Fresh from showering, Lyla stood in line behind her roommates at the nurse's station. Like the other girls queued up for their morning meds, she was grumpy, wet, and cold.
Clover took the paper cup and tossed back her pills. The nurse offered a drink of water.
"Nah, I'm good." She crossed the hall and leaned against the wall, gnawing at her thumbnail.
Shaniece was next. She accepted the cup of water before swallowing her meds. She forced them down with a loud gulp and a deep grimace.
Lyla stepped to the window. Inside the paper cup, she could see a new pink and gray capsule along with her usual meds.
"Go on," the nurse prompted.
Lyla swallowed the first two pills, washed them down with a drink of water, then reluctantly placed the new capsule on her tongue.
"Come on," said the nurse.
Propelled by a stream of water, the capsule rode the crease of Lyla's tongue and sailed down her throat. She wiped her chin with her sleeve and shuffled away from the nurses' station.
Shaniece and Clover accompanied her down the hallway. Clover looked over her shoulder then lowered her voice. "She's palming her Seroquel. How do those dumb ass nurses not see that shit?"
"What?"
"The chick with the pink hair. Stacy? Casey? Whatever. She saves up her Seroquel then crushes them up and snorts 'em in the bathroom. How do you not see the super obvious chunks like falling out of her nose?"
"I guess I never noticed," said Lyla.
"They give you a new one?" Clover continued chewing her thumbnail.
Lyla nodded.
"You shouldn't have told them about hearing random voices. That was your mistake."
Shaniece glanced at Lyla empathetically.
"Keep that shit to yourself. I learned my lesson my last visit," Clover whispered.
"You were here before?" Shaniece asked.
Clover cracked up. "I'm pretty much a regular."
"Dag."
"So now they're screwing around with your meds," Clover sighed. "I hate when they start up with that shit. It's all a guessing game to them."
Lyla felt the new med tapping her on the shoulder when she and her roommates got into line at the cafeteria. A prickling sensation on the back of her neck spread to her shoulders. She scratched but the itch didn't diminish.
"Hey, girl," said Shaniece. "You don't look so good. How 'bout you get us a table and I'll bring you something?"
She glanced at the breakfast selection and then said, "You want eggs? Toast?"
"Just cereal," Lyla replied.
She turned around, squeezed past Natalie and the Seroquel hoarder with pink hair, and made her way to a vacant table. Her saliva felt thick as syrup.
A few minutes later, Shaniece set a plastic spoon and a Styrofoam bowl halfway filled with cereal on the table.
"You okay with Frosted Flakes?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"BRB with your milk."
Lyla gathered a few flakes with her fingers and stuffed them into her mouth. She could feel the crispy texture but her taste buds weren't transmitting the flavor signals to her brain.
Clover plopped down in a seat across from Lyla with a toasted English muffin. She fought to open the packet of butter.
"Why they gotta make this so damn hard? The struggle is real, yo." She grinned.
Shaniece returned with a pint of milk for Lyla and a plate of scrambled eggs for herself.
"You feelin' okay?"
Lyla nodded.
Shaniece broke the uncomfortable pause with small talk.
"So, Clover. That's like a nickname or something, right?"
"Nope," she said spreading a thick coating of butter onto her muffin. "Parents are hippies. Were hippies. Guess they're still hippies living in a non-hippie world."
With a huge bite of English muffin in her mouth, she was barely understandable when she said, "Where's the damn jelly?"
To Lyla, everything was happening in slow motion. It seemed to take a full five minutes for Clover to get out of her chair.
"You want me to call the nurse?" Shaniece looked at Lyla with concern.
Lyla watched the milk pour out of its container and onto the cereal, nearly overflowing the bowl. She forgot that she was the one doing the pouring.
"Whoa!" Shaniece snatched the carton of milk from Lyla's hand.
As Lyla ate her Frosted Flakes it seemed as though she were watching a television show about a bowl of cereal sitting on a table with a spoon coming into frame, scooping some flakes, and going back out of frame. If the sensation hadn't been so bizarre she may have found it amusing.
As the day wore on, she became more accustomed to the effects of the drug. She wasn't sure what the intended results were supposed to be but she took Clover's advice to heart. Don't tell them you're having trouble with the medication. Don't tell them you feel as though you're in a dream. Don't tell them that your heart is racing. In fact, don't tell them anything.
Play the game.