The Jabberwock

JabberWrites Fiction Winner

I purse my lips as I look down at the small red and white cylinder in my palm. I shift my gaze to the box it came from, scanning the red letters scattered across the packaging for the millionth time. I can’t even remember how I came across their product. All I remember is being in my therapist’s office and wrapping up our session when she offered to fill out a referral for a brand new prescription that had just been approved. Next thing I knew, I was standing in line at the local pharmacy, counting my fingers anxiously to keep from backing out at the last minute. 

The concept immediately grabbed my attention. I take the pill and within 24 hours, all of the hurt would wash away. I’d be left with only the good moments in my life. The side effects weren’t nearly as dangerous as I’d expect, with migraines and nausea seemingly being the worst thing that could come from the medication. It was a one time thing. I wouldn’t need to continuously take a pill for the rest of my life to keep the memories from slowly resurfacing. There was even an alternative prescription that would undo the effects of the original medication. The therapist said she was recommending this to me because of all the pain I’d expressed in our recent weekly appointments. She claimed, nearly promised, that this was the thing I needed. Who was I to disagree?

Still, I can’t help but hesitate. I set the pill down on the coffee table and lean back into the couch. I look around the living room, my heart pounding against my chest. I have no idea what to do. This shouldn’t be so difficult, I think as I let my face fall into my hands. It wasn’t as if I’d seen a sketchy commercial on the television and ran to the nearest hospital demanding a dosage. This was safe. This was recommended to me by a professional. A professional who I’ve been seeing for years and knew the weight I’ve been carrying on my shoulders. 

The medication was offering me the peace of mind I’ve been begging for since I can remember. These past few months have been the most painful of my life. I’ve been hurting more than I ever could have imagined. Now I’m being offered a solution, a simple solution that only requires taking a minuscule pill, and I can’t even bring it to my lips without shaking. 

I stand from my seat and walk into my room. All the lights are turned off and the shade on my window is pulled down, blocking out any sunlight. I’ve been living in darkness, literally and figuratively. I look to my bed. It’s perfectly made, matching the cleanliness of the space around it. I haven’t been able to spend more than five minutes in my room for weeks, leaving my bed unslept. I spend every night on the couch and I can feel the damage it’s causing my back already. 

I trudge through the room, feeling my eyes beginning to water and my nose begin to burn. I make it to the space between my bed and my window and touch my fingertips to the wall. The light blue paint is nearly completely covered by photographs taped from the ceiling to the tip of my bedside table. I trace the edges of each print slowly as if I’m scared my touch would cause the photos to disintegrate. It’s strange. I’m in most of the photos, and I remember taking the ones without me in them, but they feel so unfamiliar; so disconnected to the life I’ve been living. 

A specific scene catches my eye as I feel a tear trickle down my cheek. It features my best friends and I seated on a couch, the same couch I’d been rotting on for weeks, with my arms impossibly wrapped around their bodies while wearing the widest smile I’ve ever given. 

“Thank you for this, seriously,” I grinned, looking at the girl in front of me, so sure that she was one of my favorite people on this Earth. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Camilla scoffed, her dark brown hair lazily falling over her face as she shook her head. “Well duh, of course you didn’t. You were too busy stuffing your face into your pillow. I had to rip it away from you to get you to even look at me.” She joked, squeezing my hand gently. 

She wasn’t wrong. I spent all of last night crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe. Camilla rushed over to my house as soon as she’d read the cry for help I’d sent to her. I was so hurt I couldn’t imagine ever being happy again. Sure enough, 24 hours later, I was laughing along with my closest friends. 

They had that power over me. The kind that I always forgot they had until I was at my lowest moment and they always found a way to pull me out when I’d already accepted that I would be there forever. 

Camilla smiled, tilting her head as she looked at me. “But really, that’s what I’m here for. That’s what we’re all here for.” She lifted her arm and gestured to the people around us. It was a small group, only two other girls scattered around the room, taking photos on my camera and belting the words to music playing from the speakers. “There’s gonna be bad moments. That’s part of life. Good moments wouldn’t be so precious if there weren’t a few bad days sprinkled in between,

“But you’re here now. You’re okay and you’re going to be okay, even with the bad parts.”

I opened my mouth to thank her, but before the words left my lips, Emmy and Lien appeared in front of us, their uncontrollable laughs filling up the room. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about, but whatever it is, pause it.” Nova demanded as she ran over to the coffee table and began to stack up random items. 

“We have to take a picture to commemorate your new and improved mood.” Emmy exclaimed, waving the camera in Camilla and I’s faces. 

Nova turned her head around and laughed. “Commemorate? You’re such a nerd.”

Emmy rolled her eyes as she walked over to Nova, brushing past her and setting the camera down on the tower of miscellaneous objects she’d made. “Whatever! Just get on the couch. I turned the timer on, we only have three seconds!”

We screamed wildly as we scurried into our places, hurrying to beat the timer on the camera before the photo was taken. 

“3, 2, 1!”

I smile at the memory, raising my hand to wipe the tears from my face. “What am I doing?” I ask out loud, unsure of who I’m speaking to or even the answer. Without a second thought, I reach over to my window and pull up the shade, a sudden flash of sunlight throwing itself into the room. It feels as though I’m looking at an entirely different place. 

I rush out of the room, not out of fear, but out of excitement. I make my way to the living room and spot the pill sitting on the table expectantly. I pick it up and calmly place it back into the packaging before throwing it into the small trash bin in the corner of the room. 

It’s true. I haven’t been in a great place, and the easiest option would be to erase all of the things hurting me and just start over with only the good things in mind. But in reality, the good moments were special because of the bad moments. They taught me how much the good parts mattered; they made them beautiful. 

Yes, I’ve been hurting, but it’s always temporary, and it’s always replaced with happiness and joy that I can only genuinely feel because of the pain I was in before they came to me.

 I didn’t need to erase all of the low points and hurtful memories that were circling my mind. I just needed to make new, good ones;, and that’s something that absolutely no pill could give me.