Swelling

"It's swelling again, I can hear those violins getting louder and louder. It's a symphony I can never go deaf from, it is the soundtrack of misery! I am drowning in D minor, no, no, this is F minor and that A flat reminds me of his back as he laid there, not moving any of his muscles. No, no, I can see his face again!"

"Whose face?" I heard my therapist's voice and I closed my eyes tighter than they were before.

"My teachers," I respond, trying to ignore the knots that keep tightening around my guts.

"Say his name, Rylee." She said over the wearing sound of violins that kept going off in my mind. I don't want my lips to contort around all the vowels and consonants that make up his name.

"You can do it, Rylee, remember what your goal for today is."

"If I say his name he's real, and then- Then I'll keep seeing his face!"

"He's real whether you say it aloud or not." She said.

"M- Math-" I could feel my tongue trying to nuzzle its way between my teeth, trying to hide down the back of my throat. I swallowed it down but I can still feel it squirming in my mouth.

"Matham." I heard his name exit my mouth, introducing itself to my therapist, shaking her hand and kissing it softly.

"Mr. Matham, George Matham," I said, gulping down the excess of air in my mouth.

"Do you want to tell the story, Rylee?" Dr. Desai's voice pulled my spirit back into my body as my eyes shot open, absorbing all the light in her office, but I managed to find myself fixated on the aloe vera plant sitting on the windowsill. "Remember your goal for today?" I heard her ask again, but that plant is so alluring. I love to watch my vision come in and out on its spikes, blurry then clarity, back and forth, straining my vision. 

"Y- Yeah, I want to tell the story about my teacher from high school and my best friend, DeBryce," I said weakly.

"Go ahead," Dr. Desai said, smiling warmly at me.

I sucked in my oxygen, blowing it all back out instantly and picking at the strings on my distressed jeans.

"You're going to rip them even more," She said, laughing a bit, easing my nerves.

"You're right. Okay, okay, okay, okay. So, Mr. Matham, my high school theater teacher. The one who traumatized me, him. That guy! I'm gonna tell this story, the one I've never told anyone."

"Whenever you're ready." She said.

"I was sitting in biology, bored, waiting for the bell to ring, cause it was my last class of the day. And after sixth period is over, DeBryce and I always hang out in the little theater after school with our teacher. Mr. Matham. So the bell rings and I- This is stupid. You don't need all this background stuff do you?" I asked.

"Tell the story however you like, it's your experience."

"Right... Basically, it was me, DeBryce and Matham in the theater and Matham, that's what we call him, no mister in front, just Matham. Well, he gets out these two stacks of papers and throws them down in front of me and says, 'Hey lesbian, I need you to staple one to the other,' and of course, I say 'Hey, I'm bisexual' but that doesn't matter and then I say, 'yes.' Matham looks at DeBryce and says something like 'let's go work on theatre techniques for you in the office,' and they go into the back where his office is. And I feel so lucky to be there, not every kid gets to experience high school like this. The theatre kids, we did everything together and had this amazing teacher who believes in us so much and we all loved each other. We all supported one another. And honestly, I felt bad for the other kids in high school, to not be apart of something so special. Not everyone has a teacher who mentors and guides them through life. So, I spread out the papers in front of me, stapling them two at a time and neatly placing them in a pile to the right. I always loved looking at all the pictures of the past theatre kids on Matham’s podium. So many faces I never recognized, some that I did; they’re a myriad of faces that prove how history repeats itself. Groups of kids who find comfort in theatre, who find healing from this world. My nose always stings like seawater shot into it when my eyes gloss over like I'm about to cry. Theatre is just a myriad of emotions." I glanced up at my therapist who is just sitting quietly, interested in my ramblings.

"Should I keep going?" I asked, shoulders hunched forward.

"Yes, please continue," She said.

"Well, I ended up finishing stapling the papers together faster than I thought I would. I stood up and yelled his name, Matham's name, but he didn't say anything. And neither did DeBryce. So, I figured I'd just go back there with them. I'm walking and my light-hearted steps felt so quick when the world slowed down for a moment. The door was wide open, my tongue froze in my mouth as I tasted something foul, was it the bits of lunch wanting to rot on my teeth? Or was it something more sinister than that? My eyes stretched open at my realization. Matham's back faced me as I locked eyes with DeBryce. I could see my teachers hand reaching downwards into the privacy of my pubescent friend. The motion of his arm like a professional musician, playing the violin. And the music just keeps getting louder and louder. My mouth was ready for flies. Open! My friend's eyes said one thing and it was “leave”.

I took a step backward and swallowed everything I had just seen down. It felt like a horse pill, the image scraped down my esophagus, ripping up the tissue. The secret planted itself into my stomach where I would lose it in the digestion. Instead of freezing forever, I finally spoke. And I can't stop hearing those violins. They're in my daydreams and in my nightmares. I cannot escape his symphony. I'm 24 years old and I'm still having nightmares about his face. I just- I just want to forget him." I said, clutching my thighs, squeezing the only bits of fat and muscle that's on them, turning me from pale to a ghastly white.

"And you know what I hate the most?!" I yelled, slamming my little fist into my knee, feeling and hearing the bones knock together.

"What, what do you hate the most?" Dr. Desai's voice guided me through the memory.

"That I was right, that I am right. I was more right than ever, not every kid gets to experience high school like that. And I am so jealous of that very fact. I am so upset that I keep seeing his face every corner I turn. That I am haunted from everything he did."

"But that's why you're here, Rylee," She said, gazing into my lost eyes with her dark eyes, pulling me in for comfort.

"To relive all of this?" I asked through my tears.

"No, to heal from this."