Chapter 57

Theresa rushed in, hearing Jessica scream for her. She took one look at me and continued to the kitchen.

In no time I had a paper bag put up to my mouth. I tried to push it away from me.

"John," Theresa said in a stern, no nonsense way, "breathe into the bag."

In the state I was in, I did as I was told.

Everyone else outside rushed in as well. My mother and father first, followed by Jeanie and her husband. Tim was the last, taking off the meat so it wouldn't become burnt.

"Mom?" Jessica said wanting to know what was going on.

My breathing had slowed from the hyperventilating I had been doing, when Jessica first saw me. Hearing her question made emotions overflow, that I had no way to stop. I started to cry, uncontrollably.

My mother asked, "How did he fall? Must have been the corn," she said puzzled, "but that doesn't explain the wheelchair."

For some reason, that got through to me. I had to find out what she was talking about. Almost as quickly as my crying started, it stopped. I turned my head and looked.

The wheelchair was on its back, not far from where I had been sitting. I, though, was at least five feet away from the chair.

Jessica was on her knees. Her hands wiped my tears from my face. She looked at me with great concern.

"What happened?"

I just looked into her eyes, not knowing how to say it.

She then asked, "You were overwhelmed, weren't you?"

Almost imperceivably, I nodded.

"What was your..." she said and stopped, searching for the word, "trigger?"

I knew it was Ken that had given her that word. I didn't want to say it, for telling would make her feel awful. A lump in my throat formed, making almost any word not want to come out.

"Do you remember," my father said, "what the agent said at the base? You would feel things that you would need help with."

I did remember what he had said. I hadn't believed that something like that would happen to me, at the time. There was no armored car. No gunshots. My eyes scanned the 'crowd' that had gathered around me. Their faces showed nothing but concern and love. I wanted to start to cry again, but I forced it back this time.

I got out the word for what had caused all of this.

"Smoke."

Jessica's hands flew to her mouth and her eyes were wild. I could tell she knew what smoke I was talking about, and where; the closet in the burning house. She threw herself over me and wrapped her arms around me.

"It's ok, it's ok, it's ok," she kept on repeating.

My father and I had a good talk. Well, he talked most of the time, but you know what I mean. It wasn't the preaching of younger years. It was an understanding that I was an adult; and that I could, and would, make my own decisions.

He knew a lot more of the psychology of why a person behaves a certain way that I would probably ever know. It is what made him good in his field. Unexpected behavior was still somewhat of a mystery, and he knew he could never 'counsel' me anyway. Being family, I was too close.

My rational mind told me the smoke was from the grill. Somewhere inside of me, though, was a fear of what happened. The smoke took over every emotion I had. I never remembered moving from the wheelchair and don't even know how I got across the floor. It didn't matter, really. What was important was that I hadn't hurt myself in doing so. Believe me; Theresa went over me with a fine toothcomb, checking every possible place I could have caused some damage.

In the end, I said I would call the FBI office and ask for some help. I didn't like the thought of it. On the other hand, I didn't like what had just happened either. Being out of control was just too scary for me to want to do again, if I could avoid it.

I had upset our dinner's timing. We ended up eating, outside, in the darkening sky.

After dinner and the clean up, my parents left for the night. They would be spending the night in a motel, and would come over in the morning.

Jeannie and her husband left shortly after that. They, too, were spending the night in their motel.

Theresa said to her daughter, "Jessica, come on. Let's get John in bed."

Jessica's mouth twitched and Theresa shook her head. I tried to maintain, but it was hard. Tim had his mouth hanging open, not knowing what to say.

"That isn't what I meant, and you know it!" Theresa chastised Jessica, but with a smile, so she would know that she wasn't really angry. Then she went into nurse mode. "Do you remember how hard it was at the hospital, when I asked you to get him to a standing position? You couldn't do it. Now you're going to find out just how hard it is to move him now."

Theresa made Jessica do all the work. Tim stood off to the side. This wasn't his line of work and he wasn't about to stick his foot in it.

Moving me into the bedroom was fine, but I was facing the wrong direction. With my foot sticking out, I couldn't just be spun around. Jessica had to take me back out of the room, turn me around, and bring me back in.

Theresa just watched her daughter, as she tried to figure out a logical way of moving me from wheelchair to bed.

"Ok, I give up. How's it done?" Jessica asked.

I noticed Tim looking in at the doorway. He was smiling at the production. Theresa smiled and then explained the mechanics.

Jessica tried. She grunted. She tried again.

With a hurt look in her eyes she said." I can't do it."

"Now you can see why we need someone to help with John," Theresa answered.