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Bright’s not great at, like, thinking things through.
That’s not news or anything. He’s always been shit at it. Never spent enough time in his head.
So when Ephram invites him to come see the Fourth of July fireworks with him and Delia, Bright doesn’t really think it through before he agrees.
He’s not, like, super close with Ephram, or anything, but it’s not like he’s got any other friends, and he’s not gonna stay in his room all day like Amy’s been doing all damn summer.
Anyway, he likes the fireworks. They’re nice to look at, and if he can get himself one of those Spongebob-shaped popsicles with the gumball eyes from the truck that stops by every year, even better.
He drives them there, ‘cause he’s been getting better at that, and Ephram doesn’t have his license yet, anyway. He lets Delia pick the music, ‘cause her taste is far better than the whiny emo shit Ephram listens to, and they sing all the way there.
To Bright’s credit, he makes it halfway to the green before he loses it.
He’s following Delia across the parking lot when he sees the stage and sees the reenactors and he remembers that this is where it all went to shit last time.
(And maybe he should’ve remembered earlier, but in his own defense, he’s been trying to think about Colin as little as he can. Because it hurts like hell when he does, knocks the breath out of his lungs and leaves him gasping for air).
He’s fucking glued to his spot, unable to move towards the green and the stage and the reenactors, because that was him, onstage in that dumbass costume, and that was him, sitting on the green with his best friend and his sister, and that was him, in the driver’s seat of his best friend’s dad’s new car, ruining everything. He tries and fails to choke in a breath, and Ephram looks back at him.
“Are you okay?” he says, looking at Bright oddly, and fuck, he shouldn’t have come, he shouldn’t have come, he shouldn’t having fucking come, because he barely even knows Ephram, and now he’s standing in the middle of the parking lot, losing his shit, and the entire fucking town is here to see it.
“Yeah, no, I—I’m fine, I just forgot I had, like, an errand to run, so I’m gonna go, like, do that now, sorry, I—”
“Bright,” Ephram says, stopping him when he goes to turn back for the car.
Bright squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see the pity in Ephram’s face.
“Is he okay?” Bright hears Delia say, a tinge of worry coloring her voice.
“Yeah, he’s fine,” Ephram says. Bright can’t force himself to open his eyes, but he hears coins change hands, and Ephram says “Go find Brittany and get yourself some ice cream, okay?”
“Okay!” Delia replies, and when she’s gone, Ephram turns back to Bright.
“Bright,” he says again, and Bright dares to open his eyes.
“I’m fine,” he says, in a terribly unconvincing voice.
“You’re shaking,” Ephram points out, and huh. He is, his arms trembling like branches in the wind, and now that he’s noticed it, he can’t stop noticing it, and he starts to shake even harder.
“Come here,” Ephram says, guiding Bright back to his car. He opens the driver’s side door, but Bright doesn’t get in.
“Fuck, no,” he says. “Fuck. No. Absolutely the fuck not,” he says, because it’s a car in the parking lot at the Fourth of July celebration on the green, and there’s no fucking way Bright is getting in the driver’s seat again. Something in Ephram’s face changes, and he closes the driver’s side door, opening up the door to the backseat. Bright gets in and shuts the door behind him.
Ephram gets in on the passenger’s side, and Bright turns away from him, because this is so fucking embarassing that he doesn’t know what to do.
He still can’t quite breathe, and his chest is too tight, and he’s starting to get kind of nauseous, so he takes a breath and immediately chokes on it, and his throat is closing up and his vision’s going blurry, and he’s going to fucking die, and—
“Hey, breathe,” he hears Ephram say from the front seat, and he wants to say no fucking shit, but he can’t find the words, because he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he’s going to fucking die—
“Bright,” Ephram says, clambering into the seat beside him. “You’re okay, okay? You’re—You’re freaking out, you gotta breathe—”
“Can’t,” Bright manages, and he’s dizzy, and he’s nauseous, and his heart is fucking pounding in his ears, so hard that he can barely hear the next words out of Ephram’s mouth.
“You can,” he insists. “You’re just freaking out. You—You’re okay, I promise.”
Bright says nothing, tears starting to fall down his face, and Ephram sighs.
“Listen to me, okay?” he says. “Nothing bad is gonna happen.”
“Can you, like, not be here?” Bright asks, squeezing his eyes shut tight.
“You’re not supposed to leave someone alone if they’re having a panic attack,” Ephram says.
Bright’s eyes fly open. “That’s not—I don’t—That’s not what this is,” he insists. Ephram raises an eyebrow.
“Then what is it?” he asks, and Bright finds himself at a loss for words.
