Ginger Ale

Chapter 7: Antonio

I have to remind myself that I've survived worse things than this. Much, much worse. Hell, I got bitten by a dog after I broke my arm from crashing a bike into an electric pole. And I survived that. But the pain I'm feeling now is different, it hits me in all directions. If I can crawl into a hermit shell and never reemerge, I would.

"How'd you like your eggs?" Ramona asks the both of us. Trisha sits beside me on the kitchen table. We're both sipping a concoction of lemon, honey, and cinnamon that Ramona whipped up. A fruit basket with a single banana sits in front of us.

"Sunny side up for me."

"Me too, thanks." I shock myself with how hoarse my voice sounds. How in the world did it end up like this?

Ramona laughs when he hears me. She cracks open three eggs into the frying pan. "Better double down on that tea, mister."

I do as I'm told. I turn to Trisha. "Thanks again for letting me sleep in your place."

"No problem, love," she replies. "You're welcome anytime."

Ramona scoffs. "Yeah right. But when I ask to come over, you always say no."

"That's because you're a slob and stay for days on end," Trisha says, acting annoyed.

"What? Is it bad that I want to play house and spend quality time with my girlfriend?"

Ramona looks over at our table, trying to pull off puppy eyes. It's only half effective.

"Whatever," says Trisha, a big grin forming on her face.

Ramona brings to the table three bowls filled to the brim with kimchi fried rice. Delicately placed on top is our runny egg and thick cuts of Spam. Ramona does a grand bowing gesture before she plops down on the empty chair. Bon appetit.

"How'd you feel now?" Trisha asks me, in between bites.

"Much better, thanks. Karaoke last night helped out a lot."

Oh, right. Karaoke. That's why my throat feels so sore. I vaguely remember shouting out the lyrics to Livin' on a Prayer by Bon Jovi. Thank God for friends.

I remember I had just got out of my six-hour Bio 102.1 lab class, and I felt so frustrated in myself. Defeated. And these emotions came so out of the blue. We had just finished our introductions and class orientation, and we immediately started with the first exercise. Dissection of a lizard. Everything was going so well, but the moment I wore the mask and nitrile gloves and I had the scalpel in my hand, it all just hit me. I don't know what I'm doing here, or why I'm here. I don't want to be here. Never have. I spaced out. I don't remember much more after that.

The exercise must have went smoothly, with no casualty, because the next thing I remember is being on my way to Town Center. I walked slowly, silently, just trying to keep all my pent-up frustrations inside me. I ordered mindlessly from the menu at the Coffee Bean, and on my way to my table, I felt the early marks of a panic attack. My heart was racing, I got cold chills, I felt like I wanted to puke out my guts. It took up all of my focus and willpower to get my chai latte safely to the table.

I thought, Oh God, I'm having a panic attack at a Coffee Bean. Of all places, my body chose to shut down at a Coffee Bean. Through trembling hands, I managed to call Ramona's number. She found me 10 minutes later. Tears welled in my eyes when I saw her come through the door. And when I had my head perched on her shoulder, I let it all out. How I feel so stupid every time I step inside the Institute, how I'm letting everyone down, how I feel stuck and helpless in this program, how disappointed my parents must be with me, and how hard a fact that is to swallow. And most of all, how embarrassing it is to be crying my eyes out at a Coffee Bean, jazz music playing in the background. Ramona never interrupted my ramblings. Instead, she just rubbed my back in calming, circular motions and sussurated into my ears.