Nathaniel

Everything in the world smells like winter. Its burnt and hazy smell. It wafts through the window of my therapist’s office. She asks me the same question she does every session. Sometimes my answers are long. Sometimes I don't feel like telling the whole story. So, Nathaniel, tell me about Ezekiel. Now that I think about it, that's not even a question.

They say talking about him helps. Talking about him has never helped anything. I've said so many words about him, drawn so many pictures of him, dreamed so many dreams about him. Nothing helps. I wish I’d never met him.

It's so hard to not be angry with him. I want to say he is the reason for the doctors and the therapist and the pills and the wary look my parents give me. I want to say he's the reason I couldn't play in my first basketball game. Except I can't be angry with him, because it isn't his fault.

“Nathaniel, this is your brain,” the doctor had said, holding up two brain scans, one of them being the one I'd had taken that morning. “This is the brain of someone with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The two are almost identical.”  

I have an obsession with Ezekiel, my therapist tells me. Obsession, according to the Merriam- Webster Dictionary, is a state in which someone thinks about someone or something constantly in a way that is not normal. Not normal? Is it not normal to always want to be around someone, to want to hear his voice? I don't want to be “obsessed” with Ezekiel. It isn't my choice. It isn't my fault. My mind likes Ezekiel more than I do.   

Snow came early that year, the year I met him, so I couldn't practice in the driveway. That meant I wasn't at the top of my game. It wasn't like I was bad or anything but I had been hoping to start that year.

Julian insisted that I would be a starter even without the extra practice. I knew he was lying, though. Julian would say anything to make me feel better when I'm worried. Freshman year when I didn't make JV, he told me basketball wasn't a big deal. He kept that charade alive for months until the coach told him he could play up. It was hard to be on varsity and hate basketball with me. But I didn't complain. Coach told me I was first alternate, so that meant I could play on the team.

I tried to be calm as I walked out of the locker room. I counted my steps to the gym. For some reason that always calms me down. I tried to be fine as Julian whispered to me. He kept telling me not to be nervous, over and over again in my ear.

“Nathaniel, don't be nervous. You got this, man. Nathaniel, don't be nervous. You can ball. You know you can ball. Nathaniel, don’t be nervous.” “

Nathaniel, stop being nervous. I demanded. I tried counting again. Counting things always helps crazy people. I wasn't supposed to use that word, anymore. Crazy.

As expected, there were many more guys in the gym than during any of the other tryouts. All of the guys were crowded around the six hoops, playing large, leisurely games. I watched as one particular boy handled the ball. The boy was playing on the hoop farthest to the right. There was nothing special about him. He was around my height, average. The only thing I could say that made him stand apart was his hair.

His hair was curly and black. Every strand fell in a perfectly spiraling ringlet. It was long, too. Longest hair I'd ever seen on a guy. It fell down to his shoulders even though he had it wrapped up in a ponytail. I could only imagine what it looked like free.

“Who's that?” I asked Julian without breaking my gaze. Julian said the boy might have been in his English class but he didn't know his name. I should have stopped there.  No name, no problems.

The whistle blew and tryouts began. He was fast and aggressive. When we would do drills, he would execute them perfectly and then return to his line where his friends would pat him on the back. I heard one of them call him Ezekiel.

I felt unfocused. I messed up on the drills, the ones Ezekiel breezed through. I checked to see if he'd seen. He didn't even notice me. I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Julian's voice snapped me back into reality. He was yelling at me except he wasn't because he was whispering so we wouldn't get in trouble with the coach. “What are you doing out there? Come on, Nathan, you’re better than this.” The words bounced off my ears before I could listen to them. My eyes casually slid back over to him, Ezekiel. Nathaniel, stay focused. Nathaniel, don't be nervous.

The tryouts ended with a scrimmage. The boys were divided into two teams. Ezekiel was on my team. Julian wasn't. We played almost a full game. Ezekiel was good, very good. He blocked Julian's shot more than once. I could tell Julian was mad, not at Ezekiel, he was just mad.

I made a few easy shots and lay-ups. Towards the end I was worried for myself. I hadn't done as well as I'd planned to. Nothing I did stood out. My chances of starting were getting slimmer and slimmer—that is, assuming I was even on the team.

The clock was running out and the two teams were nearly tied. Ezekiel was taking the ball down. He passed the ball away from my direction, but the pass was intercepted by Julian. Ezekiel raced after him, hair flying.

