black one—Nisha had put it on him when she had picked him up this morning.
The black tie was a protest against the shooting. A statement of support for Abdul. Both he and Rico were wearing black bands around their arms. The sea of people filling the stadium were wearing black bands. Yash pulled off his tie. The breath in his lungs had grown thick and hot, fire trapped inside him building into a backdraft. He wiped his face against his sleeve. It came away damp. He was covered in sweat.
Someone called his name. It had to be Rico. But his vision wasn’t doing what vision was supposed to do.
“I can’t breathe.” That’s what he tried to say, but it wouldn’t come out. Or it probably did, because suddenly there were several people in the room. Nisha, Ashna, his mother. Naturally, everyone had insisted on being here for his first event after the shooting.
Finally Trisha hurried in. They were all dissolving around the place like an oil painting left out in a heat wave. Someone pushed him into a chair and shoved a paper bag in his face.
Great, he was hyperventilating into a paper bag. Like a nervous boy. Something sharply cold hit the back of his neck, jolting him. Someone was pressing ice against his neck.
“Yash, beta? It’s okay. We’re here.” Words his mother had always said to him anytime he needed support. Even if it was just her, she always said, “We’re here,” her attempt at reinforcing the support she was providing by multiplying it.
“What happened?” he asked, when he could finally speak. What the hell had that been? “Did I have a heart attack? Did the bullet move something that damaged my heart?”
“Your heart is fine,” Trisha said, “but we should get an EKG to make sure.” She was squatting in front of him and asked him to walk her through what he’d experienced.
He told her how it had felt like leaving his body or maybe like having his body leave him.
“I suspect you had a panic attack,” she said, pulling his eyelids apart and staring into his eyes.
Ashna was squatting next to Trisha, worry pinching her forehead. “That’s what it looked like. I had them for years.” She took his hand and stroked it. “You’re going to be okay. It just doesn’t feel that way right now.”
Damn straight. “I feel fine now,” he said, lying. Nothing felt fine. He couldn’t seem to remember what the hell fine felt like.
“Are you sure?” Nisha asked, far too gently. “Do you think you can go onstage? Those people have been waiting for hours to hear you speak.”
And there it was again. His heart started to thud in his chest cavity like a stampede of rogue elephants. His mouth felt like he had gulped down his tongue and left behind a vacuum he couldn’t swallow around. It wasn’t exactly emotions, but at least it was something.
“He can’t. We’re going to have to cancel,” Trisha said, staring into his eyes again.
“I’ll go speak to them,” Rico said, giving Yash’s good arm another squeeze. “You’re going to be okay, mate.”
“What will you tell them?” Yash asked.
Nisha’s phone beeped and she looked at it. “I think we have something we can give them. Abdul’s blood pressure is falling. It’s not looking good. We should head to the hospital.”
HAVING YOUR FAMILY talk about you like you weren’t in the room was never fun.
“My son have a panic attack? How is that even possible?” their father asked Trisha.
Why don’t you tell me how it’s possible, Dr. Raje? Yash wanted to say, but evidently His Royal Highness Shree Hari Raje, the patriarch, had completely taken over Dr. Shree Raje, the physician.
“He’s obviously in shock from the shooting, which isn’t surprising. He needs help.” Trisha tried to sound patient. Yash knew what she really wanted to do was tell Dad to stop being pushy. But no one spoke to their father that way.
“He’s leading in the polls. This is the miracle we’ve been waiting for,” HRH said as though it weren’t the single most abhorrent thing to say in this circumstance.
They were all gathered in Trisha’s office because there were too many of them to wait outside intensive care, where Abdul was struggling for his life.
If one more person said anything about the polls right now Yash was going to—ah, forget it, he did scream. For the first time in his life he raised his voice while speaking to his parents. “He might die!”
Yelling in a hospital, even