Read I Don't Want to Be Crazy for Free Online Page B

him before.
I would have remembered him.
    When I bend down to look at his books,
he says Henry Miller is his favorite.
I smile and tell him mine is Anaïs Nin.
Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin were lovers.
We talk for a while about them.
I like the way this is starting—
with Henry and Anaïs.
    I have the dream again,
this time with taffy.
I don’t know where I am,
but it’s like I’m a magician
pulling multicolored scarves out of my mouth
and the taffy won’t stop coming.
    Ann and I go to a party in town.
She drives us in her SUV
and seeing her sitting behind the wheel
makes her look even more petite.
    The party is wall-to-wall people,
and even though it’s cool outside
the apartment is warm and stuffy.
We find seats and watch people shuffle by
to find a drink or a friend.
    Ann takes off her jacket
and then tugs at her turtleneck,
tries to give herself some air.
She pulls her blond hair off her neck
into a ponytail.
She looks uncomfortable,
but I figure it’s because of the heat.
    Some people I kind of know come by
and Ann barely says a word.
It’s like she’s not here.
Her green eyes grow wide
as she sinks lower and lower into the couch.
    I lean over and ask if she’s all right.
She shakes her head no.
Without a word she stands up and puts on her jacket.
She asks if I’ll be able to find a ride home,
and when I say yes, she says she has to leave.
I tell her to wait, but she says she’ll be okay.
She leaves before I can say anything else.
She doesn’t look back.
    I can’t believe that I just watched
someone else have a panic attack.
    Now I see Jeff on campus all the time.
Every time I turn around, there he is—
sitting on the green,
getting coffee at the student center,
walking through the English department.
He is like a ghost
who has materialized just for me.
    The first time I go to Jeff’s alone,
I stand at the door to his apartment, wait
to catch my breath
before I ring the bell
because I was too scared
to take the rickety elevator.
    We talk for a long time.
It is one of those conversations
that should be awkward
but isn’t,
and when we kiss
it is perfect—
except for the shaking.
It starts in my stomach
and goes to my legs
and teeth.
I shouldn’t be cold.
Jeff is next to me,
on top of me,
under me.
    Later, in bed, I peer over his head,
watch his cat claw at old issues of the Times
and then crawl into bed
over our legs.
    And when I crawl
out of bed
to sleep on the floor
because he is a violent dreamer,
the cat takes my place beside him.
    As I smoke
and sit with bare knees pressed to my chest,
the cat glares
between my legs,
and I wonder
if I didn’t have the braids
would Jeff have ever noticed me?
    As Ann and I get closer
to the dining hall for dinner,
I know I can’t do it.
I can’t go in.
I had a panic attack in Lit class in the afternoon
and I am tired.
My body can’t take another one.
I can’t go in there
with all that noise,
and the sounds of forks banging against plates,
and the hum of people,
and those dim lights.
    Ann and I sit outside for a while.
She knows what it’s like
and tries to calm me down.
She puts her hand on my back and rubs,
but I can’t do it.
I feel weak for not being able to go in
and do something so simple, so normal,
but I am tired
and I just want to go home.
    Since the night I saw her have a panic attack
things have been different.
She comes to me,
red-faced and crying,
to help her calm down.
I reassure her
that she’s going to be okay,
that she’s not going to die,
I feel her forehead, tell her she’s cool,
and smooth down her fine blond hair.
    She does the same for me.
She becomes the voice of reason
when there is none.
When I feel myself on the edge
and I don’t know what else to do,
I call her.
    We do for each other
what we cannot do for ourselves.
When it is happening we are in another place
where the rules of reason do not apply.
We need a voice from the outside
because our own voices cannot be trusted.
    We met too late,
or maybe too early.
Jeff’s