Special little pill

I'm trembling in the car outside of the ER.

___I think I'm dying

___or maybe I'm losing control of my mind

___or perhaps it's a heart attack

_______cause I'm sort of at the age - I think.

I stare at the light, pale, circular pill in my shaking palm.

___All I need to do is swallow it...

___but my mouth is dry

___and my throat is tight

_______What if this doesn't work?

The bottled water that usually lives in my purse shakes in my other hand.

___There isn't much water left

___I close my eyes and swallow

___I look at the time: 1:17 am

______Hopefully, it works. I hope it works.

I listen to my breathing. Loud and wavering like crashing waves in a storm. I feel everything, and it's all bad.

___I look at the ER doors

___imagine rushing through them

___"There's something wrong," I'd say, weak words coming out in stutters.

______"What's exactly wrong?" The nurse would ask.

________"I-I don't know. Something's just wrong."

__________She remembers my name and tells me to sign papers.

____________Heart monitor. Blood pressure check. EKG. God. I don't have money for another CAT scan.

1:30 am

I feel it now - I think.

___A rational thought slithers through like oil between cracked earth.

___My eyes pause for a few seconds more between it's swallows of the whole world.

___The sounds of waves crashing slow and weaken, and I let myself, for a moment, feel the water creeping over the sand.

______I'm beginning to melt like one does once you lie down in a quiet room after a long, long day of too many words, too many feelings, and quite too many things.

1:35 am

It's a smooth transition, like a blanket warmed by a new body.

___The trembling is being caressed by light hands.

___The racing heart is listening to soft whispers.

___The broken mind is kissed sweetly.

_______I even yawn at one point.

1:46 am

I start the car.

___And tell myself to remember to put another water bottle in my purse.