The Downward Spiral of Adam Keir | Chapter 14

He went to the store that Friday, rather than to the pawn shop. As much as he tried to convince himself that this wasn’t the case, he knew that he only did it to avoid Jesse for the day. If he went back looking the way he did�"disheveled from not sleeping�"he was almost certain that Jesse would bring up psychologists again. So, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to handle that, Adam walked to the store (since Larisa had the car for work), intent on making up a list of things to buy once he got there.
            Despite being long, the walk to the store was as close to relief as Adam could get. There was no hurry to get there, so he could go as fast or as slow as he desired. Every half a block, he would sprint for a burst to keep his troubled mind off of the unhealthy cocktail of negative emotions brewing inside him.
            He arrived at the store without incident. In fact, as he picked up a basket to shop with and made his way into the medicine aisle, he felt calm for the first time in four days. The first thing he put into his basket was a box of acetaminophen tablets. They hadn’t helped him yet, but by this point they felt like a necessity. After retrieving them, he hurried out of the aisle, not wanting to risk looking at any other medications.
            Along with the acetaminophen, he put coffee and bread into his basket. He felt like everyone in the store was watching him, and he felt a bead of sweat run down his temple. For whatever reason, he didn’t feel welcome. He felt like an outcast, like everyone was expecting him to snap.
            When he saw Evangeline across the store, he hoped that she hadn’t already noticed him. But, of course, she had, and when she saw him looking at her, she beamed and started walking over.
            No. No, don’t you dare talk to me right now. I wouldn’t be able to take it.
            In a vain effort to escape her, he ducked into the nearest aisle and hurried down it. Once out, he hid between it and the next for a beat before rushing past a few. The aisle he turned into, four away from where he’d begun, was the pasta aisle.
            This is stupid. I can’t hide from her, not here.
            He left the aisle, heading into the produce section near the ATM. The fruit stands caught his eye. Or rather, the apple sitting in the pile of bananas did.
            An apple . . . The forbidden fruit. His hand drew itself to his throat. I’ll choke if I eat it. Then he lowered his hand and shook his head at himself. I’m thinking too metaphorically. It’s only an apple that Evangeline moved for fun . . .
            The discovery that his escape maneuver hadn’t been as stealthy as he’d hoped came in the form of Evangeline’s happy, dimpled face poking itself into his view. It took his eyes a second to refocus, but when they did, he noticed her beautiful smile, and it sent a chill down his spine.
            “I told you, I do this on a regular basis,” she bragged about her “joke”. “I’m glad that you noticed it again!”
            He wanted to speak�"to tell her to go away, or something, but his words caught in his throat before he could say them.
            Evangeline, interpreting his silence, sighed and moved her hands behind her back. As she wobbled on her toes like a child, she looked down and said, “Listen . . . I’m sorry about Monday. I hope you’re not still angry with me.”
            Adam shook his head again. Finding his voice, he managed to mumble, “No. I’m not angry.”
            The girl looked up at him. “Really? That’s a relief . . .”
            There was an awkward pause, during which they only stared at each other. It ended when Adam asked, “Do you . . . really not remember Tuesday?” He needed to know for sure whether he’d imagined it. So, he watched her reaction . . . or rather, the lack thereof.
            “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I tried to message you all day Tuesday, and you never responded. What happened?”
            I guess I imagined it, then. But it felt so real . . . “Nothing. Forget it.”
            Evangeline reached up and placed her delicate hand onto his upper arm, causing him to yank himself away as though her touch burned him through his coat. But she only did it again, unfazed by his rejection.
            “No, please, tell me,” she beckoned. “What do you remember happening between us on Tuesday? If it’ll make you feel better, I can pretend to remember it!”
            He pushed her hand off of his bicep and looked away from her to hide his irritation. “Evangeline,” he groaned.
            “I only want to make you happy,” she told him. Then, before he could move away, she embraced him. “I love you, Adam. Let’s be happy now so that we can be happy together later.”
            Something in Adam snapped, and he found himself shoving Evangeline off of himself, dropping his basket in the process. “Goddamn it, Evangeline,” he screamed at her, “why can’t you understand? We will never be together! I don’t have any feelings for you! I’m a grown man, and you’re a little girl�"compared to me, you’re a child! Nothing will, or ever could, happen between us! Grow up and see that we wouldn’t stand a chance together!”
            The look that Evangeline gave him was one of both shock and utmost betrayal. He watched her heart break in her eyes, blue now, as he’d remembered them being the first time he saw her. Something in her died at his shrill, harsh words; he could see it as her pretty smile slipped off of her face.
            He was more surprised that he’d said those things to her, never mind screamed them for the whole store to hear. Usually he kept things like that to himself. His words hadn’t even been directed at her�"his raging bellows an attempt to convince himself of their truth more than her. That realization alone made watching Evangeline’s happiness shatter into a million pieces the most painful thing he’d ever done. He wanted to reach out and hold her, apologize for the horrible things he said. But then, he looked around.
            Everyone in a certain radius was staring at them. No, not at us . . . at me. They stared at him, some in concern, some in confusion, but all wondering if he was crazy�"if the little girl in front of him was in danger. He looked back at Evangeline, who had lowered her head and was now staring at his feet. Whether she saw them or was lost deep in heartache, he couldn’t tell.
            I can’t touch her. If I do anything other than leave, I’ll be in trouble.
            So, he turned around and took two steps away . . . and then stopped.
            God . . . I can’t just leave her like that!
            He looked over his shoulder at her. She was still staring at the ground. Even from there, he could see the liquid bubbling up in her eyes. Overwhelmed, Adam ripped his eyes off of her before he could see any tears roll down her cheeks. After a much needed sigh, he reached up and slicked his hair back with both hands, but then left them on his head. Without looking back at her, he said, “I’m sorry.”
            He didn’t wait to hear a response. Instead, only a second after uttering his apology, he rushed to the exit closest to him and left the store. Then, after briskly walking across the parking lot, he took off running toward home. Even when he started to run out of breath, he didn’t stop. He only pushed himself to run faster, paying little attention to where he was going, but assuming that his legs were taking him in the right direction.
            A feeling of claustrophobia washed over him as he ran. It felt as though walls were closing in around him, intent on stopping him in his tracks forever, hindering his progress. He would never get home, the walls would make sure of that. So, he had to outrun them.
            Or were they walls at all? He recalled his scrapped video idea from two weeks prior, about a man lured away from his wife by a spider. It dawned on him then: he’d become the man, and he was at the stage where he was trying to run from the spider. How long before she dragged him back? How long before she wrapped him in her web and started eating him alive?
            Something large, dark, and loud cut him off, so close that he felt the force of it rip the air out of his lungs through his mouth, like it was yanking out his soul. A loud, deep sound pierced the air. Because of how startled he was, he stopped so fast that he fell back. He looked up and panted from exhaustion and fright.
            A train . . . I almost ran into a passing train.
            The loud sound was the horn, and it lasted only a second more before fading away. Then, the train flew past, continuing down the track.
            Adam sat there for a moment longer, struggling to catch his breath. When he looked down at the tracks, though, he saw something that made him breathe quieter. Slowly, he got onto his hands and knees. Then, he crawled over, narrowing his eyes to make sure he was seeing it correctly.
            There was a pansy growing out of the ballast.