Julian missed his layup, an unlucky anomaly. Ezekiel snatched the rebound, seconds on the clock. He dribbled as fast as he could until he realized he couldn't make it. He heaved the ball as hard as he could toward me. The hands of a defender grazed the ball but I grabbed it and took the shot. The buzzer rang as the ball rattled the inside of the basket. The shot was so precise the net swung up and got caught on the top of the rim. It hung like that as our team cheered. It hung like that as Julian patted my back. It hung as Ezekiel came toward me. It hung as his palm shoved my shoulder.

“Nice shot,” he said. And then the net fell. I guess it wasn't stuck after all.

I walked home, tired and sore. There were many cars in our driveway, many more cars than we own. I was surprised my parents were having company on a school night and even more surprised that no one had bothered to tell me.

Usually, I love the smell of my own sweat after practice. Smells to me like hard work and dedication. Today, I felt embarrassed, embarrassed to walk into a clean house in dirty clothes and embarrassed to hug my guests reeking of “hard work and dedication.” My aunts and uncles didn't care. I wasn't anyone's center of attention. Nala, my sister, was. I hadn't known she was coming home.

She rushed over to me. I slid through family members to get to her. I wrapped my arms around her. I felt happy to see her and annoyed at the few brief calls and all the other emotions that come with seeing your sister for the first time in a year.  

“Natie, you’re taller,” she remarked. She smiled up at me.

“You thought I would be shorter or something, Nala?” I retorted.

She laughed and turned her attention back to the family members, entertaining them with tales of college. They congratulated her on finishing and moving back home. One by one, my aunts and uncles began to leave until we were left with only the remnants of a party.

My mom had the whole family clean up after the party and even though my legs ached for my bed, I didn’t mind helping. Dad said he couldn't believe his little girl had a bachelor’s in psychology and was headed for the work force. Nala explained that she still needed to get her master’s in social work before she could get a good job.

For the rest of the night, conversation revolved around Nala and her plans for the future. I asked my fair share of questions. When we finished, everyone settled in the family room to catch up some more. I was tired and it was getting late. I knew I had school the next morning so I excused myself and headed up to bed. I called good night to my family. I couldn't help but notice no one asked me about tryouts.

Ezekiel was in my Spanish class. I wondered if he had always sat there on the other side of class and I had just never seen him. Today his hair was folded up into a loose bun and some curls spilled out the top. I still wondered how long it really was. My mind wouldn't focus on class, only on Ezekiel and hair and basketball. My eyes kept sliding over to his desk.

It was strange. Until yesterday he didn't exist. Now I saw him everywhere. In the halls, in my lunch period he was there, in my view. I don't know how to explain it. My eyes seemed to search the room for him. It wasn't on purpose but somehow no matter where he was compared to me he always seemed to be my main focus.

He put me on edge. He made me want to count my steps or all the objects in a room or anything. He just made me nervous. Nathaniel, don't be nervous. He brushed me once and I instinctively tensed, as if ready for a fight. But he just apologized. “You were at basketball tryouts right?” he asked. I nodded. “You made that buzzer beater. That was pretty cool.” And then he left. I didn't even have time to reply.

At the end of the day, everyone crowded around the roster to see who made the cut. Julian stood next to me, peering over heads to see the list. I asked him why he even bothered to look. The coach had already told him he would be playing up again. Julian shrugged. He said the coach had asked Ezekiel too. I caught the bitterness in his voice that only someone who had been best friends with him since first grade would detect.

Finally, we got close enough to read the names. The way the list was set up was in order of ranking. The coach had the official starters as the first five on the list. I was number six.

That night in bed I dreamed I was playing basketball in the school gym with Julian. Ezekiel walked in just as I made a three-pointer. “Nice,” he said. Then I woke up.

In the morning I was running late so Nala offered to drive me to school. I stared out the window. Nala's hand gripped the steering wheel. She looked over at me and smiled. “Girl problems?” she teased. I shook my head and smiled.

“I think I forgot something.” I said. She looked over at me squinting her eyes slightly. She reminded me that I had checked my backpack twice. I slumped in my seat. I hated riding to school. Walking helps me focus my mind before class.  I always worry. I always do. That's just me and walking helps.

