He'd had episodes lately that were embarrassing, although over all, he knew he was getting better, if that made any sense. Yesterday, though, he was in the grocery store over by the fresh produce and, suddenly, he thought he was going blind. Things got hazy and he felt a rush of tingling throughout his body as he went woozy. An old lady working there looked at him and asked him if he felt okay. He bent slightly over the cart and mumbled that he didn't feel too hot. She told him that there must be something in the air because they had to send two people home already that morning who felt sick and totally faint.

 

God, maybe it's an invisible gas in the store but he couldn't smell anything. Nobody around him appeared to be acting strange. He tried to find the old lady who had disappeared behind a set of chrome double doors to the right but there were only lots of empty cardboard boxes in there. He called out "Hello" and "Lady" a few times but no one came. Josh made it over to Customer Service and demanded feebly to know what was going on, repeating what he heard from the other Friendly's employee in produce, about two people being sent home.

 

Two ladies in cheery red uniforms and hardened bouffants stared coldly at him as if he were nuts. They looked exactly alike, peroxide versions of Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee, conspirators out to protect their Friendly company. They're going to try to cover up, he thought, and once again, he described the lady who'd done the disappearing act by the vegetables. As he described her, he realized she looked like them, too. This was a living Twilight Zone.

 

Someone brought him a chair and handed him a wet rag for his forehead that he realized he was clutching. "They were employees and, y'know, teenagers," 'Hi! I'm Darlene' added with undisguised contempt. He didn't know if it was for him or them. "Last night was prom," 'Hi! I'm Char' explained quietly.

 

Josh got up, told them he was feeling better and, not looking back, began the rest of the Saturday shopping. By the time he left the parking lot, the spell had passed, except for some belching and farting in the car on the way home.

 

At least he knew cut and dry this was a panic attack, not a brain tumor, spinal meningitis, Lyme's disease, AIDS, or any of the other things that scared him occasionally and for which at times he could even work up convincing symptoms. Tomorrow he would either have to lie or tell the truth about becoming a Unitarian. If he said "Yes, Dad, we are going to catholic church," (with a small c in his voice), at least it would be disguised and he wouldn't have to face his father's unpredictable and massive Vatican wrath.