The Goldfish in a Jar
swung my Disney Princess sneakers back and forth hard in Joanne’s waiting room. Blinkie, my stuffed lamb who goes everywhere with me, bounced violently on my lap.
My mom put a calming hand on my shoulder as she used the flashlight on her phone to look into my eyes.
“Are you having a focal seizure?” she asked me. “Do you need Valium?”
A horrifying mental image of my mom gloving up, yanking down my pants and underwear, and sticking a gel pill up my butt in the middle of the waiting room flashed through my head repeatedly, like someone had pressed the “replay button” on my brain’s TV.
“No just nervous, got a lot going on in my head,” I told her.
“I know,” she smiled at me sadly. “You’re always filled with anxiety. It must be like grand central station between those two curly red pigtails.”
“It is,” I told her, thinking about how she didn’t even know the half of it.