It was in July, I could probably figure out the date, but I simply have no desire to. I had been carrying the test in my bag for a week, as long as it’s not confirmed, it’s not true. Something about ignorance is bliss, right? Anyway, time was running out, the six week mark was approaching, at least I thought, until a scan confirmed otherwise.
My friend whom I will not mention, held my hand despite all her luggage, and dragged me to a mall, which again, I will not mention. I got a negative. I didn’t know I was holding my breath. We got a second test, just to be sure.
She hugged me, told me she would be there for me no matter what I chose to do. I wasn’t really paying attention. All I could think of is how I let this happen.
She gave me a contact. I got a quote. We negotiated. I got the money. I never called.
The day was sunny. It was on a Friday, forst week of July. The mall was crowded. The washrooms were on the top most floor. It had six floors. The lifts weren’t working. The chemist was on ground floor. I remember these details. I remember I was bloated. I remember I couldn’t stomach any food. I remember loathing every scent. And on that day, I remembered what I had said, a week earlier, in passing, as a joke.