* * *

His mother was sitting beside him, reading a magazine. On the cover, he could read the words “1994’s Greatest Hits!” Besides them and a receptionist behind the desk to his left, the waiting room was empty. There were little touches around the room�"plush chairs, plants, a coffee table with magazines on it�"that were, in his opinion, a pitiful attempt to make people like him feel comfortable.
            There was a calendar on the wall across from where he sat that was opened to November. That was correct, but no indication was made of what date it was, since nothing was crossed off.
            He wasn’t too sure why he and his mother were there, and he wanted nothing more than to leave. But every time he stood up to go, his mother demanded that he sit back down. They’d been waiting for what could’ve been either a few minutes or half an hour, he wasn’t sure. Last month, he’d lost his sense of time, and he still hadn’t recovered from it. Was that why they were there? Somehow, he doubted it.
            Out of the room they were waiting to get into stepped a man in his mid-twenties, wearing a crisp brown suit. His mother looked up at him, then she put her hand on her son’s shoulder. When he didn’t react to it, the man in the suit stepped closer.
            “Adam, right?” It was hard to tell if he was asking him or his mother. He assumed it was him when he continued, “Come into my office. Let’s talk, hmm?”
            Reluctantly, Adam got up from his chair and followed the man. He didn’t look back at his mother.
            The office was as homey as the waiting room, with filled bookcases on either side. There was a desk at the far end of the room. A burgundy carpet spanned across the entire floor, suiting the golden-orange wallpaper. In the center of the room were two chairs, both made of brown leather. One was squared and supportive, and the other was a chaise longue.
            As the man in the suit headed for the squared chair, he gestured to the chaise longue and said, “Have a seat on the sofa, Adam. Make yourself comfortable.”
            Adam did as he was supposed to, and laid down on it. He felt anxious. Upon hearing the man cross his legs, he looked over at him, hoping that his uncertainty came across on his face.
            The suited man, with one leg laid over the other, held a pen between his hands. “Don’t be nervous,” he said in a comforting tone. “My name is Dr. Frost, and I’m here to help you. Do you know why you’re here today, Adam?”
            Adam turned his head and looked at the ceiling. “No,” he answered in a meek voice. “. . . Do you?”
            Dr. Frost leaned back in his seat. “Yes, I do. Your mother told me everything.”
            Again, Adam looked at him. “Can you tell me?”
            The psychologist shook his head. “I think it’s better for both of us if you could remember for yourself. That way, we can work through it together.”
            “Together”. That was a word that Adam didn’t use very often. He liked doing things�"coping with things�"alone. His eyes wandered up, toward Dr. Frost’s desk. There was a vase on it that caught his eye; a little white one with blue petals painted onto it. Sticking out of it was a flower that Adam didn’t know the name of, but it was the prettiest thing he’d seen all day, even all month. The sight of it calmed him somehow. It was as if the flower was a sign that everything was going to be all right.
            He must’ve noticed a change in Adam’s demeanor upon the sight of the flower, because Dr. Frost immediately wrote something down. Then, he asked, “Do you like it, Adam?” Ending the question with the boy’s name signified the beginning of what would become a regular pattern of speech between them. Perhaps he liked the way the simple name rolled off his tongue, or how it sounded to his ears in his own accent. Either way, Adam felt the same for his: “Dr. Frost” sounded like it would never stop being fun to say.
            Adam nodded, answering the question without taking his eyes off of the five-petaled flower.
            “How does it make you feel?”
            “Safe,” he answered on impulse.
            Dr. Frost wrote again in his notebook. “Do you know what kind of flower it is, Adam?”
            The twelve-year-old on the sofa shook his head.
            In response, the doctor leaned forward, crossing his arms over his legs. “It’s a pansy,” he told him. “It symbolizes thoughts and love, sometimes both. Is there someone dear to you who you’re thinking about right now, Adam?”
            Adam didn’t answer, because he didn’t know how. But he knew, deep down, that there was someone. Someone he didn’t want to remember, because it hurt too much. Someone he must’ve lost very recently. And he knew that Dr. Frost knew it, too.