My Little Helper

“Most of the time,” said Jacob, “The disorder is in check because of the medicine. I take my pills and I don’t get none of the symptoms. I don’t twitch, I sleep fine, and I don’t hear voices.”

Vanessa shifted in her chair. Around them, the food court reeled with people taking a break from shopping. She nodded her head with understanding, she knew the best part was coming.

”But sometimes,” he continued, “Out of the blue, I mean, for no reason, I begin to hear voices again. And it’s not terrible, it does not get in the way. It’s just a sentence here and there.”

Vanessa bit her lip and then smiled, “Such as?"

"Like that one time, I was making myself a sandwich, and the voice said ‘You checked this butter a week ago, it’s expired,’ and I remembered that was right, I checked the date again, and it really was expired, so I said ‘Hey, thanks,’ and made no more of it.”

Vanessa nodded. Inside her brain, the germ of an unnamed syndrome slithered into a more comfortable position. It fed on stories about mental disorders and thanks to Vanessa’s symbiotic relationship with Jacob it was getting fat.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk