Driving Me Mad (17 page)

The one instance when the
crowd seems to converge, Trace wraps an arm around my shoulders and
tugs me into his side. I’ve never been more grateful for someone
who gets me and knows me as well as he does. The sight of nachos
and cheese with what looks like BBQ on top makes me pull him to the
side.

“Did you see that?” I
ask.

“See what?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re how
tall and you missed those BBQ nachos? We need to find those. I want
to try it.” My stomach growls as I realize we haven’t had dinner
yet.

“All right. Let’s go find
them.”

I swear we walk half the
arena before we find them. Sure enough, you can buy a plate of
nachos and cheese with chunks of BBQ on top. There’s even an option
to add coleslaw, but I’m not so sure about that. Trace buys us a
plate, plus two drinks, and we make sure to add some of the vinegar
mixture. Then, we finally head to our seats.

“Who gives up tickets like
this?” I ask as we settle in. We’re in the lower bowl, about midway
up behind one of the nets where a goalie will be. I’m assuming
these are good tickets.

“A man with a sick wife.”

“It’s kinda cold in
here.”

Trace nods toward the ice.
“Well yeah.”

“Shut up,” I laugh.

We finally try the nachos and
I think it may just be the best thing ever created. Whoever thought
to combine the two is a genius. Luckily, I’m holding the plate, so
I get to hog the food. Suddenly, players take the ice and people
cheer. I flick my gaze to the jumbotron and my jaw drops as I see
all the handsome faces.

“Damn,” I mutter.

“What?” Trace asks.

“I need to be a hockey fan.
Look at those guys.” I point to two who are among the few not
wearing helmets. Both are hot as hell. Ramsey and Polinski. I need
to remember those names, I think. You know, maybe there are
shirtless photos online somewhere.

Trace shakes his head with a
small smile and steals what’s left of the nachos from me. I try to
keep track of all the players, but it’s hard as they go about their
warm-ups. A couple sits down next to me. The man looks at both of
us and asks, “First game?”

“Yeah,” Trace answers. “What
gave us away?”

“No shirts, jerseys, or team
colors. We’ve been coming for years and can always spot the
newbies,” his wife responds.

We make small chit-chat and
soon, the game starts. I’m lost about fifteen seconds in. These
guys can
fly
. Who knew you could move that fast on skates? I
try to keep up with where the puck is, but it’s not always easy.
The man next to me volunteers himself as our hockey instructor,
explaining everything that’s happening.

I tune him out, but Trace
seems to be listening. Considering I can’t seem to follow along, I
don’t know if this is fun or not. Definitely interesting. Even more
so when a pair of players starts fighting. It’s like a brawl and
apparently, it’s a normal occurrence. Their punishment is simply
sitting in a penalty box. Maybe if I could find my inner sports fan
who watches only for the hotties on skates as foundation, I could
see myself watching on occasion, or coming to a game here and
there.

After the second
intermission, though, I start getting tired and fidgety. It has
been nice to get away and do something new, but thoughts of the
homework I planned to do tonight, of being around so many people,
and traveling is wearing on me. I rest my head on Trace’s shoulder
as the last period starts.

“Okay, Britt?”

“Yeah.”

“We can head home early if
you want.”

“No, that’s okay.” I
am
enjoying myself for the most part.

He lowers his voice and says,
“Still hot and bothered by the players?”

I laugh. “No. Turns out, I
like my men with zero athletic ability.”

He chuckles and kisses the
top of my head. “Men?”

“Man,” I correct myself.

“That’s better.”

“Trace?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we came and got
away for a bit.”

“Me too.” He squeezes my hand
and I feel just a little better. Sometimes, often, we have to force
ourselves to either do the normal day-to-day things or to do
something we don’t particularly want to do, but know it’ll be
helpful. This is one of those things. Feel like it or not, just
have to do it. Because, as I predicted, my feel-good moment
leaves.

It’s such a long trip home.
I’m reminded of why I like it better when my parents come to me.
Plus, I had to get up early to leave because I have an appointment
with Dr. Gunner at one o’clock and my parents want time with me
before then. Trace asked me yesterday if I had given more thought
to a possible med change, and I told him I still wasn’t sure. I
plan to ask my parents for their opinion over lunch.

Thankfully, my parents are
fixing a simple lunch at home. That’s about all I can handle at
this point. Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, laughing as they
prepare our meal, when I arrive.

“Knock, knock,” I say as I
walk into the room.

Dad is the first to reach me.
He pulls me into a tight hug and I breathe in the comforting scent
of his aftershave. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“How was the drive?” Mom asks
when she takes her turn to hug me.

“Frustrating. I got caught in
some rush hour traffic and had to deal with stupid drivers the
entire time.”

“Well, have a seat and relax.
We fixed chicken Caesar salad.” I take a seat while Mom brings over
the food and Dad brings the dishes. “How have you been doing,
Brittany?”

I shrug. “There are good days
and bad days. Can I ask your opinion on something?”

“Of course,” Dad answers.

“I’ve been wondering if maybe
I should ask Dr. Gunner about a med change. I haven’t been able to
tell a difference since he increased my dosage. I’m just worried
that if he does think it’s a good idea that I’ll have a load of bad
experiences again just when I’m trying to get through my last
semester.”