Nala kept squinting at me. I knew what she was doing. Back when she was still in high school she used to do this thing she called psycho-analyzing. Everything she learned in her AP psychology class she would exercise on her family. There were weird questions, scenarios and mind games. She started noticing everything from little behavioral changes to what makes our family tick. And everybody could always tell when she was “evaluating” because of her dead-give-away squint.

“Stop it,” I said.

“Stop what?”

“You know what."

“No, I don't, Nathaniel. If you want me to know something, if you want me to stop something, you need to tell me what's bothering you. I don't read minds, you know.”

“You read minds for a living.”

“Natie, I'm not judging you, if that's what you think,” she said. I ignored her because I didn't need a bachelor’s in psychology to tell that she was lying.

I spent all day avoiding Ezekiel, which proved a difficult task. It bothered me that I had dreamed about him. It wasn't an especially weird dream or anything but I still didn't like the thought of me dreaming of other guys.

Today at lunch, Julian sat with the other varsity players and dragged me with him. I didn't want to. I told him I wasn't welcome at the table as just a lowly JV player. He assured me I was wrong. Ezekiel was sitting there, too. He came to sit next to me. Julian cracked his jaw when he did.

Ezekiel clearly felt as awkward as I did sitting here. Julian, on the other hand, assimilated easily. The varsity team and Julian talked of last season and glory days. Ezekiel and I were caught up in our own conversation. We talked about basketball for a while before changing the subject. He was just as relieved as I was to stop talking about it and I was relieved that he, like me, had other interests. We talked about video games first and then everything else that matters when you're in high school. Ezekiel was funny and easy to talk to. I didn't feel like avoiding him anymore.

At practice, there was clearly a struggle between Julian and Ezekiel for the No. 1 spot. Even though Julian's had been the first name on the list, it was pretty clear Ezekiel thought he deserved that spot and was determined to prove it. A rivalry was developing.

Julian walked with me to my neighborhood. The whole time he dribbled the ball. He practiced weaving it through his legs and crossing behind his back. When we reached the tip of my neighborhood, I stopped and Julian kept walking. 

“Deuces!” he called behind him before deciding to turn to me. He looked me in the eye to gauge my reaction. “That Ezekiel kid is pretty good.” Julian was tense. Why? Julian, don't be nervous.

I shrugged and he frowned, dribbled the ball and then kept walking. 

That night I dreamed about Ezekiel again.

Over the next few weeks I realized I was being watched. Nala was watching me. She insisted on driving me to school every day. She knew it was making me crazy, and because of that, the pills and the therapist are her fault, too. Her eyes grew narrower as she watched me count my steps. They grew narrower as she heard me recount stories of Ezekiel.

She started carrying around this yellow notepad. When her eyes squint, she writes in it. She says she doesn't write about me. She says she doesn't judge me. She does. I know she does. She went to college for five years so she could judge me.

Nala is being watched too. The family was watching her, like she is watching me. I was watching Ezekiel. Ezekiel was watching Julian. And Julian was watching Janelle.

Janelle sat with us at lunch sometimes. Well, not us exactly. She sat with Julian. Freshman year, I would have given my arm to sit with Janelle. I would walk her to every class, carry her bags for her, even let her cheat off me once or twice. Nala said I lost her because I was too nice. “You know who nice guys end up with?” she’d asked. “Other nice guys.”

Julian liked her. I knew he did. Julian knew he did but he wouldn't tell her because he's Julian. It isn't like he plays with girl's emotions, it's more that he protects his own. If it were me who had Janelle at my fingertips…

Anyway, Janelle badly wanted to go to the school’s winter formal with Julian. She'd been trying to convince him to go with her for quite some time. She'd tried to set me up with her friend, Leela. She knew all too well that Julian would not go without me.

Leela is an average girl. She isn't especially pretty like Janelle. She doesn't have any extraordinary personality traits. She's the type of person you could spend the whole night staring at and still not remember exactly what she looked like the next day. I hesitatingly told Leela I would go with her. I knew I owed it to Julian. Funny thing is, after the news of my condition leaked, she didn't want to go with me, anyway.

Nala and my parents were sitting at the kitchen table the night before my first game of the season when they told me. My parents looked worried and Nala looked too professional. Nala told me to sit down. Nobody looked me in the eyes. She said she had been evaluating my behavior and had come up with some troubling results. She asked me if I had been sleeping. I told her I hadn't. She asked me why. I told her I was tired from practice and needed to go to bed. She said that wasn't what she had asked.

