Meltdown

I watched speechless as Mr. Cohen left to join everybody else in the library for Brother Patrick’s after-performance drinks.

I leaned over the pit, wanting to throw up, needing to throw up. I felt a heaviness in my legs, a sensation I remembered from once before. I’d run out of places to hide. There was no bubble, there was no doona, there was no blank nothingness.

I threw my guitar case across the hall and heard it thud against the wall. What the hell was going on with me?

The hall began to rotate. I attempted to sit down but landed on the music cases, scattering them all over the floor. I tried to get a grip and took hard, deep breaths, trying to stop the concrete that was slowly filling my lungs. Somewhere in my head I knew I had to get rid of all of the crap that had lodged inside me but I continued to fight.

Eventually the spinning stopped. My sweat made a dripping tap noise as it pinged onto the cases. I couldn’t go anywhere without making a scene. I had to stay here and do something normal. I focused on the music stands and arranged them one by one. My head went blank as I fell into a rhythm.

Will, what are you doing in here? Everyone’s waiting for you in the library. Including Elizabeth.

I didn’t answer Chris, I just nodded and kept stacking.

Will! Hey, Will, didn’t you hear me?

At that point Chris stopped and said what I knew he’d say.

Will, you look like shit.

I shrugged.

Just stop for a minute. Leave the bloody music stands and sit down.

He grabbed me by the arm and tried to pull me away. Instinctively I turned on him, ready to fight.

He caught me by both shoulders and wrestled me into a chair.

Mate! What’s wrong with you?

My heart was thumping. I felt like I was being beaten with a piece of metal rod. I tried to take in a breath. To slow everything down. Once again I sat with my head in my hands.

Will, you’re freaking me out. Do you want me to get someone? Your mum?

No! Three music stands flew across the pit.

Then just tell me what’s going on!

I knew I was arriving at breaking point, but I didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore. I was exhausted. I could barely find the words.

I screwed up, Chris. I really screwed up.

What do you mean? Everyone’s raving about how impressed they are with you.

But they’ve got no idea. They’ve got no idea just how much I’ve stuffed up.

I lifted my head out of my hands and looked up at Chris, speaking very, very quietly.

Did Zach tell you what I said to him? Did he tell you I deliberately stood in front of him and told him he was a piece of nothing? How I completely ignored Mark, blanked the guy because I was worried about how the boys would treat me?

Will—

And then—I spat out the words—Brother Patrick sends me a note to say how grateful he is for my help, Mum’s going on about how proud she is and Zach’s dad comes up and tells me how grateful he is to me for helping his son.

The silence in the hall engulfed both Chris and me. I knew what was coming next, but I wasn’t stopping, I couldn’t stop.

And all the time, all the time I know he’s watching all of this and not saying anything, not doing anything …

Will, you should have heard your mum going on about how—

I’m not talking about Mum, Chris!

Silence.

I stood up from the chair and walked across the hall.

And you know what else? When I see him all I want to do is scream and yell at him and tell him it’s all his fucking fault. That none of this would have happened if he hadn’t died. None of this shit would be happening right here and now if he hadn’t gone to that stupid fucking work site and he’d taken us to the beach instead.

Every part me of became wet. Sweat dripped off my body, collecting in dirty pools on the floorboards.

But that doesn’t make sense. I know that none of this is his fault. I did it. I did it all by myself. And I don’t know how to undo it. That’s what I wish most of all, in the whole world—that I could undo all of it. Undo every single part and he was back and Mum and me and him and everything was back to the way it should be.

I couldn’t sit. I had to move, to get away from what I was saying. I walked to every corner of the pit. I kicked cases, stands, scripts, anything that was in my way. And still I couldn’t find a way out. There was no way out. What I’d been afraid of most was dredging its way from the pit of my gut.

No one gets it. One day everything’s normal and then in one second everything’s blown apart. And people expect you to talk about it. But how do you talk about something that has just blown your head away? How can you talk about something that you can’t even think about?

The snot and sweat came flying off my face as I wiped my eyes to try to focus, to have some clarity.

I thought about it once. About one month after he died. I thought about him and the accident. Him lying there dead. Alone. Completely alone.

And then I swear to God, Chris—I swung around and glared at him—I felt like I was falling down this long dark tunnel. Its … its guts were covered in bits of glass … jagged bits of glass … to stop you from ever getting out…. But you still grab on like some crazy man because you know that if you fall to the bottom you’ll be destroyed … exploded into minuscule fragments that will never fit back together again. So … so you jam yourself onto the glass and rip your flesh and guts trying to get out, clawing your way to the top.

I balled up the snot and tears that leaked like toxins down the back of my throat and spat.

And it doesn’t matter how cut up, how much blood there is or how much skin hangs off your bones, because you made it out. And that’s when you take whatever you can find and wrap it around you like bandages. They never come off. Because if they do, you won’t ever be able to put yourself back together again.

And then you spend the rest of the time walking around hiding the bandages, looking and acting like everything is normal, but you know that nothing will ever be normal again.

Every part of me was shaking. I was saturated. My face was caked with layers of salt, snot, dirt, pain. The enormity of it nearly threw me to the floor.

I moved slowly, cautiously onto one of the music cases and for the first time since Dad died I cried.

I cried and Chris sat.