Published Spring/Summer 2008
 
Anxiety Attacks
by Robert F. Piwowar | ns 70
David Morgan leans back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head. His eyes scan the room of twenty-two sixth-grade students busily doing their review questions from the textbook. Glancing at his watch he notices the band has loosened. But when he flips his hand to adjust the brown leather strap he discovers that it's firmly attached in the second eyelet, as he always wears it.
Suddenly he sees that his hands and arms are shrinking. His legs are retracting into his torso and he feels his feet deflating inside his black wingtips. The watch slips off his wrist and only his outspread fingers keep it from falling to the floor. The small wooden desk in front of him is now massive. Since he was a teenager David has been tall. Now he is a foot shorter than any of his students. His upper body is swimming inside his size nineteen, white button-down shirt. Looking up, he can see that his entire class is glaring back at him in a frozen stare, jaws hanging in shock.
He awakens twisted in the bed sheets. Immediately he feels his arms and wrists, examines his fingers, his feet. It was only a dream. But it was so vivid, so lucid. The pounding of his heart is like that of a chaotic drum, its intense beat quickstepping to his extremities. Reaching for his watch on the nightstand, he realizes that it's 6:45 a.m. Normally he is up without an alarm before six. Perhaps it was the dream that caused him to sleep late.
Monica, his wife, is in the shower. Gently feeling his arms and wrist once more, he is relieved to know that he is not shrinking. Yet his hands appear puffy, larger. What if I'm getting bigger? he says to himself.
Thoughts of the day's activities begin to form. The lesson he will be teaching is on exponents and scientific notation: writing large numbers in short form. Now his watch appears miniature. Lifting his arms, his fingers brush against the ceiling. His feet are hanging off the end of the king-size bed. The walls of the room are closing in on him. When he extends his arm it completely blocks the doorway. When Monica is done showering she won't be able to enter the room.
They have been married just over twenty-five years. Lately they have grown distant, their careers heading in opposite directions. Hers as a corporate attorney, his as an elementary-school teacher. She is occupied with new ventures, new cases, while he is teaching the same subject from the same textbook at the same school.
He thinks about Annette, his student-teacher. She's in her final semester at college and has been assigned to his classroom. Everything about her exudes sensual appeal, from her gorgeous Mediterranean face, lustrous auburn hair, smooth bronze skin, to her sultry, long legs. Last Friday David found himself visually undressing her as she walked down the hallway in front of him. She abruptly turned around, catching his lascivious eyes, smiled sweetly and thanked him in a voice soft as a butterfly's wings, for the opportunity of working with him.
He sinks back into his bed into a cloudbank of imagination, covering his head with the sheets.
Appearing in the doorway, Monica asks with irritation, "Are you still in bed? You're going to be late."
"I just had the most intense dream."
She reminds him that she will be in court and that he'll have to pick up the kids from the airport. Their son Alex, his wife Kerry, and their twin boys will be arriving for the Easter holiday.
"Flight 445 from Boston, here, I've written it down for you," handing him a note.
"Thank you. You're so organized."
- - - - -
Driving to the school in his black sedan he wonders about what brought on such a vivid dream. Passing through the roundabout in the town square he sees the familiar plump face of the crossing guard, dressed in her fleece jacket and bright orange vest, waiting to escort children across the busy street. The town is located in a quiet bedroom community outside the city. David hasn't felt like himself lately. Yesterday he laughed out loud in class for no apparent reason as he was explaining signed numbers. The students in front joined in his laughter, then smiled at each other, not knowing exactly why they were laughing. They were used to him stirring wit with his comments. He thought he had made a joke but now he isn't quite sure what he said. Someone honking behind him interrupts these thoughts. After looking up and seeing that the light is still red, he notices in his rearview mirror it is his friend Rick, an eighth-grade science teacher. Rick raises his stainless steel coffee mug in a salutatory gesture. David raises his own in response. In the teacher's lounge he pours himself a second cup of coffee. Hawaiian Macadamia is the flavor of the day, made by the school secretary. Peering out the window, David sees a brisk morning wind causing leaves loosened from their blanket of snow to pirouette on the concrete walkway.
"Hey Dave, you alright? You've been quiet lately," Rick says.
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, fine."
"Monica and the family?"
"They're great. Alex and his family are coming to visit for the holiday," David says, still staring out the window.
"I see you've got another fox for a student-teacher. How do ya get so lucky? Does Monica know?"
"Yeah, she saw her last week."
"What'd she say?"
Rick is ten years younger than David and in great shape. He has seen Rick with much younger women and thinks he might be interested in Annette.
"She said I could look, but don't touch. Jesus H. Christ, Rick, I'm fifty-three and have a daughter-in-law her age, plus I'm a grandfather."
"Well, you look overdue for a mid-life crisis."
