The Quiet Hours

Two little pills, smaller than my pinky nail. Mint green, calm and strong. It took thirty minutes to swallow one. Then another. Then to move my feet, not quite trusting them to hold my weight. I'd thrown the world into chaos, my own kingdom left without a competent queen for the next 4 hours. The car door felt as it always does, smooth navy flecked with just enough shine to blind me in the summer, and always a few specks of dirt sticking out like barnacles to roughen my fingers. Sitting down was a bit heavier, though. So was living. As the first puff of warm air from the vent hit my face, I startled at the feeling. I half expected to be numb already.

We drove onto the freeway. I glanced at the other side to see what the traffic would be like coming back, whether today was a day where it'd flow freely or if trucks making their way to the city clogged up the lanes. It was free, and in nice weather too. All things pointed towards greatness as the window stayed crisp and clear. Maybe everything would be fine, it certainly seemed like everything else in nature was beaming. The sky was clear- and so was my vision. We were getting off the freeway. Less than 10 minutes from the dentist's office and I still felt everything. The edge of a napkin under my thigh, the prickle of the seatbelt as it dug into my bra strap. Why wasn't I numb? Why wasn't I seeing double already, talking about dolphins or grapes or whatever people do when they're loopy and getting wisdom teeth removed? The bottle of those little green meds was clenched in my hand and I fidgeted with the child-proof cap. Only four pills in the whole bottle, and two should have been enough to make me forget this whole day. What if it wasn't enough? What if they just started and I wasn't numb or anything? Could I even speak up for myself at that point? What if it is enough, only the car ride wasn't long enough and they give me more, only to realize too late that I'm overdosing? The view outside blurred, but because of tears, not any synthetic fuzz. My heart was never so loud.

Two little green pills. They were supposed to make me calm, but it was all I could do not to dissolve into a full blown panic attack. My mom was frustratingly calm, perhaps for my sake, and it felt like she was ignoring me as my castle crashed down, trying to close the portcullis against some invader that had already sent a cannonball through the east wall. Whatever happened would happen, and the king was as good as dead. The enemy was already there, at the gate, going in, sitting down to tea with his wife and children.

We parked. I stepped out of the car. Went inside. They crushed another pill, placed it under my tongue. And my kingdom fell into the hands of another. I don't remember the car ride home. They kept good on that promise. But no one seems to care about the fear you feel before it happens because it's over, right? And that's good? That's all you need? It all goes numb afterwards, a big ball of yarn sitting unravelled. Until you get there, though, it's pain and worry, even as the world around you seems fine.