True Story...

"Hey-oh, everybody ready?" my dad yells from downstairs. I quickly lace up my shoes and run downstairs. I'm almost out the door when I realize I've forgotten something. I walk back over to the kitchen counter and stare at the orange bottle. I don't need them. I don't have to rely on them to be normal. I can do this. I turn around and walk back to the door. As I put my hand on the doorknob, I change my mind. I go back into the kitchen and grab the bottle. Just in case.

I open the car door and sit in the backseat. My dad starts driving and once we get out of the neighborhood, my mind starts racing. What if I have an attack and there's no where I can go? What if I can't get out of the situation? What if- Stop. You're going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine. You haven't seen your sister in a long time. Everyone is excited. Oh my god, everyone is excited. What if I have an attack and we have to go home and I ruin everyone's trip? 

My stomach lurches and I feel light headed. "Stop. I need to puke. Stop. Pull over." My dad pulls off the road, onto the side of the highway. I open the door and fall onto my hands and knees. 

"That's a record for car sickness. Even for you," I hear my dad say. I don't look back, my eyes are focused on the ground and I can't move but I can feel both their eyes on me- worrying. Worrying that I'll ruin their trip, that they won't be able to see their other daughter. My breathing quickens and I fall even closer to the ground. I feel acid rise into my throat. 

The radio. I focus on the song that is playing on the radio. I know it: Dog Days by Florence and the Machine. Dog days are over. Dog days are done. 

I stand back up and sit in my seat again. I take three deep breaths and close the car door. My dad starts driving again and asks if I need motion sickness medicine. 

"It's not motion sickness."

"Because I have some dramamine some-"

"It's not motion sickness!" I yell. His eyes move to the rear view mirror to look at me. I glance down at my satchel and open it. The orange pill bottle stares back at me. Wimp. You said you wouldn't take them. That you wouldn't need them. 

Shut up. I'm not weak. I tell myself as I put one on my tongue and swallow it. I'm not weak.

I'm fine for the next twenty minutes and then I feel it. It starts with my fingers and then the tingling extends to my arms. I start shaking and I tell my dad to pull over again. He takes the exit ramp and we stop at a fast food restaurant. I get out of the car and head start walking. I don't know where yet, I just walk. There are two delivery trucks parked on the side of the restaurant and I go behind them. My mom follows me but I don't look at her. I pace back and forth, back and forth and try to control my breathing. My heart feels like it is going to rip out of my chest. I wouldn't be surprised if it did. 

My eyes sting and my throat tenses. Tears start rolling down my cheeks. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. One-in-two-out-one-in-two-out-one-in-two-out. I start to feel a little better and head back to the car. I look at the clock on the dashboard and see it says 11:30. I've been pacing and crying for half an hour in the parking lot of a Bojangles'. 

I reach for the car door handle and it hits again. I retch and run to the grass. 

"Why! Why do this happen to me! I don't understand! I don't understand!" My dad grabs me and holds me to his chest. I cry and cry and cry and cry, hysterical. I sob into his shoulder until his grey shirt sleeve turns black with my wet tears. I calm down after about twenty minutes. 

"I'm going to do it. I want to try again." My mom nods in my direction and gives me an encouraging smile. I get back into the car and try to distract myself with YouTube videos, even though I know I'm going to have to pay overages on cellular data at the end of the month. I manage to stay in a mood of not-so-much-panic for the duration of the car ride. 

"I'm proud of you," my dad says when we get out of the car. 

"Thanshks. Kehn wee gow too dat reshtowurant," I slur. I guess the Xanax finally kicked in.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This is brilliantly written, as is everything you do! I remember all the times I tried to overcome depression using mind-over-matter, instead of medication. You've done a great job of putting the reader into the shoes of any person with some mood-altering psychological issue. It feels very real & relatable, even if this hasn't been part of the reader's experience. Also, I love the way there's this underlying theme of not wanting to be a bother to the family or not taking away from their visit to the sister -- so well detailed, all the ways we try to control the uncontrollable & struggle with the remedy. The ending is especially strong.

[Quinn W]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you could relate (but also not in way if you know what I mean). Not wanting to bother my parents or the ones around me is definitely something I'm working on because sometimes it is okay to be selfish, I've learned, if you really need it.

[Norbanus]

You've done an excellent job of leading the reader into the story with the question, 'What the heck in is the bottle?'

That question kept me on track all the way through.

At the end, you fulfilled your author's obligation to answer it.

Nicely done, for a short story. There's probably enough tale her to expand into a book.