Becoming Okay

We park the car in front of a mansion: three stories tall and austere, built from blood-red bricks. The roof, which might normally be a stony blue, had been stained black a long time ago, never cleaned except for the rain. All in all, it appears more suited for a murdery mystery or horror movie than a teenage party.

“What’s with the long face, Ellie?” Amy asks from her place in the driver’s seat, punching me in the arm. “This is your first party - show some excitement!”

I rub the part of my arm where Amy had punched it, certain that it would bruise later. I can already imagine the purple discoloration, the tenderness, the feeling of being stabbed whenever I poke it. If I’m lucky enough, maybe I’ll actually be stabbed before we can get to the front door. “This is a mansion,” I reply.

Amy looks out the front window, squinting to see it through the dark. Then she turns back to me and shrugs. “So it is. Three stories tall, huh. Y’know, I’ve never been in anything taller than one.”

“You said the party would be at Danny’s house,” I add meaningfully. 

Amy just shrugs again. “Well, I meant mansion. Now, are you coming or what?” And before I can say anything else, she opens her door and steps out, slamming it closed behind her. I jump at the sound. She doesn’t notice, already too busy striding across the lawn.

I open my door methodically, careful not to make any noises. Ignoring the sounds of Amy’s footsteps crunching through the grass, the night can almost be described as quiet. Others might even describe it as peaceful. But there is a certain distinction between quiet and peaceful, and I am certain my very presence is ruining the peace.

It takes far too little time for me to catch up with Amy at the front door, even though I take care to stay on the driveway and sidewalk instead of cutting across the grass. Amy nudges me in the arm again, though not hard enough to bruise. 

“You ready?” she asks, excitement clear on her face.

“Sure,” I reply, and she opens the door. For a split second, I’m tempted to bolt and return to the safety of the car, but she pulls me in before I can act on it.

The sound of the party hits me like the wave of a tsunami. Roaring music slams itself against my ears, and the overlapping noises of partygoers crash against me, crushing me between each shout and scream. I immediately throw my hands against my ears and squeeze my eyes as tight as they can possibly be squeezed. 

I feel rather than hear Amy shuffle awkwardly beside me, as if wondering whether she should stay with me or leave me behind for the party. “I’m okay,” I mutter. “It’s okay, I’m okay. It’s okay. Keep going, I’m okay.” 

Amy slowly walks away, and I cling onto the word ‘okay’ like a lifeline. It pulses through my head, forming over and over in my mouth, over and over until I’m able to use it to block out the pain of all the other sounds. Once I’m able to think again, I decide to push forwards and find Amy before she becomes lost in the crowd.

I stick to the edges of the room, covering my ears and mouthing the word ‘okay’ to myself whenever I come too close to a particularly loud group of partygoers. Once I find Amy, I’ll be able to last like this for up to an hour, maybe even longer. I try to spot her dyed purple hair through the crowd, but my eyes are unable to focus on any one thing at a time. My brain is still too busy repeating the word ‘okay’ to think of anything else.

I spend maybe thirty minutes like that: smushed against the corner of the room, hands covering my ears, continuously mouthing the same word over and over while my eyes dart around the room for any sign of the color purple. There are all sorts of colors, and each color is attached to clothes, which are attached to people, who are constantly moving and shifting as if in a colorful sea of motion. But I am unable to find purple. 

Then one of the songs ends, and the DJ steps up to the microphone to announce something. I close my eyes to brace for the sound, the one I know will come before it does. But I am still unprepared. It is a blazing screech, crashing through my hands and searing my eardrums, ripping apart my brain like the torrential winds of a hurricane devastating a small town. It destroys my brain so fully that I am unable even to form the word ‘okay’ on my lips, and I scream before I am aware of what the sound really is.

I collapse to the floor, screaming as if I were stabbed, and no part of my brain can work exactly right. The flat palms of my hands pound themselves against my head in place of the word ‘okay’, the rhythm of them becoming the only thing I can focus on. The pattern of their pounding blocks out all other sounds and sensations, even that of my own screams.

I am unaware of being moved elsewhere until I feel the coolness of bathroom tile seeping through my pants. I focus on that: the calming, almost liquidy sensation. Coldness always feels wet, even when wetness doesn’t always feel cold. My lips begin being able to form the word ‘okay’ again, and I slowly open my eyes.

The terrified face of Amy stares back at me through the darkness of the bathroom. The door is closed, and I can only faintly hear the sounds of music and chatter through the walls. The most prominent sounds echoing through the room is that of my own breathing. I make a conscious effort to slow it.

“Are you okay?” Amy asks, her voice shrill with panic. I nod without saying anything. As if a dam had broken, she immediately starts talking very quickly. “You were totally losing it out there, and everyone was staring, and I didn’t know what to do, and I thought, ‘What does Ellie usually like? Quiet,’ so I brought you in here and turned off the light. Are you sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I reply. I will be in only a few more minutes, here in the dark and quiet. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

At this point, Amy seems more upset than I am. “Of course,” she replies, “and I’m so, so sorry. I know you have sensitivity issues, but I didn’t know it’d be that bad for you. Next time, I just won’t ask you to come - ”

“Don’t leave me out of things,” I interrupt, and Amy grows silent. “I don’t want to be left out. Next time, I’ll just bring earplugs or my noise-cancelling headphones.”

Amy bites her lip. “Okay,” she says. “D’you want me to ask them to turn down the music so you can go back out there?”

“No,” I reply quickly. “I don’t want to be left alone.”

We sit there for a few moments before she says anything else. Just me and Amy in the bathroom in the dark, soaking in the coolness of the tile through our clothes. Finally, Amy nods. “Okay. So what now? Do you want to go home, or to my house, or what?”

I give Amy a small smile. “We could just stay here.”

Amy blinks. “Here? In the bathroom? People have to use this place, you know, and it isn’t exactly part of the party.”

“Can’t you still hear the music?” I reply playfully. “If there’s music, there’s a party, wasn’t that what you told me the other day?”

Amy sits there blinking for just a moment more before suddenly bursting into laughter. It is a high, clear laughter that tickles itself through my ears and into my brain, and I soon start laughing alongside her. All of the pain from before dissipates, and I know for a certainty that everything will be okay now.

“Ellie, you maniac!” Amy says. “I’m never going out with you again.”