He is drowning. But he is not drowning in water or quicksand or any other tangible substance. He is drowning in his thoughts, which is the thick black tar the clings to his brain. It multiples quicker than cancer cells, toxifying the body, consuming itself. He can’t breathe under the crushing sludge of “you’re not good enough,” “you’re not doing enough,” “you are not enough.” It weighs him down, stitches his skin to his powder blue bed sheets. He is not going to get up today. It has been decided. If he were to get up now, he would surely ruin today with his presence.

Perhaps he was being overdramatic with a dash of self-obsession. Truth is, the world could care less about his inability to get out of bed. He can’t decide if that’s worse.

He turns to look at his phone for the eleventh time in his very short span of wakefulness. The time is different, but the reminder is still there: April’s Birthday Party. He tosses himself away from the phone and its mocking glow. April used to be his best friend until approximately two weeks ago, when he royally screwed up by trying to kiss her. He got rejected, of course. And if he had just left it at that, everything would have been fine. But everything is not fine because once again he had self-destructed, like he did anytime someone got too close to him. He’s tried unsuccessfully (and thankfully) to self-destruct their friendship before, and it never stuck. But this time, this time he knew exactly what to say after the kiss/rejection that would really feed her biggest insecurity, which was the fact that her mom left her when she was five years old.

He curls into himself. He feels like pond scum. Why did he say something so cruel? Why does he need to keep everyone away? Because he doesn’t deserve her? He never thought he deserved someone as fiery, determined, and passionate as April is. She firmly believes she can change the world and is stubborn enough to do it. He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He silently asks it to have mercy on him, but it stares back indifferently.

He doesn’t know how he got to her doorway, let alone how got out of bed. But he’s here, maybe because some sick part of him wants to heap on more punishment. Or maybe because the sane part of him is still trying to fight for a chance at redemption. Or maybe that’s the crazy part of him talking? He shakes his head. Best not to dwell on it, or his thoughts will drown him right there on her doorstep. He knocks timidly, part of him (maybe the sane part, maybe the crazy part) doesn’t actually want her to hear it. She does, of course, because April has the hearing of a moth. It’s a little-known fact that moths actually have better hearing than bats. He is full of useless facts like this. He also knows that on Groundhog Day back in the late 1800s people originally hunted and ate groundhogs. But that isn’t important at the very moment, when April opens the door and sees him cutting up space with his boney shoulders and his painfully awkward attempt at a friendly grin. “Happy Birthday, April.”

She crosses her arms in a cartoonish way and juts her hipbone out like a weapon. “I’m still mad at you.”

He looks at the ground and mumbles to it. “Oh, okay. Well, I just wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday.” Awkward pause. Awkward pause. “I’ll leave you alone forever now.” He starts to turn away. But she stops him with a hug.

“You know, I can be mad at you and still love you at the same time, you dork.”

He is not expecting this, and as a result he doesn’t return the hug right away. His hands are doing the equivalent of a car that doesn’t know whether or not to speed up or stop at a yellow light before it finally settles on a soft halt behind her shoulders. Before he can really enjoy the embrace, she steps away. “Besides, now you can spend all sorts of time making it up to me.”

He smiles for real this time. “Gladly,” he says, grateful that the sludge in his brain has not scared her away and all the more aware how close he was to losing her. He decides at that very moment that he is going to keep trying to swim instead of allowing himself to drown.