He sat. I stood behind him and took his earlobes between my thumbs and forefingers, then rubbed them gently.
“Uh…,” he said.
“It’s an ear massage. Excellent way to reduce stress and release endorphins. Just relax.”
He didn’t obey the command right away, given the tightness of his neck muscles. I stroked his earlobes, then pressed along the outer edge of his ears all the way to the top. I massaged the whorls and behind his ears along his skull. After a few minutes, the tension in his shoulders eased.
“That feels really good,” he remarked.
“You sound surprised.”
“Where’d you learn to do that?”
“There was a woman at Twelve Oaks who was into ear reflexology,” I explained.
Dean closed his eyes while I started the massage process again, rubbing his earlobes, the exterior, then moving to the back of his neck. I looked down at his hair and thought about pressing my lips to the top of his head.
I kneaded the muscles of his shoulders. Warmth flowed from his skin up the length of my arms.
“Ear reflexology is a whole practice,” I said in an attempt to redirect my thoughts. “Different points on the ears relate to different parts of the body, that kind of thing. I don’t know much about it, except that it feels good. Sometimes that’s enough.”
“Sometimes that’s everything.”
Crowds of people clad in red UW jackets and sweatshirts streamed toward the football stadium. A layer of clouds further darkened the evening sky, and a brisk chill swept across our faces as we walked alongside Dayton Street.
I nudged Dean’s arm. “You forgot your gloves.”
“It’s okay.”
I took my hand out of my pocket and wrapped it around his so his fingers wouldn’t get cold. He closed his hand around mine.
We followed the swarm of red toward the stadium, where a log-jam of people crowded one of the arched entrances. Dean paused to dig two tickets out of his pocket, then eased me ahead of him as we kept walking.
Voices and laughter rose like flocks of birds, a palpable excitement in the air. I circled around a group of college boys and joined the slow lines moving into the stadium.
I turned back to Dean, only to find a group of people had gotten between us. I knew he wasn’t far behind, so I stepped out of the line and craned my neck around to look for him. I took a few more steps away toward the stadium, and then I was between the wall and the crowd.
A sudden unease raced through me. I didn’t like the feeling of being trapped. I started to push back into the line, but two big, young men moved in front of me.
The backs of their red sweatshirts filled my vision. Their laughter rang in my ears. The smell of beer and brats assaulted my nose.
Panic hit hard and fast. I froze. My chest tightened, and my heartbeat raced. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I tried to draw in a breath, but the air was stale and hot from all the bodies, and it stuck in my throat like a stone.
The boys were turned away from me, oblivious to my presence, their voices eager as they discussed the upcoming game. Black spots swam in my vision. My skin prickled with cold. Part of me knew what I needed to do to calm down, but I couldn’t do it.
Fear paralyzed my brain. The crowd surged. The bigger guy bumped against me. My stomach roiled with nausea.
“Liv, sorry, I thought you…” Dean pushed past the frat boys. “Liv?” He stopped and grabbed my arm. “What’s wrong?”
I was shaking too hard to respond. He pulled me away from the wall, away from the boys. I stumbled. My legs weakened as dizziness swamped me.
Dean slid his hand beneath my elbow and guided me to a bench, the crowd still swarming in a sea of red.
“P-panic attack,” I whispered. “Need… need to… b-breathe…”
A woman’s voice penetrated the ringing in my ears. I forced air into my lungs and looked up, her face a blur, her words sounding very far away.
“… all right… need help… ?”
I clenched my fingers around Dean’s arm and shook my head. He settled his other hand on my back as he declined the woman’s offer of assistance. She moved away. I pulled in another breath. My chest ached.
“Liv, look at me.” His voice was calm, steady.
I tried, wanting to anchor myself, but I couldn’t focus on his face, couldn’t suppress the urge to run. I lowered my head. The world spun. I tightened my fingers on Dean’s arm, overwhelmed by the horrible feeling that I was about to lose my grip on reality.
“Talk… talk to me,” I gasped. “C-count.”
“Take a deep breath in. Nice and slow.” He sat beside me on the bench. He pulled my scarf away from my throat, the rush of air a welcome relief on my hot skin. “One. Two. Three.”
I managed to pull a breath into my lungs. A new, different fear arose that Dean’s proximity would intensify my panic, but instead the pressure of his hand and the rumble of his voice loosened the constriction in my chest.