Page 57 of Our Final Encore

I pinch the bridge of my nose and walk away, knowing this conversation won’t lead anywhere productive any time soon. I collapse onto my childhood bed, a twin sized mattress in a small, mostly empty room.

The only things on the walls are a few polaroids of Opal and I as kids, an old Rolling Stones poster, and a large map hung above the bed with thumbtacks. There’s tons of circles written on the map in Sharpie. At some point in high school I circled every city I wanted to visit one day, now I’ve visited almost all of them, played shows in at least half of them.

So why do I still feel so fucking empty?

THIRTY-SEVEN

Opal

My alarm blares, startling me from a dream that’s already fuzzy. The only remnants of it that I can remember are blurry images of a child. A little boy playing with a toy. A toy car? Or maybe it was a truck.Weird.

I’ve been having vivid dreams lately, probably on account of all the extra sleep I’ve been getting. Lately it feels like my exhaustion knows no bounds. The other day I literally dozed off at my desk at work for a second before Stephanie shook me awake, then she proceeded to ask if I was sick. She wasn’t thrilled when I told her I was just tired and didn’t know why.

Maybe it’s depression. That can cause excessive sleep, I know. It wouldn’t be the first time I dealt with a bad case of depression, but for some reason it feels different, more intense. Maybe my body is having withdrawals. It’s been a little over a month now since I was with Alex.

Despite how hard I’ve tried to push them away, memories of that night drift through my mind every single day. Once again my brain is consumed by him. I had finally begun to heal, it onlytook five damn years, and now I’m right back where I started, unable to forget the taste of his kiss or the sound of his voice.

I’m pathetic.

I sit up, my legs hanging off the edge of the bed. I feel a bit disoriented and sweaty for some reason. As I begin to stand up, a wave of nausea rolls through my stomach.

Knowing exactly what comes next, I sprint to the bathroom as quickly as I can, barely getting there in time to unload the contents of my stomach into the toilet.Fun.It must be my period, some months my body decides to surprise me with nausea instead of cramps.

When my short episode of vomiting is over I sit on the toilet, wiping the sweat from my brow. I guess work probably isn’t in the cards today. I yank my pajama shorts down along with my underwear, fully expecting to find a splotch of blood in them, but there isn’t any. Maybe it’s food poisoning? I begin to take inventory of everything I’ve eaten in the last day or two, but none of it stands out as being suspicious.

I waddle back to my bed, grabbing my phone off the dresser to tap out a text to Stephanie letting her know that I won’t be in today. My performance hasn’t been outstanding recently, between my extreme tiredness and constant daydreaming of Alex, I’m definitely a less than stellar employee as of late. It’s hard to care that much, though, I only make thirteen bucks an hour. It’s not enough money for me to force myself to go to work after puking my guts out.

After I send the text my phone vibrates in my hand, a notification with a pink flower icon next to it pops up at the top of my screen.

Reminder: Has your period started yet?

I tap on it, and five words appear in the middle of the screen.Period: ten days late.

Ten days.Ten days?

I don’t believe it, it couldn’t have been that long since my last one. I scroll down to look at last month’s calendar, counting each individual day, and sure enough the app has done its math correctly. I’m ten days late.

No. No, no, no, it isn’t possible. We used a condom. I’ve always made sure to use protection every time I’ve had sex.

This is a dream. Another one of the weirdly vivid dreams I’ve been having, that’s the only explanation. Or maybe I’m just late, it’s only ten days. Stress can make that happen, right?

My heart slams against my chest and my breathing becomes shallow. I toss my phone onto the other end of the bed and shut my eyes tightly as anxiety engulfs every part of my body.

Less than an hourlater I find myself walking the aisles of the local drug store. My hands shake as my feet slowly make their way to the “family planning” section.

I’m met with tall shelves filled with at least twenty distinct brands of pregnancy tests. Why are there so many? Is one going to give me a different answer than another?

Quickly calculating how much should be left in my bank account right now, I grab the cheapest one off the bottom shelf, it’s $2.99.

I grab a couple of other things from a different aisle. Some apricot scented body wash, lip balm, and a four pack of Reese’s peanut butter cups. I don’t really need any of those things, but walking up to the register at 7:45 AM with only a pregnancy test in hand feels extremely embarrassing for some reason.

I set my things on the counter in front of the cashier, a blonde woman with kind blue eyes and crow’s feet. She gives mea brief, sympathetic look as she slides the pregnancy test across the scanner.

After I pay, I rush home, my mind cloudy with questions and my stomach still a little queasy. Somehow most of the nausea went away after I threw up, though.

I tiptoe inside, making sure not to wake Mamaw. She’s peacefully sleeping on the couch, the sounds of her favorite true crime show coming from the tv.

I cannot believe I’m about to do this.

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