XXXII. Panic - November 20, 2006
I had my first panic attack in an Art Appreciation class, of all places. The teacher was rambling on about something I didn't bother to care about. The window to the classroom was open toward the hill where the observatory sat. I was listening to the mysterious bagpipe player - I'd always found that sound stirring for some reason.
I never did get a satisfactory answer as to the identity of the bagpipe player. He... she... it played them at the same time every day from somewhere on the hill. Anytime I asked someone about it, they would shrug in bafflement, or toss out a few guesses, but nobody knew with any degree of certainty. I decided it was probably some sort of Missouri hill gnome, or at least an inbred midget who took up bagpipes instead of a banjo, or pan flute or whatever the hell it is an inbred midget plays.
Whatever the case, I was enjoying the music. Suddenly, my heart started racing and I felt as though I couldn't get enough air. I broke out in a sweat and clutched my desk. Maybe I was having a heart attack. The only coherent thought I could form was that I wanted out of that room more than anything. The teacher's voice drilled into my skull, and every little foot shuffle, cough, or yawn felt like someone stepping on a bare nerve. I spent the rest of the class doing nothing but trying to keep my cool. I was more worried about freaking out in front of everyone like a crazy pixie than I was my own health.
Almost as soon as the lecture was over and the class dismissed, the attack evaporated away. I hurried out of the classroom, sweating and shaking from the episode. I ran into a buddy, Tate, who had also burned out on school. I hadn't seen him around much so far that semester - he'd been spending all of his time locked away in his dorm room, playing video games.
"Hey Tate, long time no see."
"Hey man. What's going on?"
"Oh just trying to plow through this semester in one piece." I'd started with over 20 credits and dropped to 15 in a matter of a week. That was the bare minimum needed to keep from having to pay my student loans.
We were joined by a guy who worked in one of the administrative offices, "Hey, congratulations!"
Tate and I glanced at each other, "For what?"
"You guys didn't know you got the highest scores in the school on the ACT-COMP? You're getting an award at a ceremony in two weeks."
Neither Tate nor I had spent enough time at school to know anything of the kind. What classes I hadn't dropped, I skipped enthusiastically.
I looked at Tate and grinned, "That's that test we're supposed to take again when we're seniors to see how much we've progressed."
Tate nodded.
"And we already scored higher than the seniors."
Tate nodded again.
"I guess we can drop out then."
I knew, of all people, Tate would appreciate that perspective. I never saw him at school again.
I headed outside and made my way to the arts building where Tracy was finishing up a painting class. I considered it a complete waste of money, but never said anything to her. I had wasted a few thousand dollars on several classes that wouldn't apply to any major of which I could conceive. I walked along the brick sidewalk, and found her standing outside.
"Hey!"
"Hey!" She called back, mocking me.
"Where are you headed now?"
"I think I'll just go home and read," she held up a paperback copy of Tom Robbins' "Still Life with Woodpecker."
"Cool. Well, I've decided to skip the rest of my classes today if you'd rather hang out somewhere."
"Darren! God! You're smart enough to know better than this. You never go to your classes."
I shrugged in a somewhat defeatist manner, "All this shit is just so repetitive. It's like playing a video game. It's fun and exciting at first, but then you figure it out and... it's boring."
Tracy shook her head, "I'll meet you at Winstead's."
Winstead's was a completely different place since most of the Deadheads had gone away to college. Those who stayed behind were aimless without their leader and usually trickled off to the park to spin around and dizzy themselves or play hacky sack. Now, the once overflowing restaurant was quiet and populated with a small scattering of elderly people. The walls were actually visible and the thoughts in my head could be heard easily. It almost reminded me of something out of the Twilight Zone.
Tracy and I found a booth in the smoking section. We sat across from each other and simultaneously lit up our respective flavors of Marlboro cigarettes.
"So, how was the painting class today?"
Tracy sighed, "Frustrating."
I was convinced Tracy's teacher was a jealous old bat. She constantly criticized Tracy for the most pointless things. In reality, her paintings were gorgeous fragments of time that could be at once both rich and desolate. They made me want to take opiates.
"I don't understand why you care, Tracy. She's just a fucking teacher. What the hell does she know?"
"That sounds exactly like something you'd say. You drive me crazy sometimes," she smiled, "I know you. You're just going to quit going to school one day and that'll be that."
I shrugged. I couldn't really argue that point. Dropping out of school was a way of life for me, starting with Sunday school when I was four.
