The Tunnel

Ethan Dunning was chewing on a nonexistent fingernail; he had, in fact, perfected the terrible habit of keeping them chewed down to the cuticle. Ethan, two months shy of his sixteenth birthday, was agonizing over what to wear to that night’s varsity basketball game. He had spent the afternoon trying to pump himself up, telling himself that tonight was the night that he would approach Mia and charm her socks right off. Maybe even her bra, he thought with a sad smile.

Mia Hamlin had grown up with Ethan, and they had been good friends throughout their elementary school years. However, once puberty hit, Mia went to another stratosphere of popularity, whereas Ethan, unfortunately, had gone the other way. They were still friends, they just didn’t run in the same circles. Mia was certainly attractive, with raven hair and piercing eyes that were difficult for Ethan to turn away from. But what had always drawn Ethan to her was the aura of genuine tenderness that surrounded her.

So tonight was his chance to pull himself from the abyss. All he had to do was to conquer his mountainous anxiety issues and talk to Mia one-on-one. If brave enough to do that, he was confident he could convince her to go out with him, which he believed could be a cure-all for his myriad of woes. Maybe it would allow him to cut through the spiderweb that had etched a permanent residence in his mind these last few years.

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Ethan continued staring into his closet for another moment, then shook his head and grabbed his Mumford and Sons concert tee from the hanger. Though Ethan had become efficient at lying, both to others and himself, he wasn’t yet good enough to believe he would follow up with this plan to win over Mia tonight. He realized it was simply false bravado. His inner voice didn’t appreciate this abrupt tonal shift, and went back to the rah, rah, rah approach. Hells yeah, tonight is THE night. She won’t be able to resist our charms, bruh! We got this!

A car horn tore him away from his inner monologue. Ethan glanced into his bedroom mirror, ran a cursory hand through his shaggy curls, and offered another sad smile as he grabbed his hoodie and turned to leave. Sure, we got this.

Ethan strolled toward the front door, called out goodbyes to his parents, then plodded outside, head down, as he walked down the driveway. He climbed inside Diego’s 2013 Chevy Avalanche, brushing both hands through his hair to get it away from his eyes.

Diego Ortiz and Ethan had been best friends since third grade, though their relationship didn’t start off friendly. Once, they almost came to blows during a school yard soccer game. As they wrestled briefly, another classmate that had a bone to pick with Diego dropped to all fours behind him. Ostensibly, his goal was to allow Ethan to gain the upper hand by pushing Diego backward, causing him to trip and fall over. However, Diego and Ethan both fell over the kid. At that point, they teamed up and slapped around the kid for interfering. They had been best friends ever since.

“It’s amazing your ass isn’t always walking into walls and shit. Why you always looking at the ground when you walk?”

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Diego already knew the answer. He just enjoyed busting balls. “Why do you always ask questions you already know the answer to? I know you don’t wanna tussle.” Ethan put up both fists mockingly and smiled.

Diego grinned but was slightly on edge now. Though Ethan’s reply had been on point, it was robotic. No emotion in the smile. Just empty words. He was one of the select few in Ethan’s orbit that knew the kid was being treated for anxiety and depression. He now worried Ethan might be in a bad head space.

As Arcade Monkey played on the truck stereo, Diego pulled into the parking lot at Cedar Hill High School and asked, “Everything cool? You seem a little withdrawn.”

“I’m slightly pissed I let you talk me into returning to this hellhole tonight. Other than that, it’s all good.”

“You nervous about talking to Mia?” He knew what Ethan wanted to do. He also knew it wouldn’t happen.

“Nah. I got this,” he replied woodenly.

Ethan was a bundle of nerves as they sat down on the bleachers. This was pretty much par for the course whenever he was on school grounds. He had friends here, sure, and most kids that knew him would use adjectives like hilarious, thoughtful, and smart to describe him. And though those adjectives described him to a tee, Ethan didn’t see himself that way.

It wasn’t uncommon for Ethan to have an uneasy stomach when on these grounds, and that

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was the case now, as the normally inviting smell emanating from the bag of popcorn Diego was anything but inviting.

Concentrating on the repetitive bouncing of the ball, and sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor, allowed Ethan to relax slightly. He had seen little of the game itself, as he had mostly been watching Mia, who sat three rows down with several of her girlfriends. Pulled from his reverie when the buzzer sounded, he glanced at the scoreboard and saw the Snow Monkeys trailed 18-15. He leaned over toward Diego and said, “Gotta go drain my RPG. BRB.”

Ethan walked into the bathroom and was immediately assaulted by the piss and bleach scent universal in public bathrooms. He was, however, pleased to have the space to himself. He sidled up to the urinal to heed nature’s call. Seconds later, he heard voices from the hallway and knew he wouldn’t be alone for long. One voice belonged to Chaz McBride, a senior. If you read the name Chaz and automatically assumed the guy was a world-class douchebag, then shame on you for casting aspersions based on a name alone. But also give yourself a pat on the back because, come on, of course, Chaz McBride was a world-class douchebag.