“I don’t—” he starts. “I mean—”
Ephram watches him with careful blue eyes, and Bright can’t fucking stand it.
“Fuck,” he says through another sob. “Stop fucking looking at me!”
“Sorry,” Ephram says, turning away to face the car window.
Bright makes it about fifteen seconds of panicked, shallow breathing before Ephram steps in.
“You’re supposed to breathe,” he offers, his back still to Bright. “Like, breathe in for four seconds and then out for four. The number doesn’t really matter, but it helps.”
And normally, Bright would snap back with some shitty, sarcastic comment, but Ephram sounds like he kind of knows what he’s talking about, and it’s worth a try.
one, two, three, four. one, two, three, four.
He doesn’t quite make it four seconds the first time around. When he chokes on the air, he looks up to see if Ephram’s watching. He’s not, and Bright tries again.
one, two, three, four. one, two, three, four.
He gets it this time, and his breathing is shaky and tearful, but he gets it. He tries again.
one, two, three, four. one, two, three, four.
It’s better this time. The tightness in his chest is starting to back off, and he breathes again. And again. And again.
“You okay?” Ephram says, when Bright’s breathing has evened out.
“Yeah,” he says, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ephram replies, turning back around to face Bright. “It happens.” He pauses for a second before adding, “I should’ve thought.”
“What?” Bright says.
“I forgot that this was, like, when and where it happened,” Ephram tells him. “I didn’t even think—”
“How do you know that?” Bright says, cutting him off.
Ephram shrugs. “Amy told me,” he says, and yeah, of course she did.
“Oh,” Bright says, unsure of what else to say.
“It’s normal,” Ephram tells him. “After something really shitty happens. To just, like, have these moments where you totally freak out.”
Bright looks at him, urging him to go on.
“After my mom died,” he says, not quite meeting Bright’s eyes. “It happened to me sometimes.”
“Oh,” says Bright again.
“It sucked,” Ephram adds, and Bright huffs a laugh.
“No shit,” he says. Ephram smiles.
“You can go home, if you want,” Ephram says. “Delia and I can get a ride with Nina or something.”
Bright shakes his head. “I can’t drive right now,” he says, and Ephram just nods.
“I don’t technically have my driver’s license,” Ephram says, “But I’ve got my permit. I could drive you home. And, like, walk to my place from there.”
Bright shakes his head again. “My dad will interrogate the shit out of me if I get home early,” he says. “And no offense, but I’m not letting you illegally drive my car. Rather not make the Fourth of July car accident a yearly thing.”
Ephram winces. Bright sighs.
“Can we just, like, walk down to Mama Joy’s or something?” he asks. “I don’t really want to be here right now.”
“Yeah,” Ephram says, nodding. “Give me a second to check in with Delia, okay?”
“Sure,” Bright says, and Ephram makes his way out of the car and across the green to where his sister and her friends stand.
Bright sighs. He runs his hands over his face and allows himself a couple of deep breaths before he gets out of the car.
When he does, he finds his eyes fixed on the stage where this year’s reenactors stand. He looks away and finds himself staring at a shiny red car in the parking space in front of him.
He squeezes his eyes shut and only opens them once his heart doesn’t feel like it’s about to beat out of his chest. He fixes his eyes on the ground and watches as he scuffs the toes of his shoes on the asphalt.
The high school marching band plays a patriotic tune. Bright feels a wave of nausea threaten to climb up his throat. He hums to himself, the first song he can think of, in an attempt to block it out.
It doesn’t quite work. Bright hums louder.
“You okay?”
He looks up. Ephram stands in front of him, a Spongebob-shaped popsicle in his hand. When Bright says nothing, Ephram holds out the popsicle for him to take.
“A gift from Delia,” he explains with a smile. “She says she hopes you feel better soon.”
Bright feels his face break into a grin, and he takes the popsicle from Ephram’s hand.
“Tell her thanks from me,” he says.
“Will do,” says Ephram, taking a step away from the car and motioning for Bright to follow. “Let’s go.”
And so they do.
Two boys set off towards town center, and if you were watching from the green, you would only be able to see their backs. One taller, with wild blond curls, and one a few inches shorter, with brown hair that appears almost purple in the sunlight. (Those who know him know that he’s growing out the rather unfortunate, eggplant-hued result of a New York City upbringing).
Two boys set off towards town center, and if you were watching from the green, you would only be able to see their backs. No one is watching from the green, though, because the marching band is playing and the reenactors are getting ready and the fireworks are mere hours away.
The boys escape without notice, and they walk away without looking back.