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This comic was my inspiration for the following short story.
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“I’ll take a mocha frappuccino please, and
that’s all.”
The cashier
pokes a button on the black cash register. It dings and the amount shows on the
screen in glowing numbers.
“That will be $3.50, please.”
I hand him my
card and look around the coffee shop. Most of the tables and couches are full,
with the exception of the in the middle. College students pound furiously on
the keys of their laptops. A young couple is cuddled up on the love seat,
whispering and sipping their drinks. Near the windows, an elderly man sits in a
rocking chair. The smell of fresh ground coffee fills the store and I inhale
deeply, enjoying the aroma. The cashier slides my card towards me. Smiling, I
take it and move to the other end of the counter. A cheerful young barista places
my coffee in front of me.
“Thank you and have a lovely day!”
I nod in
reply and grab the cold drink. Readjusting my purse strap, I amble towards the
tables and sit down at the only open one—one in the middle of the room. I pull
out the chair and it squeaks against the floor. I am barely in my seat before
the one across from me is pulled out, sat in and pushed back in.
“Hi!”
Setting my
coffee on the table, I pull my chair in and look at the hyper friend sitting
across from me. Where did she come from? She holds a coffee in her
hands as well. A white label peeks out from under her fingers and I just make
out the word ‘espresso’ before she raises it to her lips and takes a drink. Wonderful.
“Are you sure you should be drinking that?” I
ask, raising my eyebrows just a little bit.
Turning, she
hangs her purse on her chair and then replies, “Oh sure. It’s fine. I get these
all the time. They got like, no affect on me.”
My eye starts
to itch and I blink, trying to dislodge the invisible speck. I close my lips
around the straw of my drink and take a sip before replying.
“You do?”
She nods.
“Yeppers! They’re like the bestest.”
A peculiar
burning sensation comes over my eyes. I reach up and rub them. They start to
water up and I blink again. My friend cocks her head to one side, her
bright green streaked hair brushing her shoulder. She places her coffee on the
table and folds her hands in front of her, her ring glinting on her left ring
finger. I smile at her before taking a tissue out of my purse and blowing my
now congested nose. The charm bracelet on my right wrist rubs against my
cheek. What is going on? I felt fine just a minute ago!
“You like look terrible. Do you like got a
cold or somethin’?”
This time I
reach for a napkin and blow my nose. “No, I don’t have a cold.” My voice sounds
funny and seems to echo in my head. I pick up my drink and place it against my
forehead.
“I just remembered somethin’. You haven’t
learnt how to play Settlers of Catan yet. Do you want to like come over later?”
My throat
starts to constrict and my lungs began to burn. Taking a sip from my coffee, I
have difficulty swallowing it, but the cool feels wonderful against my throat.
I turn to my right and lean down, picking up my purse from the floor. Placing
it on glass-topped table, I dig through it. I’ve got to find my inhaler!
My fingers grasp the familiar shape of the medicine and I pull it out. I shake
it and then inhale the contents. The burning in my lungs starts to subside. A
long stream of endless chatter comes from across the table, my friend oblivious
to my discomfort.
“So me and him finished the game. I want you
to know how to play too! It’s like the funnest game ever!”
My heart
starts to beat quicker and I struggle to breathe. The itching in my eyes continues
and my nose seems to be congested faster than I can clear it out. Shaking my
inhaler, I again breathe in the medicine. My friend pauses to glance up,
realizing I hadn’t responded in a while.
“Oh Mylanta! I should of called 911 by now!
You look terrible. Your eyes is all red and weepy,” she pushes my drink towards
me, her nails squeaking on the glass top. “You got to drink this. It will
help.”
Breathing
becomes more labored now and I raise the drink to my lips. The sweet drink
fills my mouth, but I barely taste it. I try to swallow and a round of coughing
happens instead. I clap my hands over my mouth, attempting to keep the drink
in. I can feel the glares from other people around the coffee shop. One even
has the audacity to say, “Shhh.” The coughing subsides for a moment and I
swallow.
Wiping my wet
eyes, I turn to my friend, pleading, “Please-“
“-call 911? Well, you could of told me that a
while ago. I’m so sorry, honey! I ain’t been much help!”
She reaches
into her purse as another round of coughing overcomes me. My lungs burn and at
this point, I know the inhaler won’t
help.
“Hello, is
this like, 911?”
A muffled
voice comes across the other end of the phone. I try to drink my coffee,
thinking the liquid will subdue my coughing. It doesn’t. Instead, I spew it
across a table next to me, completely soaking someone’s novel. They jump up and
shout something at me, but I’m too distracted to hear their words.
“My friend like has got this like allergy
thing going on and well, she like can’t breathe. What caused it? How would of I
known? I ain’t never seen her like this before. How pacific do you need me to
be? Y’all just need to get yourselves here now.”
I start to
feel lightheaded and place my head in my hands, still coughing. The cough racks
my body and everything starts to feel swollen. Breathing heavily, I try to
focus on the line the runs around the edge of the table. It seems to wobble and
move in a million different directions.
The bell
above the door dings again and I’m vaguely aware of someone talking to me. My
friend chatters in the background, along with a deep voice I don’t recognize.
Several hands grip my arms and gently pull me up from my chair. They guide me
to lie down on something and I try to get my eyes focused. All I can see is the
color they are wearing—white. Something sharp jabs into my arm and I wince, and
then continue to cough even more.
After what
seems like hours of coughing, my breathing starts to return to normal. The
coughing subsides. My throat feels scratchy and I raise my hand to scratch
around my neck, knowing it won’t help. A man with dark hair leans over me. He
also wears a white uniform.
“Ma’am, I want to explain what just happened
to you.”
I nod.
“Your friend here tells me that you’re a
writer. You suffer from an allergy very common in this job. Miss, you’re
allergic to grammatical errors.”
I open my
eyes wide, instantly regretting it. The cold air reaches the still itching
parts and causes them to water once again. “Grammatical errors? Why haven’t I
noticed this before?”
The paramedic
starts to reply, but is pushed aside. My friend stands in his place, a worried
expression on her face.
“You ain’t going to die are you? I got them
here. I know I should have like called them sooner. You were like all red and
like coughing and stuff. ”
My throat
starts to constrict again and my lungs burn. Covering my mouth, my cough returns.
“Miss, I need
you to leave please,” says the paramedic, in an authoritative tone.
The man
escorts her out of the coffee shop. She screams (using bad grammar of course)
about the “injustice of the situation” and I use my inhaler again. After my
cough calms down, I glance around the coffee shop.
People sit at the various
tables, some holding their coffee cups halfway to their mouths. Others look
annoyed and still others have their cellphones pulled out, recording the entire
scene. Embarrassed, I decide to stare at the ceiling instead.
I turn to the paramedic. “Sir, why haven’t I noticed this
before?”
He rubbed his mustache and then replied, “What you
thought was asthma was the beginning of your allergies.
With the repeated
exposure to grammatical errors, it has caused your condition to worsen.”
“Holy cow. You ruined my book over that? That made me so
mad,” a voice yells behind me.
Oh, I’ve
just got to get out of here. I struggle to my feet. Blood rises to my
cheeks. Walking forward, I grab my purse off the chair. The room starts to spin
and I grab the edge of the table. Just
leave. I barely make it two steps before I black out.