Ethan hurried to finish up and rushed to the sink for a cursory wash just as the door swung open. Chaz popped in, followed by three of his evil henchmen, each of them seniors. Ethan willed himself to shrink into the floorboards.

“Hey fellas, if it’s not lowkey Dunning. Aren’t you in the wrong bathroom, simp?”

Ethan hastily grabbed a towel to dry his hands and replied, “Are you implying that I’m illiterate or ignorant? Or do you even know the difference?” He moved to walk past these mouth-breathers to exit. Chaz blocked the path.

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Henchman Carl, a dude with a laughably bad mullet, clearly didn’t know the difference. He said, “Huh,” so slowly that it turned the three-letter word into three syllables.

Chaz smirked and said, “Always the comedian, huh? Maybe we can find something else to laugh about.”

Ethan knew unequivocally that he was in trouble. So he tried a little trickery. He swung a right hand and belted Chaz in the eye. He had hoped the surprise attack would open a path for him to run away, but it didn’t work. Chaz, enraged, knocked Ethan into next week with a shot to the ear. He fell and Carl and henchman number three helped hold him down. Henchman number four seemed content to remain a voyeur.

Chaz got a couple of blows in before the door flew open, slamming into the voyeur. Diego grabbed Carl by the collar and slung him into the wall under the sink, his head hitting the shut-off valve. He then turned and applied a vicious eye rake to henchman number three, who was still holding Ethan down.

“He’s had enough, assholes.” Diego stared hard at Chaz, still frozen in mid-punch. “If you hit him again, I’mma beat your ass, Chaz.” Diego wasn’t a huge dude by any means, but he carried himself with a confidence that was intimidating as hell. It helped that he also had a brown belt in taekwondo, and the rumor was he knew many pressure points in the body in which he could dole out agonizing pain.

Chaz scoffed, “I a’int scared of you, bitch.” But the speed with which he got off of Ethan implied otherwise.

Ethan sat up slowly, dazed and bloodied. “You’re a giant vag, Chaz.”

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Chaz stared bullets at him, but let the comment go, clearly not wanting to challenge Diego. Carl murmured from the floor, and they all looked over at him. He was bleeding from the blow to the shut-off valve.

“Jesus, what did you do to him, you damn wetback?”

Diego took two steps forward and was face-to-face with him. “You are one odious waste of space, Chaz. If I ever hear you use that word again, you and I are gonna find out if those rumors about me are true. Now help Joe Dirt off the floor, stop the bleeding, clean the wound, and be on your way, SIMP. The lot of you.”

Chaz paled, only interested in retreat now. He directed the voyeur and henchman number three, still rubbing his eyes from the raking, to grab some paper towels and wet them. They tended to the wound long enough to stop the bleeding, then beat a hasty retreat.

Diego leaned down and surveyed Ethan. He had a busted lip, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in a couple of days. He reached out his hand to help Ethan to his feet. “Sorry I didn’t get in here sooner, amigo. Not much you can do when it’s four to one.”

Ethan accepted the help up, then walked to the sink and splashed water on his face a few times, his hands shaking noticeably. Diego didn’t know if it was from rage, fear, or sadness, but he recognized his friend was aching. He reached out a hand and squeezed Ethan’s shoulder. With an earnestness Ethan would have normally found touching, Diego asked if he was okay.

Ethan didn’t find it touching now. He found it infuriating. He didn’t want Diego’s pity. Shrugging Diego’s hand from his shoulder, he said, “I’m fine,” as he huffed out of the bathroom door.

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Chaz and his merry band of thugs were standing down the hallway. Emma, one of Mia’s friends, was tending to Joe Dirt, err, Carl, and making sure the wound had stopped bleeding. Chaz had probably already twisted the story to make it appear Ethan and Diego were the villains here, Ethan thought bitterly. Emma shuffled around Carl, and that’s when Ethan noticed Mia standing with the group. She wasn’t friends with Chaz; she despised him actually, but unfortunately Emma was dating Carl, which sometimes placed Mia in with this grouping.

Mia didn’t at first notice Ethan and Diego as they exited the bathroom and headed toward her group. Once she did, she did a double take upon seeing Ethan, then briefly turned away. The look of pity in her eyes sent Ethan reeling.

No longer willing to engage with any of these people, Ethan mumbled to Diego as he stared down at the floor, “I need some air. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Diego had been staring at Chaz and his three knuckleheads, making sure they weren’t considering making a move. So he didn’t see the look that passed between Ethan and Mia. Had he seen it, he could have explained to Ethan that he had it all wrong; that wasn’t a look of pity she flashed. That was pure compassion. But Diego didn’t see any of that, nor did he see Ethan’s change in body language immediately following. He asked Ethan if he wanted company.

