I wanted so badly to take her with me, and my parents told me I needed to get in the car; it was time to go. And that’s when it happened.

At first, my parents thought I was just throwing a fit because I wasn’t getting my way, but when they saw the genuine terror in my eyes and how upset I was, they knew something more was wrong.

I don’t remember exactly how it felt when I was seven, just that the puzzle pieces that made up my life weren’t quite fitting together like they should. But as I got older I began to recognize the signs of an oncoming panic attack, and notice them the second they began.

Generally, it starts with stress. Something is wrong or out of place. Then there is overwhelm. Crowds, loud noises, sensory overload.

Anxiety, meet New York City. I’m sure you’re going to be best friends.

Six.

The faces in the crowd begin to blur together and I know it’s getting bad. I’ve lost my wallet and I can’t find Drew. That’s not one, but two things out of place in my world right now.

Also, it’s cold, and wet, and noisy, and crowded, and too much. It’s too much.

I’m spiraling downhill fast.

Five.

Five things I can see. I remind myself of the trick my therapist told me to use whenever things start to feel out of control.

I whip my head around taking in my surroundings.

Five things I can see:

1. A tall man next to a colorful street cart with blinking lights passing out warm beignets to people as they walk by. He wears a bright red peacoat and a gentle smile.

2. A tiny fluffy dog in a ridiculous Christmas sweater by my feet. He looks cold, but excited, not unlike the humans that surround him.

3. A crazy group of college girls about my age whooping and hollering, with laughing eyes. They snap selfies and dance around bumping into the people next to them.

4. A couple, wrapped around each other, watching the horizon and waiting for the fireworks to start. If this crowd were a hurricane they would be the eye; calm, collected, and happy.

5. Drew, on my porch last October, sipping hot apple cider and telling me stories about his adventures around the U.S. and building in me my own passion to see the world.

I’m overcome by the memory and quickly shake it from my head. I can’t be thinking about Drew like that now.

Four.

I reach out my hands, searching for texture and feeling.

Four things I can touch:

1. The long braid that hangs out from under my fluffy white beanie hat. It is soft and smooth and carefully woven.

2. My army green puffer coat, slippery and satiny on the outside, warm and soft on the inside.

3. My jeans, the course denim.

4. Drew’s hand in mine, pulling me toward the Ferris wheel at the county fair this summer. It was rough and strong. It felt safe.

No, focus.

Three.

Three things I can hear:

1. Music, distant, but definitely there. It’s some new pop song, floating down the street and winding through the crowd.

2. Screaming, hollering, whooping and all manner of noise coming from the humans that are sardine-packed around me.

3. Drew, not in some imagined memory, but actually in front of me, making his way through the crowd toward me, yelling my name. Emily.

Two.

I force myself to ignore Drew and finish the exercise. I take a calming breath and press on.

Two things I can smell:

1. Cologne. Too much of it, coming from the short man beside me who obviously can’t wait until midnight to smash his face into his girlfriend’s. Seriously, get a room.

2. The beignets from the street cart. It’s faint, but the sweet smell of sugar and cinnamon dances lazily around me.

One.

Drew is beside me now, pulling me close.

“Are you okay, Emily?” He asks, seeing the concern etched all over my face.

Every muscle in my body relaxes. Drew is here. My wallet is gone, but Drew is here. Everything will be okay.

“Happy New Year,” I breathe, and before I can second guess myself, I push onto my tiptoes and kiss him lightly on the lips.

One thing I can taste:

1. Drew’s lips on mine, sweet and warm, kissing me back with a fervency that is definitely not found among “friends”.

The world erupts around us, fireworks lighting the sky, couples making out, and camera flashes going off everywhere.

Something good has come to an end, but something better is just beginning. It’s time for the rest of my life.