“How bad and how often are
the bad days?” Dad asks.

“Almost every day and,” I
pause, wondering if I want to confess, then deciding to, “bad
enough that I missed a day of school this week. It only happened
once, though.”

Mom and Dad glance at one
another. It has always amazed me how they can communicate without
speaking. Mom is the one who speaks. “I think it’s worth asking Dr.
Gunner’s opinion. Do you still want me to go with you?”

“Yeah.” Call me a baby, but
if Mom can and offers to go with me to a potentially stressful
doctor’s appointment, I don’t mind one bit.

They begin to fill me in on
what’s going on around here while we eat. I tell them more about
school, and soon, it’s time to leave for my appointment. Mom
drives, and I take the chance to text Trace.

Me:
Got here
safely. On the way to appt.

Trace:
Good to
hear. Let me know how it goes.

Mom must be able to sense my
anxiety because she doesn’t talk to me. That has always been her
way of giving me space and allowing me to handle it myself. I feel
like she thinks she’ll make it worse if she does anything else.
Thankfully, Dr. Gunner has a short wait period once you arrive for
the appointment, so I don’t have to deal with that. A nurse leads
us to the back to take my weight. Trace will be happy to hear I’ve
gained weight since the last time I was here. My blood pressure is
a little high and my temperature is normal.

Dr. Gunner stands with a
smile when we enter the room. He’s probably in his early thirties,
like Trace, and I like him a lot. He’s compassionate and obviously
cares for his patients. I don’t know of many doctors who will take
phone appointments or use their break to talk to me on the phone at
an unscheduled time.

We shake his hand and take a
seat.

“How was the drive?” he
asks.

“Stressful, but it’s good to
be home.”

“Good. How’s school? What are
your plans after graduation? I mean, do you plan to move back
home?”

“School is okay. My grades
are a little better, but it’s been a struggle. My roommate and I
are planning to get an apartment together after graduation, so I’ll
be staying there.”

“Great.” He pulls my file in
front of him, but he doesn’t glance at it. He doesn’t have to.
“You’re seeing a counselor on campus, too, right?”

Mom glances at me. I may have
left this out. “Yeah.”

“That’s good, but I would
like to recommend you to someone off campus. Only because this is
your last semester and if you need to continue seeing someone once
you graduate, you’ll already be set. Does that sound good?” I nod.
“Okay, so, we increased your meds two weeks ago now. Have you been
able to tell a difference? How are the sleeping pills working?”

I grab my wrist for comfort.
“No difference at all. The sleeping pills sometimes work well, and
sometimes, they don’t work at all. It’s like hit and miss.”

Dr. Gunner takes a deep
breath, and a bad feeling twists my guts. “I had a feeling you
weren’t bringing me good news,” he begins. “And I don’t think
you’re going to like my suggestion either.”

“You want to change my meds,
don’t you?” I ask, and he nods. “We were actually going to ask you
about that.”

He laughs. “I’m glad I won’t
have to convince you, then. Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to
leave the sleeping pills the same. I don’t want to mess with those
just yet. We’ll try you on this new medication. If you feel any
negative effects within the first week, call me. I don’t want you
to suffer for two weeks just to have it regulated. Otherwise, we’ll
check in in two weeks.”

“What are you putting her
on?” Mom asks.

I zone out in a slightly
panicked haze as he explains the medication in detail. This is
happening. Please, please, please let this medication work like it
should with zero side effects. Once he’s done explaining, he walks
us out front where I schedule a phone appointment in two weeks. On
the ride back home, I text Trace the details. He doesn’t respond,
so I assume he’s busy at work.

“I’m going to take a little
nap,” I tell Mom as we walk up the sidewalk to the house. “Can you
update Dad?”

“Of course. I’ll wake you in
an hour. We planned to have a quiet weekend here.”

I smile. “That sounds
perfect. Thanks for going with me.”

“You’re welcome.”

I leave her for my old
bedroom. My parents have left it alone. I’ve updated it here and
there when I come home from college to visit. They wanted to leave
it untouched to emphasize that I always have a place here. All of
their plans to turn it into a small workout room or an office or a
man cave for Dad never came about. Maybe they would have if it
wasn’t for my issues. It was after I was diagnosed that they
stopped mentioning it at all. This is their way of providing me
even more stability and giving me a safe place to go if I need it.
My parents are amazing. One day, I hope to show them how much I
appreciate all they’ve done for me.

That’s the last thought I
have as I lie down for a nap.

Mom woke me up in an hour as
she promised. Trace still hasn’t texted me back, but I don’t worry
about it. I join my parents in the living room.

“I picked up your
prescription,” Dad tells me.

“Thanks.”

A quiet day is exactly what
we have. We watch TV until Mom drags us into the kitchen to begin
making dinner. My parents love to cook. I have countless memories
of us cooking most of our meals together. Maybe that can be
something I continue once I have my own family. My phone buzzes on
the counter, and I quickly pick it up.

Trace:
I’ve heard
good things about that one, so maybe it’ll work out for you. Enjoy
your weekend away, Britt. Text me if you need me.