Turning around, Dave checks his mailbox. Reaching into the wooden slot, he removes a folded sheet of paper. It's a handwritten note from the principal, Mr. Edwards. Dave, I need to meet with you next Tuesday after school about the state test scores.
After teaching his first period class he considers approaching Mr. Edwards about the note but decides not to. An ominous feeling about the note visits him during morning classes. Before lunch he walks past the principal's office and notices him sitting at the desk. He hesitates at the door, gets as far as turning the doorknob, then releases it, returning to his classroom for the remainder of the day.
After arriving at the airport, David finds the monitors and searches for his son's flight. When he locates Flight 445 from Boston he discovers to his chagrin that it is delayed for one hour. Placing his reading glasses on the bridge of his nose, he pulls the note out of his shirt pocket to make sure. Flight 445—Boston.
"This is great," he sighs.
Listlessly, he peruses a magazine rack at a souvenir shop for a few minutes, then takes a seat in the terminal to wait. The airport is crowded with holiday travelers and cheerful college students departing to some tropical destination to decompress and indulge themselves. A heightened feeling of awareness suddenly engulfs his senses. The sound of people talking around him grows until it is a loud, dull, ominous roar. It sounds like a single record played at 33 speed. His head swivels quickly in response to a jet lifting off the runway in the distance. Every nerve in his body is put on edge when he hears the tintinnabulary chime of his cell-phone. It's Monica.
"Have the kids arrived yet?"
"No, the flight is delayed an hour."
"I'm leaving court now, tell them I'm making lasagna just the way they like it with three cheeses."
"Right, three cheeses, I'll see you soon, gotta go."
He presses the END button on the phone and rises from his seat because of an overwhelming impulse to move.
"What's wrong with me?" he says under his breath.
Rick said I've been quiet, overdue for a mid-life crisis. Maybe I should see the doctor.
Walking down the terminal corridor at a quick pace, he turns into the restroom. He leans over the gray faux-marble sink and splashes water on his face. The cool, silky water contacting his face is so refreshing that he swashes it over and over again. He becomes lost in its soothing sensation.
"Hey Dad, over here."
Exiting the restroom, David is stunned to hear his son's voice. Alex, Kerry, and their twin boys, Caleb and Christopher, greet him with hugs and kisses.
"Did your flight just arrive?" David asks quizzically.
"Dad, we've been here over an hour. We were beginning to worry about you. We spoke to Mom at home and there was no answer on your cell."
David looked curiously at them, then turned to glance at the restroom door. "I guess I lost track of time," he says finally, his voice trailing off.
"Grandpa, why is your shirt all wet?" Caleb asks.
"Grandpa must have spilled some water on himself."
All his life David has had a fear of being unprepared for something important. In high school and college it compelled him to study until he was both mentally and physically exhausted. He had a recurring dream of arriving in class, taking his seat, then being handed a test that he had no idea was scheduled. Flipping through the questions, he discovers to his horror that he has no clue whatsoever about anything on it. Several weeks before his college finals he would go into overdrive. All he wanted to do was study, driving his party-prone friends crazy.
These fears subsided drastically after David got married and began his teaching career. By the time Alex was born three years later, he was the very picture of tranquility, a model of self-assurance. He carried this demeanor into the classroom and quickly came to be revered by his students. Within a few years even veteran teachers began to envy the rapport and popularity he enjoyed among the students. Parents adored him. He was accustomed to hear how glad they were that their sons or daughters had him. His teaching methods, coupled with his enthusiasm, would enlighten even the most perplexed student. But this halcyon period had passed; eclipsed over the years by a darkening cloud of monotony.
After dinner everyone retires to the family room. The television carries a news broadcast about a proposed double-digit increase in state college tuition. David sits down on the soft living room carpet, where Caleb and Christopher wrestle and roll over him playfully. He tumbles around with them for a few minutes, then, feeling like his organs are shifting in his torso, he abruptly gets up and sits on the brown leather sofa, holding his chest and stomach.
"Are you alright?" Monica exclaimes, rushing to his side. Alex and Kerry jump up from the loveseat, turn off the TV, and join her. The two boys stop wrestling and look up.
"Oh, oh," David wheezes and coughs.
"Oh my God," Monica shrieks, "You're having a heart attack."
"No, no, I'm alright, oh boy, I've got to make an appointment with Dr. Baldwin."
That night David hardly sleeps at all. In the stillness of the pre-dawn hours his mind rambles from his childhood, to his twenties, then forward to the present.
