Out of the Aquarium

*this is a sequel to my short story “Aquarium”



“You’ve really read all those?” Jesse asks, gesturing to my bookshelf. In the two months he’s been treating me, we’ve become something like friends and I’ve grown to trust him. My new daily routine consists of what he calls “immunotherapy,” exposing my body to oxygen in minute quantities to try and reduce the allergen’s effect. So far, it’s going well–I haven’t gone into anaphylaxis once, and Jesse (as I've begun to call him) says that pretty soon I’ll be able to try leaving my room.

“I’ve had a lot of free time,” I respond, smirking.

He laughs. It’s a nice sound. 

“So, how about you? How did you become a doctor?” From what I’ve read about medical school, he looks far too young to have completed it.

“I graduated high school when I was 16, and went straight into college. I always knew I wanted to be an immunologist, so it wasn’t hard to complete my schooling early. What about you?”

I stare blankly.

“What do you want to do with your life?”

I laugh nervously. Does he not realize the question he just asked me? “Um… you know I can’t really do anything, right?”

“Don’t count yourself out,” he responds, more forceful than I’ve ever heard him. “I’m going to make sure you get better. So start planning a career–you don’t have much time to choose.”

He looks so determined, so strong in his belief. But as much as I’m grateful for Jesse, I’ve gone 13 years without a cure. What makes him think he’ll be the one to fix me?

“Speaking of,” he continues, the usual gentleness returning to his voice, “It’s time for your treatment. If this goes well, I think we can take another step forward. Sound good?”

“Sure.” The treatment isn’t fun, but Jesse’s company makes it more bearable. And to be honest, his innocent enthusiasm is infectious.

Half of my glass bedroom has been converted into a treatment area. Jesse heads there, preparing the equipment while I settle into the newly-installed armchair. Outside the window, a slight breeze rustles the leaves. My animal friends have stopped appearing–perhaps they realized I have someone to talk to now. 

I close my eyes as Jesse inserts the needle into my neck. His touch is gentle, almost painless. Just one more thing that makes Dr. Jesse David different from the other doctors. 

He pulls the needle out and presses a piece of gauze to the spot. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” I lie. A dizzy spell has come on, and I grip the armrests of my hair. I also notice a sharp burning sensation in my neck that’s unrelated to the needle. These things I ignore, at least for the time being. Jesse looks so excited–so hopeful that we’re making progress–that I can’t bear to crush his spirits. “I’m great. What’s next?”

He clasps my hand. “I’m so proud of you, Narin.”

I blush. “I didn’t do anything. You’re the one treating me.”

“But you’re the one making progress. I know it’s been hard feeling like a case study all your life, but you trusted me enough to try something new, and look where it’s gotten you.” He smiles, and I strengthen my resolve not to tell him of my symptoms. “You’re so incredibly brave.”

“Well… Thank you.”

Jesse props me into a position on my side and examines the injection site. “Any symptoms?”

“No.” I bite my lip.

“Excellent.” He feels around the spot a bit more. “That’s really excellent. Everything looks right. For the next part, I’ll explain the whole process to you and then we’ll try something. Sound good?”

My head is still spinning. The burning is increasing. “Let’s do it.”

Half an hour later, I’m sealed inside what looks like a space suit. A clear plastic screen in front of my eyes allows me to see my surroundings, and a small valve near the mouth will let in a slow stream of air when Jesse decides I’m ready. I feel ridiculous, and my symptoms have only worsened.

But I’m also excited.

“Ready?” Jesse asks, finger over the button to open the chamber.

“Ready.”

We step out into the hall of my parents’ house. This is the first step I’ve taken outside my aquarium since the surgery. It feels so strange.

It’s interesting how much heavier the air feels. I always expected oxygen to feel different, but this is like I’m walking through sludge. I look down the hall, which is shorter than I imagined. Are my parents’ bedrooms down there? Did they ever have a bedroom for me, before my glass tank was built on the side of the house? What did they do with it?

“This is so weird,” I say aloud.

Jesse takes off his oxygen mask. It’s nice to see his face. “Do you think you’re ready to try some air?”

I nod, my legs suddenly turning to jelly. I’m going to breathe oxygen. I never thought the day would come.

Jesse comes up to me and reaches for the valve. “We’ll start slow. Remember, just breathe normally and let me know if you start to feel off at all. One, two, three… Okay!”

The moment the air comes through the valve, I know something is wrong. My throat feels like it’s cemented shut. A wave of nausea floods over me. The burning in my neck grows stronger, now spreading through my whole body as hives erupt on my arms. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die.

Everything starts spinning, then I feel my head collide with the floor and everything goes black.

***

“Narin,” a far-off voice whispers, calling me back from the blackness. I’m tired–I don’t want to leave the soothing world of darkness and silence.

Then my nerve receptors start working again and all the comfort fades.

“Wha…” My throat feels like it’s made of sandpaper. My eyes rip open, and once the searing light fades, I realize I’m back in my aquarium. Jesse sits by my bedside, stroking my head in a comforting gesture.

“Shh,” he says gently, stopping me from thrashing around. “You’re okay. You went into anaphylactic shock, but you’re stabilized now.” I realize that he has his oxygen mask on again.

My face falls as I realize what that means. “It didn’t work, then?”

“No, I’m afraid I pushed you too far. I apologize, I should never have put you in such a dangerous situation.”

I turn back to the glass wall. A little tan bird rests on a branch right outside the window, looking at me with curiosity and wonder. I’ve never felt more like a fish floating in an aquarium. “I guess you’ll be leaving then.”

There’s a pause. “Do you want me to leave, Narin?”

“No,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

“Then I won’t.”

Despite my intense pain, I smile a little.

“So I pushed you too soon,” he continues, his voice so smooth, so inviting. “We’ll go back, take it one step at a time. I’m not going to give up on you, Narin, so don’t give up on yourself.”

“I won’t,” I promise, and this time my words hold power.

Even behind the mask, I can see Dr. Jesse David smile. “Are you willing to try something new?”