by Lizette Roman-Johnston
I just want to move on from this, but I feel like I can’t unless I share what happened. First of all, it was an honest mistake. I had just hung up with my dad after asking him how to fill the oil in my car. He answered my question within thirty seconds then proceeded to fill me in on life back home, mostly what kind of rodent bones have been showing up in the dog’s feces. I kept saying ‘Thanks, Dad’ over and over to try to get off the call, and by the time I did, I was in the CVS pharmacy line.
When I heard the pharmacist say ‘I can help who’s next,’ I put my phone in my pocket and approached the counter. We recited our hello, how are you’s and I gave him my information. When he disappeared into the shelves looking for my Zoloft (and Lamictal and Propranolol), I tried to visualize my dad’s instructions to make sure I could execute them when I got home, but all I could picture was my dad examining chipmunk bones in our dog’s poop! I realized I was wearing a scowl when the pharmacist returned. He had me sign on the screen then slid me my paper bags of pill bottles, and that’s when I said it: ‘Thanks, Dad.’
I didn’t realize I had said it until after I turned toward the exit, and when I realized, I didn’t look back. I bolted through the door, got back into my oilless car, and set a reminder to email my psychiatrist with my new pharmacy information.
Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lizette Roman-Johnston is a bicoastal bisexual currently living in Oakland, California. A 2021 graduate of the Saint Mary’s College MFA program, Lizette writes satire and creative nonfiction (Harry Styles often appears in both). Lizette’s writing has been published in The Daily Drunk, The Sad Girl Review, Rejection Letters, and others. She is also a synth-loving bedroom pop musician under the name rizbot.
