Batophobia

*Miriam's POV*
I look at the paper on the table before me. I am at home. Maggie isn’t here yet. I take my pencil and start writing.

***
Batophobia is the fear of heights. My name is Miriam Dawn Johnson. I am batophobic.
***

I stare at the words, my eraser blurring them into nothingness. I won’t write an autobiography. I will write a story.

***
“Miriam, get away from the edge of the roof,” Maggie warns me. I stare at her with solemn eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” I say as tears fill my eyes. Sad tears. I close my eyes. The muscles in my legs bunch up as I prepare to do the unspeakable. I can imagine throwing myself off of the roof, ending the stress of my mother’s sickness that makes her look like a skeleton. She has cancer. That single sentence swims laps through my soupy, mixed up mind. She has cancer. She has cancer. She has cancer. I say, “I love you, Maggie,” and jump. Strong arms wrap around my mid-section and pull me roughly back onto the roof. I turn around and see Maggie’s face with tears pouring down her cheeks. Before I know what’s happening, I’m on the ground. I lie down and curl up into a ball. Tears stream from my eyes. My mind fades away until I’m nothing but a ball of blank paper. I am afraid and alone. Maggie is my guardian angel and I owe her my life. But am I really glad that she saved me? After all, my life is now falling down around me. It is falling from very high up in the sky, and I cannot stop it from falling. Only Dr. Edwards can. Maggie is my bubble wrap, and Dr. Edwards is the glue that will hold me together. I hope he is strong, like super glue, and not like Elmer’s glue. I made an art project one time that had beans and rice in a pattern. I used Elmer’s glue and it all fell apart.
***

Tomorrow I would go back to school. I don’t like school. Nobody pays me any attention. I’m in a class where nobody can laugh at me. I’m with the other people that get laughed at. Dr. Edwards will give me a note that means I can work on my story and not go to school. He told me that once he heals me I can go back to school and be normal. I like that idea. Maggie has to come over later every day. She works at the animal hospital and she takes care of this one animal that she loves. She is that cat’s guardian angel too. They can protect each other. Maggie has two jobs. She cries a lot when she thinks I can’t hear her. She cries because of me. She cries because she is poor. She cries because she is sad, not happy. I make her unhappy. I don’t like making Maggie unhappy. I didn’t think guardian angels could be unhappy. Maybe she is an angel-in-training. I smile. I like that idea. “Miriam J. will not be afraid. Miriam J. will be strong,” I tell myself. I’m still just as nervous as ever.

***
My life is like a piece of pottery or a glass vase. It was perfect and beautiful, and then it went over the edge and shattered. Maggie keeps my vase safe while Dr. Edwards puts it together. I smashed my own vase, and nobody trusted me ever again. “She’s messed up in the head. I don’t like the looks of her.” My teachers hated me. One teacher was nice—Mrs. Madeline. She would say, “Don’t you be worrying about your momma. She’ll make it to heaven. She’s got more than one angel looking out for her.” I would cry, “I don’t want her to go to heaven! I want her to stay with Maggie and me!” Mrs. Madeline would shake her head and say, in a voice that made her sound like she knew the future, “Your momma is a godsend, but God needs her back soon. Somewhere out there is a little girl who needs a godsend more than you do. Your godsend has fulfilled her duty. Your mother is ready to help others. Let her go, Miriam. Don’t hurt yourself over this. Your momma would’ve wanted you to keep your wits about you. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Listen to that Maggie girl. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders…”
***

I love Maggie. Maggie comes through the door with a smile on her face. She has been crying. I hug her and say, “Don’t cry, Maggie! Don’t cry! I love you, Maggie!” This makes tears stream down her face and I start crying with her. “What’s wrong, Maggie?” Maggie sniffs and says, “The cat I was caring for died today. She had feline immunodeficiency virus.” I wrap my arms around her. Maggie needs a hug. I give my Maggie a hug.