My mom told me I wouldn't be going to school the next day. I would go to a testing facility where they would ask me questions and x-ray my brain. My dad muttered in the corner about how this was a waste of time, that his boy wasn't crazy.

It takes forty-five steps for me to get to my room from the kitchen. I've known that since I was 10; I would always count my steps when I got in trouble or when I was angry with Nala. Tonight I counted them two times over in my mind. One hundred steps.

I hadn’t been sleeping because of Ezekiel. I'd been dreaming about him every night. He wasn't always the center of the dream. Sometimes he just passed through. It was terrifying to see him every night. It was humiliating to see him at school knowing I’d dreamed about him. I couldn’t stop. Maybe I am crazy, I thought. Or gay.

“This is your brain,” the doctor said, holding up two brain scans, one of them being the one I'd had taken that morning. “This is the brain of someone with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The two are almost identical.

“As you can see from the PET scan, there are regions of high neural activity in and near your orbitofrontal cortex  and your caudate nucleus, which is a component of the basal ganglia located deep within the brain. This does not mean, Nathaniel, that you do have the disorder but in light of our other test we do recommend that you immediately begin seeing a psychologist for psychotherapy and return for more testing.”

He finished writing on his clipboard and looked up to see my reaction. I stared back at him angrily.

He left the office with my distraught parents to set up another appointment. They kept asking questions. I was left in the room with Nala, who was satisfied no doubt that her years of schooling were paying off. I narrowed my eyes at her, not because I was evaluating but because I was furious. I wanted to count. I wanted to calm down but I didn't count because counting steps to calm down is what crazy people with OCD do.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Nala said. I narrowed my eyes more. “Nathan, I love you but this isn't the end of the world. People work through things like this all the time.”

“You’re an idiot and I don't have OCD. People with OCD clean stuff and are afraid of germs and aren't missing their first basketball game of the season.”

“Different people have different symptoms.” Nala reached out her hand to touch me. I flinched when she did but I didn't turn away. She pulled me into a hug.

The doctor had four animal models in his office. He had 15 pencils in his pencil holder and four light fixtures. The bay window in his office opened up to reveal six other buildings. Then I could breathe again, so I hugged Nala back. Nathaniel, don't be nervous, is what she whispered to me or what I heard. I guess this means I'm crazy.

I did get to go to the game later, but I only watched from the bench. Ezekiel and Julian played almost the entire game. Surprisingly enough they played well together. Ezekiel was good with assists and Julian communicated with him easily. I wondered if they would have discovered how well they work together during practice if they hadn't been so concerned with being better than each other. Even though I didn't play, it was a sweet victory.

Word spread fast that I had OCD. I don't know how it got out.  Mostly life was the same. Some people's reactions were laughable, like when one of the players at the varsity table wiped my seat with a Clorox wipe before I sat down. He did it sincerely, not as a joke, but that only made it a little less embarrassing. Some were ignorant, like when one of the team members asked if I would still be able to play basketball now that I had OCD. I explained to him that I always had the disorder but had just now been diagnosed with it. He said, “Whatever gets me more play time.” And then I punched him in the mouth, but I didn't get suspended because now I'm certifiably insane.

Since then, I was allowed to leave class for five-minute increments when I felt “pressure,” whatever that meant. I don't want to say I'd been using my roaming privileges to skip class but…

I walked down the empty hall way from my math classroom. I passed my locker and then Ezekiel's and then Ezekiel. Ezekiel was one of the few people close to me who had been really cool with this whole thing but I never found comfort in that. In fact, I blame him for this whole thing in general. He was the one who had triggered this obsession in me. Today he was wearing his hair completely out for the first time. It wasn't as wild or beautiful as I had expected.

“What are you doing out of class?” I asked.

“I'm leaving early,” he answered without looking up from his locker. “Got a dentist appointment. Walk me out?” He picked up his backpack and started to walk, not waiting for my answer. I followed him in silence.

“You and Julian are pretty cool,” he said eventually. “Stay friends.”

“Yeah, he was pretty good about…everything.”  

“Yeah.” We reached the front of the school. It had started to snow outside. He opened one of the double doors. I stayed a few steps behind him because I'm not allowed to leave.

“Later, Nathaniel,” Ezekiel said.

“Deuces.”

The door swung shut and a gust of cold air brushed my nose and everything in the world smelled like winter.