Ethan didn’t look back. “Nah, man. Just need a minute to clear my head.” He walked past the asshole seniors, and the would-be love of his life, and walked out into the night. Lost in his head, he didn’t even notice Mia reach out and touch his arm as he walked by.

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Chapter

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Ethan was conducting a bitter internal debate as he stepped outside. Why did you agree to come tonight? You know you don’t belong with these people. Not really. The people at this school aren’t your friends.

I know that. I’m just playing a character for them. It’s all an act. They don’t know me at all and would like me even less than they do now if they knew the real me. I barely even like me, so why would they? I’m just role-playing my way through this shit.

Ethan was staring down the barrel at a full-blown emotional crisis. He recognized the symptoms even before pushing through the double-doors and out into the chilly North Texas night air. Slightly light-headed, tightness in his chest, sweaty palms, and being a little wobbly on his feet were all telltale signs. For a person uncomfortable in his own skin, these emotional ruts could be devastating.

He knew he needed to embark on a grounding session forthwith. Grounding is a strategy that allows one to detach from their emotional pain in order to gain control of their feelings and remain safe. Mental health professionals believe that while actively grounding, the individual is far less likely to self-harm, because the act of grounding tethers that person to reality. Not necessarily to their own personal reality, but reality in the external world. Connection with the external world is vital. After two plus years of trial and error while in therapy, Ethan had a

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handful of tried-and-true techniques that had proven successful for him.

Ethan’s therapist, Selena Thomas, encouraged a before and after rating system so that Ethan could verify that a grounding session was successful. He began the process by rating his current psychache as an eight. There are those that might not understand how the brief encounter with Chaz and his brainless goons, could have caused so much emotional turmoil, but Ethan, like many people afflicted with depression, anxiety, or PTSD, aren’t always able to process trauma the so-called ‘normal’ way. Rather than processing a traumatic event and then moving past it, for many afflicted with depression, past trauma often lingers in the psyche. So instead of dealing with one thing at a time, it’s often cumulative.

He began with a safety declaration that he repeated multiple times. “I am Ethan Dunning. I am fifteen-years-old. I am in the present, not the past, standing in the high school parking lot. It is January 25, 2024, and I am safe right now.”

In lighter moods, Ethan would playfully refer to the safety declaration as his version of Iñigo Montoya’s rallying cry from the fantastic Rob Reiner film, The Princess Bride, though Ethan conceded his version wasn’t nearly as catchy and fun as that of the master swordsman. Obviously, this isn’t one of those lighter moments, anyway.

After repeating the safety declaration several times, he began walking and noted his walking pattern, “Right, left. Right, left. Right, left. Right left.” He did this for a couple of minutes, then transitioned into playing a sports challenge in his head, in which he would list every NFL player he could. As a longtime player, and avid hater, of the Madden football series, he knew a lot of NFL players. He played this game until he noticed he had repeated the name of a player, and he moved

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onto another technique.

Ethan kicked off the first stanza of Travis Scott’s “Sicko Mode”. LaFlame was his all-time favorite artist, and “Sicko Mode” was his all-time favorite jam. Ethan always turned to this as his final grounding technique.

As he finished the song, Ethan realized he had been wandering aimlessly through a neighborhood a couple of miles from the high school, and even farther from his house. He had never been on this block before and continued on his current path, deciding he would turn back toward the school at the next corner.

Ethan mentally rated his current psycache as a three-to-four and mentally congratulated himself and LaFlame for a successful grounding session. As he neared the end of the block, he noticed a house being built on a corner lot. Ethan rarely gave a rat’s ass about the look of a home, especially one under construction, but he felt inexplicably drawn to this one.

It was a bigger lot than most on the block, set back a good forty yards from the street, and surrounded by several stately looking Mexican sycamore trees. Their canopies made the area a little darker as Ethan walked toward the house for a closer look. The pine framing, normally an innocent sight, was stark against the moonlight.

After a couple of more steps, he noticed an extension cord lying harmlessly on the concrete slab, and an unwanted thought began trying to earworm its way into his brain. He looked up at the open second floor and noticed an exposed wooden joist. The thought fully-fledged now; the cord tied off around the joist, the other end set in a hangman’s noose around his neck. Not the first time Ethan had experienced suicidal ideation, but dismaying nonetheless, as he had only moments ago

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completed a very successful grounding session.

The next picture that ran through his head was that of a construction worker arriving onsite the next morning, staring at his lifeless body in horror. This jolted him from this terrible fantasy and back to reality. His heart was racing as he pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Hey, Diego. I wandered off. Mind coming to pick me up?”

Then Ethan drew in a few deep breaths and immediately launched into a new grounding session.

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