Dr. Edwards smiles at me. I don’t like his teeth. They are too white. “You’re teeth are very white,” I tell him. He chuckles and says, “How far are you in your story, Mimi?” I show him the pages I’ve written so far. He looks it over and I quickly snatch it away from him. “You can’t read it until I’m done,” I mutter. He smiles with his bleached teeth. “Very well, Miriam. Until then, I have someone I’d like you to meet.” He calls for Theresa to bring in the boy. I pay no attention to him. I can hear an airplane. Airplanes fly high up. I will never be a pilot. Nope. The door swings open and Theresa walks in. She is nice, but I don’t think she likes her job. She acts like Maggie at her ugly job. She has a pretty job too, but she doesn’t like her ugly job. A boy is behind Theresa. He is taller than me. I feel short in my chair. I turn towards Dr. Edwards. I don’t need to know this boy. Dr. Edwards says, “Miriam, this is my son, Thomas Edwards. You are going to get to know him. He suffered from batophobia, just like you. I regard this Thomas boy. Apparently I do need to know this boy. “Hello, Miriam,” he says. His voice is soothing. I like his voice. “Hello, Thomas. I like your voice. It sounds like a pond. A very still, calm pond,” I say to him. He smiles, and I am glad that his teeth aren’t perfectly blaring white, like his father’s. He has brown hair and brown eyes. His skin is like coffee with too much cream. He has dimples. My heart feels weird, looking at him. I remember this sensation. I don’t know what it is, though. I don’t like it. “Stop it!” I snap at him. He looks surprised and hurt. Shame on you, Miriam J. Miriam J. is a bad girl. Thomas says, “What’s wrong, Miriam?” I glare at the wall. “Nothing is wrong, Thomas,” I mutter. Thomas. His name rolls off of my tongue. Thomas says, “I had batophobia too, you know.” I gasp, shocked that this boy is so… normal! I want to be like him. He is normal. He has what I threw away on that rooftop. I threw my humanity off the roof, down towards the ant-people below. I don’t realize I’ve been saying these things aloud until he says, “Being normal isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” But I haven’t been saying those things. “Did you read my mind?” I glare at him, shooting invisible daggers out of my eyes. That expression always confused me. How can daggers come out of your eyes? Thomas laughs, “Something like that.” Do daggers come out of his eyes? I forgot my question. Oh, he must have read my mind again. Shame on you, Thomas, reading someone’s mind is bad.
I get home and continue writing my story. Writing makes me feel like I belong.

***
A mind is like a piece of paper. It is blank and fresh and new when you are born. Little by little, you get creases and writing all over it until it can’t hold anymore words. Once a paper gets squished and crumpled, it can never be flattened out. I will never be the same.
***

I think back to the beginning of the end.

***
I had a boyfriend, once. Looking at him, I felt like I do when I look at Thomas. He started hanging out with other girls, so I yelled at him. He left me all alone. I was sad, so I cried at night and suffered through the day. Then he came back and acted pitiful and my heart hurt for him and me both, so I comforted him. He stole something of mine that I can never get back, dog-earing my mind-paper. I lost my virginity to him. His name was William. The other people at school made fun of me. I became sad and crumpled—depressed. I would wear make-up to hide my puffy eyes. It didn’t always work. The others thought I was weak. I was. A group of girls locked me in a bathroom stall. The janitor found me after school ended. I was being picked on and bullied mercilessly, so I decided to end it. I had nobody to talk to, so I wanted to talk to God, or whatever entity there is. Some words got stuck in my mind. I had to die to speak to the Almighty One—whoever he may be—so I made that happen. I planned it out, wrote a note, and went to the ceiling after visiting my mother for the last time. Maggie came right after I got there and stopped me. Now I struggle through the days, a former shell of myself. I was a freak. Everyone knew it, even Maggie. Freak! Freak! You are a freak! You can’t walk outside without crying or screaming! Miriam J. is a worthless, scaredy-cat freak. Maggie said no, I wasn’t. My mind reminded me otherwise.
***

Thomas comes over to my house. “There is a boy in my house. The boy’s name is Thomas. Thomas the tank engine is a kid’s toy, Miriam. Thomas can call me Mimi.” My mind drifts aimlessly and I babble without realizing it. This happens often. Thomas turns toward me and says, “The only way you can solve your fear is to face it. Think of buildings, Mimi! Skyscrapers and fighter jets! The Tower of London! The Eiffel Tower! The Leaning Tower of Pisa! Think of the tallest buildings and mountains! Great mountains and giant trees that soar over your head! Think of these, Mimi!”
I turn pale as he rattles off the ghastly buildings. I picture the skyscrapers in the city near us and my knees start to shake. I think of trees and my lip quivers. I think of the Eiffel Tower and a whimper escapes my mouth. But I don’t cry. I don’t curl up into a ball and shut out the world. I focus my eyes on Thomas. “You are my rock, Thomas. You keep me on the ground so I don’t jump away.” Before I realize what I’m doing, I have my arms around Thomas’ neck. He hugs me back before smiling and leaving.
I am horribly afraid that I did something to upset him.

*Thomas' POV*

When Mimi starts talking about me being the thing that keeps her from jumping away, I want to kiss her right there. As soon as I saw her, anemic and fragile, I fell in love with her. There was only one problem—she was deathly afraid of heights. But when I talked to her, she was surprisingly calm. She may come to her senses yet. She reminds me far too much of myself when I was batophobic.
I was with my father on the helicopter. We were at the carnival and got to go up in the helicopter. I was nervous, of course, but I wasn’t afraid. At least, I wasn’t afraid until the pilot started choking. He clutched at his chest. The helicopter dipped forward. My dad was already on the phone with someone. I had been intently watching the pilot’s movements and pushed some buttons and pulled some levers. The helicopter jerked violently. We started dropping rapidly. My dad put his phone on speakerphone and asked, “How do we drive this thing?” The person on the other end said, in a nasally voice, “Sir you are not permitted to do that. My dad yelled, “Tell me how the hell we drive this or three people will die! I need to know how to drive this, now!” The other person said, “Very well.” I had curled up into a ball and started crying. I didn’t talk for three years afterward.