Yellow, White, and Blue

Returning to the office after an accident makes you wish you were in another accident. In short, it totally sucks. Waking up at 6 am to get ready to go to a place you hate sucks. Taking the bus instead of the bike you used to ride sucks — especially due to the number of times people brush against your injured hand. Obviously I have the road burn on my arm covered up. But still, how clumsy can you be on a moving train?

Where was I?

Oh yes, I was talking about how everything simply sucks. Have I used ‘sucks’ too much? What the hell, do you care about it? Or do you care about my story and how I got into the accident?

Well, the story begins — Wait —

“Hold the doors!” I shouted and surprisingly someone did. It was Karl, the elevator attendant — a terrible superhero name but he was one to me at the moment.

“Mr. Briggs, nice to see you’re doing well,” Karl said.

“Thanks Karl. I already missed my bus so you may have just saved my job,” I said, “Also, call me Nathan.”

We didn’t get a chance to talk after that as others got in, brushing against my arm obviously. No one asked me how I was doing — mostly because they don’t work with me so I couldn’t blame them. I stared at the numbers changing on the display. My foot tapped on its own like it was having a seizure. Every time the elevator stopped, I cursed internally.

The slide of the doors. The footsteps of people entering and exiting the elevator. People breathing. The sharp ding of the elevator bell. You guessed it. It all sucked.

By the time I was out of the elevator, it felt like I’d been there all morning. Outside was not much better. The noise really irked me.

The sound of keyboards typing.

Mice clicking.

Papers rustling.

Footsteps.

People talking.

I didn’t make eye contact with anyone and hurried over to my cubicle in the corner. There in the semi privacy, I practically threw my bag and sat down on the leather chair. I fished the pills out of my pocket. The white, yellow, and blue pills — my personal traffic lights to keep me going.

I did take the white one before coming here, figuring that once the painkiller does its job, I’d be at the office and be able to do some work. But then I missed my train — first time public transporter here, go ahead, call me privileged. Right now, I couldn’t care less. I needed to take something to ease the pain.

Yellow won’t work. I needed the blue one.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I snatched the blue pill. Swallowed it. Then leaned back on my chair. If anything, this office had nice chairs. I closed my eyes to let the pill do its work. It takes about 20 to 30 minutes but afterwards, I’d have the strength to do work. I breathed in deeply which was a mistake as it hurt my bruised ribs.

That reminds me. I was about to tell you about my accident, right? Well I’m sorry for keeping you in so much suspense. Honestly, it wasn’t much. There was no big case or settlement — that only happens in fairy tales or to people who aren’t me. No big entitled bast— sorry, I’m trying not to curse here but you can fill in the blanks.

Anyways, it happened about a month ago. The few days after were a haze so I don’t remember the exact date. The accident happened when I was on my bike. Helmet and all, I do take safety seriously. But as I was driving, a car pulled out of the lane in front and I couldn’t hit the brakes in time. Next thing, I flew.

To those who say humans can’t fly, try getting into an accident that sends you tumbling off the bike, doing a somersault over the car, and then come crashing down on the other side. People say it was five seconds. But I can attest I was in the air for a good five minutes.

I mean I had time for my life to flash before my eyes. Orphanage. School. Work. Fullstop.

As you can tell, I’m still alive. I woke up in the hospital. The morphine swirled with the painkillers in my bloodstream making me feel like I was floating on water. I think the doctors do this so the news of broken ribs, bruised collarbone, and the roadburn on the arm, doesn’t seem that bad.

Recovery was hell. Especially since I lived alone. My neighbours helped by sending food but that lasted a week. No one from the office called. Why would they? I was one of the many cogs in the machine no one cared about. A cog that started working remotely 3 weeks in and this weekend, got a call saying that since he can work from home, he can come to the office. They didn’t fuc— didn’t understand. Simply looking at my beloved bike would freeze me up. I’d remember the accident again. I was flying again.

Flying.

Floating.

Sinking. Deeper and deeper.

“Hey, Nathan!”

Who dares interrupt me sinking into the soft leather of the chair?

I opened my eyes and saw the brown haired woman with matching eyes standing there. She was one of my colleagues. What was her name again?

“Yeah, hi … Boobitt,” I muttered sitting up straight on my chair. My body screamed at being disturbed from the most relaxed it’s ever been.

“It's Bobbitt,” she said, the smile vanishing.

“Sorry, accident brain,” I replied.

How could I forget? Veronica Bobbitt. I always thought of the other name when she was called in meetings. Saying that to her face? My fall did knock some screws loose.

“How are you?” I asked. Stupid question, I’m the one returning from an accident.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she asked, softening.

Bingo.

“It's been a month so I’m doing much better,” I said. Now please leave and let me rest — work I mean.

“A month huh? My cousin also got into something similar, they gave him tons of medicine,” she said.

She’s a talker, idiot!

“Yeah, they gave me some as well,” I answered, blinking my eyes hard as they had gotten heavy.

“So the course ended?” she asked.

“What, you're writing a report?” I joked, then asked seriously, “You’re not really writing a report on me are you?”

She laughed. Surprisingly I didn’t hate it. In fact, other sounds of the keyboards, papers, people, and everything else, didn’t bother me. The blue pill must be working.

“No, not a report,” she said, “The place seemed quiet without you. Good to have you back.”

Was this the effect of the pills? I mean I know it made things easier. Like physical pain. The pain of talking to my boss. Pain of worrying about losing my job. Pain of breathing. Living alone, being alone. The pills helped. A lot.

“Anyways, I’ll be off,” Veronica said, then her eyes landed on my table, “You still taking the pills?”

She noticed the pills. The witch is perceptive.

“You know, the doctor didn’t allow my cousin to take it for more than a few weeks,” she said.

“Well, my injuries probably are worse than his,” I replied.

“Nathan, they can be dangerous,” she said.

“What? You think I’ll get addicted to them?” I asked. The blue pill wasn’t doing its job, my heart wasn’t resting, it was pounding, it sucked, “I’m sorry, were you in the accident? Do you know the pain I am in?”

“No, I was just saying —”

“That I’m a weak willed, pathetic loser who’ll get addicted to pain killers,” I spat.

She opened her mouth to say something but I had already turned towards my computer, “If that’s all, I need to work.”

Veronica left without a word. I stared at the screen. Who the hell was she to accuse me? I’m not an addict. These pills help me. They ease my pain and stress. She’s wrong. I’m not addicted. I cannot be addicted. I can stop anytime I want.

I ran my hands through my hair. It wasn’t working. The blue one had always worked. I looked at the white, yellow, and blue pills on my table. The white one was the next strongest. I wasn’t supposed to take it until tonight. But it was a pain killer. And right now with how fast my breathing has gotten and my ribs hurting. Surely I could.

One white pill down and everything was normal.

It was all good.

I’m all good.