Page 38 of Johnny

He shakes his head. “It’s not you. You’re just here. Sometimes,” he says, “sometimes I just wish I

could make it all stop. Ya know?”

The logical next question is… Make what stop?

But it doesn’t even matter what the ‘what’ is.

I get it.

I cross my arms and say, “Yeah. Me too.”

He takes one of those breaths. The kind where people pucker their lips a little, like they’re trying

to get through something stressful. Then he lifts his head just enough to peer at me from under a tumble

of wet hair. “Have you ever tried?”

I squint my eyes, confused.

“To make it stop? Have you ever really tried?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Me either.” He pauses. Blinks. “But I’ve seen what happens when you do. And right now I’m at

the point where I’m thinking… maybe it’s worth it, ya know? Maybe death is its own way out? You

know that saying, ‘gonna do it or die trying?’ Well, maybe I’m there.”

Then he turns, walks into the master stateroom, and slides the pocket door closed.

I back up into my own cabin and slide the door closed. And for a while all I do is sit there on the

bed. Unable to move. Staring at my door. Listening for any clue about what he’s doing behind his.

But everything is silent.

Eventually I lie back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling.

The boat rolls with the stormy waves. Rain pounds the deck above me. I feel sick from the rocking

and lurching. But eventually all the stress of the past few weeks catches up with me and I begin to

doze.

It’s in this moment—that pause between the waking world and the sleeping one—that I realize it’s

not the boat, or the storm, or the waves making me sick.

It’s everything else.

CHAPTER FIVE - JOHNNY

I saw a therapist once.

I was in Chicago for business and there was an ad on the hotel TV. I’m not sure buying ad space on

a hotel TV channel is the best way to use your therapist advertising dollars, but whatever. There it