“What am I supposed to be seeing?”
Brennan stared at the Enter sign above the door. Can’t let him see how nervous you are; it’s just a store. You’ll be fine, you’re always fine, YOU’RE FINE. She cleared her throat. Aloud, she said, “You’re not supposed to be seeing anything, necessarily. It’s just a Walmart. It’s like any other Walmart in America.”
Jonas frowned. “Then why are we here?”
She finally smiled, just slightly. “Because Walmart is, like, the least judgiest place in the world. And, before you ask, I do know that judgiest isn’t a word.”
Jonas scoffed. “You’re the writer, after all,” he quipped.
Brennan turned to look at him. “Anyway, I thought we could walk places other than the library.”
He shrugged. “Lead the way.” She couldn’t help but notice the tense set of his shoulders today, even through her own haze of anxiety.
They went inside. Brennan was a little distracted. She was busy thinking about college, thinking about it more than usual. Her mom was taking her shopping for stuff for her dorm room later in the afternoon, after she got back from her trip with Jonas. I’m hanging out with a friend this morning, she’d told her. Would the afternoon work? Really, it was the last thing Brennan wanted to do. Her whole college application process, the whole summer up to this point, had felt like it was happening to someone else. Now it was starting to feel real, and she hated it. Ambreen was even messaging her.
From Ambreen, just that morning: ONLY A COUPLE MORE WEEKS. I’M EXCITED. ARE YOU EXCITED?
Brennan had sent back YES, even though her mind was shouting NO.
She thought about telling Jonas but she reminded herself of the Walls. When she put them up, no one could truly get through, and she was safe. She couldn’t be constantly worrying that she’d drag someone else into her mess, so she kept the Walls up, because the Walls meant that she didn’t have to feel guilty.
Speaking of Jonas—“What’s with you today?”
She turned absentmindedly, and frowned at him. “What?”
He rolled his eyes, concentrating on his next few steps. He was using the walker today (Brennan didn’t have the heart to tell him it made him look like an old man, because he would probably think of it as an insult, even though she thought it was kind of cute). She could tell he was a bit more tired and sore than the last time they’d walked, but as he wasn’t complaining, she didn’t suggest that perhaps he was overdoing it (too much too soon, or whatever it was her aunt would say). “You look like you’re not quite all here,” he finally said, turning slightly to look at her.
She sighed. “I’m just thinking.” She was carrying the crutches so that after he’d walked a bit he could go back to using them and rest his leg. She put them underneath her arms and swung forward a step.
He remained silent, but she got the feeling he was waiting for her to continue.
“About going off to college,” she said. The sick feeling was gnawing at her stomach again, having escaped its neat little knot. She tried to push it away and not think about it. She knew if she did, she’d only feel more sick, and she didn’t want to ruin their Walmart run with her nerves.
“I guess that’s pretty normal,” he said. “I worry about it too.”
“Not like me,” she mumbled.
“How do you worry about it then?” he asked.
“Sometimes—sometimes I worry so much that I feel sick,” she muttered, embarrassed. She was always embarrassed when she tried to describe her anxiety. It always sounded stupid when she said it out loud. Sorry, I just have to check my pulse because right now I can’t breathe and it’s freaking me out; I have to make sure everything is okay. That was the problem. Everything big and unconquerable inside her seemed insignificant when she put it out there. She didn’t want to let people know how crazy she was on the inside, but she hated that if she, for some reason, wanted to tell them, she couldn’t find the words to express it sufficiently.
Jonas looked like he was trying to understand. “Like how you’d feel sick before a sports game if you were nervous?” he said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Kind of like that.” She swallowed hard. “Except all the time.” She didn’t want to tell him that it wasn’t a normal day for her if she didn’t feel nervous at least once.
“All the time,” he repeated, as if attempting to wrap his mind around it.
“It’s never going to be as bad as you think,” he finally said, turning his head slightly to watch her. They were in the men’s T-shirt section. Brennan halfheartedly pretended to examine a T-shirt with a bowl of ramen noodles on it. Send noods, it said.
“I hope that’s the case,” she finally said.
“Where are you going to school?” he asked her.
“Southern Illinois University Edwardsville,” she said. “I’m planning on working toward getting into physical therapy school.”
“Can I give you a suggestion?”
“Yeah, I mean, I guess. What is it?”
Jonas deadpanned. “Don’t sneak up behind your patients when their backs are turned.” His face read serious, but his eyes read teasing. Brennan wondered how someone’s face could be so contradictory.
She laughed shortly, picturing the surprised look on his face when he’d seen her at her aunt’s office. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She picked up a shirt. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.
“What’s this?” Jonas unfolded the T-shirt Brennan had placed in his hands.
“A commemoration,” she said. “For going into Walmart walking for the first time since your accident. I guess I thought you should celebrate it somehow. Have something to remind yourself of what you did.” Jonas was staring at her. Brennan’s face hummed with heat. “Or don’t. Whatever.” She shrugged and turned away, her hands tight on the crutches.
Jonas held up the shirt. It was a nice shirt, decorated with a retro-ish Star Wars logo.
Brennan wondered if she was imagining that his face turned a little red. “It’s just going to a Walmart, you know,” he said.
She shrugged. “It’s more than that for you.”
He was silent for a few moments as Brennan busied herself looking at the other T-shirts. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, you know?” he finally said. “For school? You’re persistent enough. You got me to walk, after all. Well—sort of. Not many people can go off to school and say they’ve already had a real patient.”
Brennan blushed. “You’re not my patient.”
“What would you call this then?” he asked. “This thing.”
She thought about it. She’d started out thinking of him almost as (and she hated to admit it) her charity case. Like she’d taken him under her wing, convinced of her ability to give him a new outlook on life. But now?
She was surprised at the answer.
“You’re my friend,” she said simply. Which was weird, because Brennan didn’t have many people who she genuinely thought of as friends. It felt nice. It felt like she was almost normal. The Walls, however, seemed like they were shouting at her, reminding her of why she’d put them up in the first place. And her mind was screaming WHAT ARE YOU DOING. You’re making yourself vulnerable! You can’t admit things like this!