Amish Jedi: In a City Far, Far Away

Episode 7.3 ~ Dementors

Jason leads us to the center of the dance floor where, surprisingly, the crowd is the least packed. He places one of my arms around his torso, scoops my other hand up in his, and then places his free hand on my waist. "Now close your eyes," he says in my ear his cheek pressed to the side of my face, "and imagine we're in an open ballroom with a band playing an instrumental in the corner."

Against my gut instinct, I close my eyes and picture myself back in Victorian England in a long gown being whisked around by an elegantly dressed gentleman. And then, Jason is guiding me in circles, humming a tune in my ear. If he weren't my enemy and if my heart didn't already belong to another—whether he wanted it or not—I might be inclined to fall in love.

Just then the song switches to a slow tune, most of the dance floor clears.

It must have been love,

But it's over now...

It must have been good,

But I lost it somehow...

It must have been love,

But it's over now...

From the moment we touched

Until the time had run out...

Jason loops my hands around his neck and places both of his around my waist. The words come crashing down on me like a wave of all the tears I've cried this past summer.

Yeah, it must have been love

But it's over now...

It was all that I wanted

Now I'm living without...

How can songs do this? Take a feeling, put it to words and chords, and infuse them into all who hear. Or perhaps, like Thestrals, songs only work on those who have experienced what the lyrics express. The deeper the experience, the stronger the effect. By the time the song changes, I am gripping onto Jason with my head pressed against his chest and black tears streaming down my eyes. A large, invisible hand squeezes my throat and chest like it's clasping a stress ball.

I release Jason, not looking him in the eye, and thumb over my shoulder. "Bathroom," I mumble and then turn.

Jason catches my hand and pulls me back. "Are you okay?"

"I have to pee!" I snap.

Jason sighs against my ear, but then guides me by the hand to the hall that leads to the bathrooms — I had been heading in the wrong direction — and releases me. "I'll wait here."

I nod and duck into the woman's restroom, which I realize instantly is a mistake.

The bathroom is nearly as packed as the dance hall, and there is only one small, rectangular window. My hands tremble. It's been hours since I popped that first pill, and I didn't bring any extras with me.

I take a deep breath, my second mistake. I choke on a cloud of smoke with a tinge of urine scent. The suffocating heat starts in my toes and begins its climb. The logical voice in my head tells me to go out and get Jason, he'll take care of me. But the ornery side says, We don't need him, suck it up and show him how strong you are. The ornery side is a bit intimidating, so I cower to her by ducking into a stall and placing a palm on each of the Formica walls. Pressing out against them, I feel a slight sense of control.

I can do this. The walls are not moving. The air smells horrible, but I can breathe.

Panic infuses my brain with images of more and more people entering the bathroom, pushing in the walls of the stall. Forcing my body to the ground where I will not be able to breathe.