He thinks about the time when he lived on Oahu as a teenager. One day when he was seventeen he became determined to swim across Waimea Bay. A strong swimmer, he was confident that he could make the five-mile swim. About two thirds of the way across he began to tire. Treading in the deep ocean waters he became frighteningly aware that he might drown. But just when he thought his fate was sealed, he saw a fin emerge out of the water. A shark. The sight of the predator jump-started his adrenaline and gave him the strength to make it to shore. Maybe that's my problem, he thinks. Low adrenaline. Low testosterone. He recently read an article in a magazine about the seeming wonders of human growth hormone. Slowly lifting the covers, he slips out of the bed, into the bathroom. Sitting on cold porcelain he thinks about Annette and begins to masturbate. Concentrating on the scene with her in the hallway, hearing her soft voice, picturing the way she would look naked. Masturbation has always been a visual imaging exercise with David. At thirteen he had pictures of Brigitte Bardot and Anita Ekberg stowed away in a shoebox in his bedroom closet. He would lay the pictures out on his bed and imagine scenes from the movie La Dolce Vita. He would picture himself as the hero coming to her rescue. When he is finished he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror. He pinches his paunchy gut, feels the looseness of the skin under his chin. Silently he counts the light brown age spots dotting his forearms. At the doctor's office the next day David tries to communicate his ailments to Dr. Baldwin.
"People say that I've been quiet, distant."
"How do you feel?"
"No energy, low adrenaline, maybe I need HGH. I hear it does wonders."
"I wouldn't recommend it. I'll run some tests to check your cholesterol levels. How long have you been feeling sluggish?"
"Past few months or so."
"How much sleep are you getting on a nightly basis?"
"Eight hours usually. But I've been having vivid dreams lately. Do they interfere with the quality of sleep?"
"Possibly."
Driving home, David feels that the appointment has accomplished nothing. He anticipates that Dr. Baldwin will prescribe him some elixir that will cure the way he has been feeling. However, he didn't tell the doctor about his attacks of anxiety, so how would he know? Passing the town library, with its white Corinthian columns, he feels awash in loneliness. His family is waiting for him at home but he doesn't feel that he loves them the way that he should. What if they knew that he has sexual fantasies about his student teacher? Or that he thought he had failed in his life? How would life be for them without him? How would it be without him on Easter, when he would hide eggs that Monica had decorated in the backyard for his grandkids to find?
As he approaches an intersection, David recalls the note from Mr. Edwards. He abruptly hits the brakes, bringing the car to a hard stop. Why would he want to see me about the state test scores? Last year a teacher in a nearby district had been fired for changing answers on the test to inflate scores. A mathematician from MIT had created an algorithm for the Department of Education that discovered the cheating. The answers demonstrated a pattern of correct responses for the more difficult questions while missing easier ones. The teacher, who had over twenty years experience and had never been reprimanded before, vehemently denied the accusations. But the board believed the Department's findings and dismissed the teacher. David can feel his intestines knotting up while his hands grip the steering wheel. Looking down the road in a blank stare as raindrops began to strike the windshield and weave a crooked path downward, his lungs struggle to expand. It must be a conspiracy, he thinks. A car horn blaring behind him brings him out of his attack. An old man drives around him, shaking his head.
At home, Monica is catching up on things in the kitchen with her son and daughter-in-law. Alex is an accountant for a mutual fund company in Boston; Kerry works as a medical secretary. They are planning to buy a bigger home in the suburbs next year.
"What did the doctor have to say?" Monica asks.
"He's going to run some tests on my cholesterol."
"You've got to watch that it doesn't get too high," Kerry adds.
"Mom said that you've been having vivid dreams," Alex says.
"She said that? Oh, it's nothing really."
They continue chatting about home styles and school districts while David excuses himself and walks into the den. He is calm now and reads the note to himself while sitting at his light oak, roll-top desk. The Board of Education has a meeting Wednesday and he wants to talk to me the night before the meeting. He folds the note and places it in the top drawer. Has my life come to this? Getting fired a few years before I planned to retire? How embarrassing.
Later, he lifts himself from his chair and puts on his tan spring jacket and exits out the sliding-glass patio door.
He walks the wooded fields behind his property, pushing past branches of thick foliage. A few of them whip against his face and body. The ground is still damp from the afternoon shower, causing his feet to sink into the mud. High-stepping out of it, he finds dry ground alongside a tall evergreen, using the pine needles strewn along its base as a rug to wipe his shoes. He comes to a stream that he often brought Alex to when he was a young boy, to find frogs and salamanders. Lost in thought, he is slow to notice that his cellphone is vibrating. Its beep signifies that a message has been left.
Hello, Dave, Don Edwards calling about the meeting Tuesday. I want to nominate you for the Instructional Supervisor's position that'll be available next year. Your students' scores were the highest in the state. Hey, have a great Easter vacation.
At the border of his property David can see his family gathered in the back yard. Alex and his sons are playing catch with a small football. Monica and Kerry have started the grill for dinner. The pleasant smell of wood burning fills the air. He can hear the sweet chorale of birds in the trees. He smiles, ready to rejoin his family.
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