"How was the one class you went to today?"
I was too embarrassed to mention my episode in class. I wasn't sure if it was a flashback or the beginning of some sort of mental disorder, "It was... uneventful." I couldn't say "boring" now, it would just serve to reinforce her last comment, "I did enjoy listening to the bagpipes."
"Who is it playing those?"
"I think it's a Missouri hill gnome."
"What?"
"Well, I'm surrounded by pixies, sprites, elves... might as well have gnomes around."
"You need to get out of that apartment."
"I know."
I wished I had Tracy's ability to make things happen. I realized her father had sheltered her somewhat since the death of her mother. Lately, she had gotten her own apartment with Sky, gotten a job and was dipping her toe in the academic waters. I always just drifted where the currents decided to take me, without much concern. I was almost starting to feel a bit left-behind.
"I should probably quit school before I think about moving, though," I teased, "I don't want to bite off more than I can chew."
"Darren, if you quit school, you'll have to start paying off your student loans. You barely make enough to live now. Are you going to work at that gas station forever?"
Why does she have to make so much damned sense?
This school thing was starting to seriously piss me off. I was beginning to think college was one of the larger blunders I'd made.
"Why all the concern about school and work all of the sudden?"
"I want to have a baby, Darren."
It took a few fragments of time before the sentence was completely absorbed into my head. The nanosecond it was parsed, a chain reaction was set in motion. I imagined the Sun igniting for the first time, every cell in my brain fizzed like the fuel detonated on the Bikini Atoll, back in the '50s, and I inhaled my Dr. Pepper.
I chirped out a wheezing, "What?!" between coughs.
My vision blurred and my eyes filled with liquid from coughing. I could still make out Tracy's face with enough definition to see she was serious.
"What if I inherited my mother's heart condition?"
"Oh Tracy," I coughed worse than Josh smoking a joint, "don't even think that."
Deep down in my subconscious I had buried that very notion. I never - never - let it free from the deepest parts of my mind to poison my conscious thoughts, as if giving it an audience with my awareness would make it more real.
"Tracy, that's a very serious decision," I cleared my throat of some remaining Dr. Pepper, "we need to think about this."
"I know. I'm just telling you that's why I'm concerned about your education and your job."
I rubbed my temples with my fingers and thumb while covering my eyes with my hand. I heard Tracy scoot out of the booth and felt an ethereal wisp of air float around me. The sweet scent of her hair hit my nose at the same time as the softness on my bare arm. She put her arm around me and whispered in my ear, "I love you."
I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand as my heart started racing. My breathing grew seemingly ineffectual and my mind filled with a sense of untargeted urgency.
I didn't officially drop out of school. I just quit going, as was my style. Not very practical, but it let me keep my feeling of complete freedom. I scoffed at the letter the school sent, notifying me I was put on academic probation. I laughed at the irony of scoring in the 99th percentile, nationally, on that ridiculous, 3-hour-long test and then being on probation. I tossed the letter in the garbage as I left the post office. I felt a bit better about it by imagining Tate doing the same thing at that moment.
I told Tracy I would look for a computer job of some sort. I didn't have high hopes I'd secure a programming position, but maybe I could convince someone to give me a job assembling hardware or working in technical support. I promised her we'd start talking about "other things" once I found a better job. I hoped that would be sometime before I gave up the ghost and ended up in a casket with an inbred midget playing "Amazing Grace" on bagpipes, or a pan flute, or whatever the hell it is inbred midgets play.
Posted by DevilMonkey at 9:48 AM
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Comments
I'm going to ignore my own growing agreement with the sentiments about college you express at this point in the story and congratulate you on another well-written piece.
I fear we've just been shown an irreconcilable conflict between your desire (need?) for freedom and Tracy's desire to settle down.
Posted by: Sean at November 20, 2006 10:37 AM
I always thought the panic attacks were from leftover from the chemistry experiment that was my brain for awhile. Eventually they went away.
Heavy, heavy stuff with the baby talk.
I went to school for years and never finished. I now work with a bunch of very highly educated people, most of whom have never done drugs. At all. None of them understand my usually hilarious drug references. I think I'd rather be smart my way.
Are you still getting fucked up at this point in the story? Has the pixie dust run off any good source of opiates?
Can't stand the skitzer!
As always, a good post. Will check for more during the holiday.
Posted by: waitress13 at November 20, 2006 10:40 AM
sean: as janice joplin said, "freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."
waitress13: i'm completely convinced the panic attacks were a direct result of excessive lsd use. i've worked in similar environments and it is maddening. i wasn't using any drugs at all at this point in the story.
Posted by: DM at November 20, 2006 12:11 PM
Tom Robbins...
Although Still Life With Woodpecker is a good read, Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates is in my top three of favorites. Give it about fifty pages or so before you are absolutely enveloped.
About school, you are at a JC, no? Bite the bullet, get good grades (which seem to be within your realm of possibility) and get to a university where you won't be taught by assholes, sitting next to assholes. JC's are a gateway to a better, more focused education. I sound like a sellout you say? I've done more drugs than most (especially hallucinogenics) and am four weeks away from a masters degree in business. Big deal, right? Well, the hope is that with a higher paying job, someday I will attain more freedom for having dwelled in the world of academia for so long despite the number of pre-madonna's I had to deal with along the way.
I thoroughly enjoy your posts. This wil be the first and last comment you see from me, but keep them coming and thanks.
Good luck.
Posted by: Brian at November 20, 2006 12:38 PM
I am currently at university and feel the same way about school as you did. Every single class is tedious and every assignment seems stupid and unimportant. I have been considering just stopping attending. I think your upcoming posts will help guide my future decisions; I hope they will be wise.
Posted by: Face at November 20, 2006 12:42 PM
brian: thanks. it wasn't a junior college. it was a full-blown four year college with dorms, degrees, sports teams and cute girls walking around in shorts and tank-tops. it would be nonsensical to call you a sellout for doing what you want.
face: as i was telling my friend/illustrious editor (if there's something about the writing that bothers you, it's all her fault) this morning, i'm starting to feel a bit like timothy leary here.
Posted by: DM at November 20, 2006 12:54 PM
So do we pay you now or later for all of these stories that we've read? : ) I stayed up until 5 this morning working on a Persuasive Speech for Public Speaking and I woke up at 7 to go to Biology at 8. I hope you got more sleep than I did. I'm gonna go work out soon. I hope work and the writing is going just peachy for you. I hope you and Tracy are together later on...y'all better be >:P
Posted by: Wayland at November 20, 2006 02:41 PM
I'm in a wheelchair because my heart rushes and I break out in sweats and poop a lot. How do you stop these things from happening?
Posted by: Little Johnny Wheelchair at November 20, 2006 02:47 PM
another amazing story. Time seems to fly in these stories. I'm kinda suprised you got put on probation after scoring in the 99th percentile on the tests. that's life though. i hope you continue to write about your life, it's pretty entertaining.
Posted by: Troen at November 20, 2006 06:23 PM
I gotta agree abotu tom robbins, especialy "Fierce Invalids" a piece of work that is about expanding the authors mind, instead of dwelling on his delusions.
That being said, good stuff, if it wasnt I wouldn't be checking so often.
Posted by: joe at November 20, 2006 08:44 PM
Types of comments that come with every DM story:
1) Great story, thanks for posting regularly! Unlike (insert other Rudius author here.)
2) You and (insert other Rudius author here) are the best!
3) I identify with what you're writing!
4) I identify with what you're writing, thus I'll do whatever you did!
5) This post makes me wanna do drugs!
6) [I am a person who can't seem to comprehend when these stories took place, thus I will offer you advice as to what you should do, or drop a reference showing I think this is happening far longer ago than it did.]
Posted by: Sean at November 20, 2006 09:15 PM
i love the 6th one, sean. Advice on stories that taken place a while ago is always fun.
Posted by: Troen at November 20, 2006 10:03 PM
this was the best post in a while now... i found the last few posts were lacking in direction but this one is great, your stories give me a heavy feeling of nostalgia
as for the panic attacks, they are very familiar to me, but since all this is happening in your past, i wont theorize what the deal is, since you'll bring it up later
cheerio
Posted by: syphylis at November 21, 2006 01:24 AM
just keep em coming- love your stuff DM
Posted by: brihan at November 21, 2006 03:25 AM
I'm deep in a state very similar to yours in this entry, and kind of felt this vein from the start, so I'm reading largely in the hope that you find your fantastic and completely original niche, so that I might then copy you. No spoilers though, maybe.
PS. I've been reading and writing this in bed at 3am on a PSP, hardcore or what? (it takes forever)
Posted by: Franco at December 18, 2006 08:16 PM
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