Rabbit Hole

This great pressure suddenly burst within her brow. Little fireworks going off on millisecond intervals and releasing their own colors into the sky of her mind; as if her forehead was kissed by an exposed lightbulb that had been left on for hours to sit and bathe in its heat. The intensity left her brain briefly incapacitated and unable to escape into a daydream.  Just as she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, the pain dulled into a low throb; like a sunburn that’s had two days to heal but has yet to peel.

“All done.”  The doctor dropped the swab into a vial and snapped a cap onto it, sealing the sample into a plastic bag. 

Beatrice pressed a tissue up to her nostril to collect a drip of snot. She didn’t know what to say or ask. There wasn’t much space for her in the pre-packaged conversation.

“Wait here, a nurse will be in to go over the next steps soon.” And the door shut, leaving Beatrice face-to-face with her test sample. 

Beatrice looped the elastic her cloth mask behind her ear and adjusted its position on her face. She couldn’t do much but she could do this; a small act of decency and compassion. She’d been doing everything right, grasping at security only to miss by a few centimeters. 

The bag laid on the exam table with an unnerving casualness. She shifted in the plastic chair, wondering why she had even sat there in the first place. The stiff plastic was numbing her butt. Maybe she could move to the exam table, it’s not like that wasn’t allowed. No one would yell at her if she was caught moving seats, this wasn’t elementary school. Still she stayed put; the nerves in her butt and lower back being put to sleep by the bumpy ridges on the chair’s seat.

Her phone vibrated, it was Clara with another round of “sorry” and “please don’t be mad”. Resentment stacked up neatly in Beatrice’s mind, a thick wall of stone between her and her roommate. 

The test continued to glare at her; the numbing had taken hold of her tailbone and was inching closer to her thighs. She was trapped in this box of a room, fluorescent lighting above her and graphics of the human anatomy plastered over the walls. The organs and muscles exposed on the posters were all similar shades of pink; bubblegum that had been stretched out and left in the rain for a while. 

Voices traveled on the other side of the door. Anxiety pounded on her chest. Ready for the handle to turn and the inner workings of the lock to click free and the conversations going on outside to come through for an instant and fill the room with some sound other than her breathing. Each time Beatrice thought the door would open, it didn’t.

Now the test was playing mind games with her. A headache throbbing right in the center of her forehead. Goosebumps cropped up on her arms and a chill raked through her. Angry moths flew in dizzying patterns in her stomach. Her muscles stiffened past repair. Every feeling that could be traced to a potential symptom became one; headache, goosebumps, upset stomach, and stiffness all received promotions in an instant. The test laughed at her unease.

A low buzz filled her skull, methodically closing in around her; she could feel it in the air. The room was undergoing a great shrinking act. Or maybe she was getting bigger. Beatrice sat up in the chair, trying to shake all of it out of her. Everything remained cramped. The pressure of her growing body made the cabinets bulge; the exam table which was once a few feet away now ate at her kneecaps.  And all the colors of the rooms seemed to swirl in this mess of pink and beige; and it was now her body turned inside out on display. 

She could see it clearly now with a birds eye view of her landscape. The intruder greedily broke down her defenses. Turning her into one of the numbers on the news. Catching the air right before she could take a breath. Laughing at her futile efforts: irritated hands doused in sanitizer, the rare outside and distanced and masked visits with only two of her closest friends, dodging strangers at the grocery store, phone calls with her parents constantly reminding her that she can’t control everything, and the countless boxes and condensed faces that were substituting what life used to be like on her laptop screen catching fire and burning holes in her eyes. 

The threat was finding joy in this dulling pulse that ran through her. She was consuming the room but dissolving inside. Arms crossed, her fingers curled into fists she drew softly at herself. 

Beatrice closed her eyes and tried to get a grip.

An icky coating of uncertainty covered her, seeping through her pores and poisoning her blood. It was sticky and left globs of itself on her phone and the chair. If a blacklight was shined over her, she’d be fluorescent with filth. Maybe it was grime from sitting in the waiting room or maybe the person who cleaned exam rooms between patients had half-assed this one. All she wanted was a shower, but a private piece of her knew that warm water and soap wouldn’t be able to rinse the sensation off. 

Ticking away in its bag, like a little bomb ready to be discovered; the test taunted her. Beatrice tried not to linger any further on the idea that it had already detonated inside of her.