The Shadow Dreams

1 OPHELIA CLARK

1 OPHELIA CLARK

September 7

“You’re looking a little pale, O. Try to perk up before we get there.” Mom drove as she shot a disapproving glance at my slouched frame in the passenger seat of our white Ford Explorer. Her short dark hair was neatly styled in what I could only describe as a mom-cut and her collared, sleeveless blouse was firmly tucked into her tan capris. I was uncomfortable just watching her.

“God, Mom. Since when do people need to look nice when they visit the doctor’s office? I mean, shouldn't they expect us to come in looking sick?” I asked, slinking down lower into the seat and massaging my temples, my brown curls becoming a mess of tangles on either side of my head.

This was the third day in a row I’d had the same headache, and I couldn’t take it anymore. The sunlight pouring in through the windows felt like shards of glass piercing my eyes. I squinted and focused on my knees as we barreled down the GA-83, the lush greenery of the Monroe countryside zipping past my peripherals like broccoli in a blender. The motion of the car made me queasy and, even though my gothic clothes were loose and over sized, I felt like I was choking and did my best not to gag. I cracked the window open, hoping some fresh air would help, but the heat and smell of manure wafting from the cattle farm we were passing almost sent me over the edge. I closed it immediately, my face draining of all color.

Mom opened her mouth to say something, reconsidered, and pressed her lips into a thin line instead. After about five seconds, she said:

“You know, I started getting migraines when I was about your age. They came like clockwork every month a few days before my... woman’s curse.” She half-whispered, half-mouthed the words woman’s curse.

“Mom, gross.” It was bad enough I was in pain and trying to hold down my breakfast, but did she have to talk like that? What century did she think we were we living in? “It’s called a period. Can you just use the right word? Jeez.”

“O-phe-li-a!” She used my full name, emphasizing each syllable. Whatever she was about to say next, it wouldn’t be good. “Of course, I know what it's called, but proper southern women don’t speak that way. My mother raised me to be decent. It seems I have failed to pass on the same lessons to my daughter in this department.” Mom inhaled deeply through her nose. “So...” She exhaled and regained her composure, possibly out of mercy for my current condition. “Is that what’s going on with you right now?” She looked me over before focusing her attention back on the road. I was in too much pain to come up with something clever or sarcastic in retaliation of the embarrassing question.

“Um. Yeah, if you must know.” I folded my arms around my midsection as if hiding it from view would end the conversation.

“Well, congratulations, honey. That’s amazing!” Mom was beaming. “You know...” she leaned toward me. “... this is happening pretty late at your age. I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten it years ago and you just hadn’t told me.” She raised an eyebrow and looked me over. The suspicion on her face was unmistakable.

“I don’t know what to tell you. All the websites I read said that anywhere between 10 and 15 is normal. I’m only one year older than the average range. It’s not that big of a deal,” I said.

“My little girl is finally a woman.” Mom smiled and reached over to pat my thigh with her with her hand. “And you know what else, O? If you have questions, you can always ask me. Anything at all.”

“Thanks, Mom, but I think I’ve got it.” I couldn’t even imagine trying to have a conversation about menstruation with this woman. Not with her endless code names for the human anatomy. I’ve already learned about how my body is a “garden” and how I need to protect my “flower”. I rolled my eyes and instantly regret the movement as a fresh wave of pain crashed within my head.

“Alright then. It’s just that... sometimes girls your age rely more on the information that they hear from their friends than they do on the facts, and I want -”

“MOM.” I cut her off. My temples were throbbing.

“Then again,” she continued, “it’s been a while since I’ve heard you mention any of your friends.” She shot me a glance, but quickly returned her eyes to the road.

She was right. It had been a while. Years, actually. I searched my aching head for a friend I could name, but the people I talked to the most were the school staff and some members of the faculty. I was pretty sure they didn’t count, and though my classmates mostly ignored me, there was one group of girls who constantly picked on me. Breathing out a sigh, I changed the subject.

“Are we close? I don’t see why we have to drive all the way down to Montibello when our family doctor is five minutes from our house.”

“Because small towns like Monroe, as lovely as they are, have eyes and ears everywhere. I don’t trust Dr. Mayson’s secretary or that old, skinny pill-counter at the pharmacy to keep what they know about me to themselves.”

I whipped around to face her a little too fast and felt another wave of pain rush into my head.

“About you?” I winced.

“Yes. I’m taking you to my doctor, Dr. Li, to give you the same prescription he gave me for my migraines. It’s nobody’s business what medications I take. And besides, sometimes Chinese medicine just works better.”

I groaned in my mind. Dr. Li was born and raised right here in Georgia and had a thicker southern accent than she did. Did Mom really believe that all Chinese doctors practiced Chinese medicine? I was in no condition to get into it with her, so I kept quiet until we got there.

The appointment was quick and Dr. Li wrote me a script for the pain, though the medication ended up being different from the one Mom used after all. We headed to the pharmacy around the corner, but by that time, the pain was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I thought my left eye would pop right out of my head and there was some part of me that wished it would just happen. I'd had enough. Mercy. Please, mercy. In the end, it was my stomach that turned out to be the pressure release valve. We’d just pulled into the parking lot when I threw up into a canvas grocery bag Mom kept in the back seat. The sight of it made her gag and so she quickly parked the car, taking up two spaces, and flung her door open.

“You wait here. I’ll go in.” She slammed the door closed. I winced at the sound and hoped she wouldn’t take too long.

Since I couldn't trust my stomach to keep the pills down while we were driving, I waited until I got home to my room to take them. The pharmacist told Mom that the meds would take the edge off and help me sleep, but she was only half right. I passed out within the hour, but when I woke up the next morning, I was more on edge than ever. Though my migraine was now only a dull ache, my heart was practically beating out of my chest, and I felt this sense of terror and dread throughout my whole body. Something strange happened while I was asleep. Something I hadn’t thought about in years. The shadow dreams. They were back.