Losing My Lorazepam

Anna Kate was the family’s wildcard—the kind of woman who’d driven to Myrtle Beach to “find herself” and came back with a dragon tattoo, a bad hangover, and a story about a romance so disastrous it could be a country song. Yet, she had been mom’s favorite, go figure.

Jessica thought about her unpredictable sister as she drove to meet her at the convention center. Driving into the holy city, Jessica was reminded Charleston wasn’t really her Charleston anymore. Since the snowbirds started crawling down I-95, like possums fleeing a storm surge, the historical district has been turned over to Starbucks and cafés serving “artisanal” grits and all sorts of things for tourists.

It was all a renewed campaign of Northern aggression. She needed a lorazepam something fierce, but had promised Dr Barnes not to take one before noon.

The Charleston convention center towered ahead, with its billboard showing: “Charleston Alternative Faith Festival”. At least it sounded Christian. She was happy Anna Kate had discovered Jesus after her third divorce.

She had heard no word from Anna Kate yet. She went inside, determined to get a lay of the land, and to show her sister she could handle herself in the city.

A man in robes immediately lunged out from the first booth.

“Miss, can I tell you something?” His small eyes gleamed at her like a raccoon caught in a flashlight beam.

“Most certainly. What exactly is it you want to tell me?”

“I can see from your face, you are a chosen one, directly descended from Alexander the Great.”

“We are a gentile family, if you know what I mean.” Jessica adjusted her sunglasses.

“Can I feel your cosmic energy?” The man held out two palms, as if he was going to wipe her head like a bowling ball, and stepped closer.

“Stop that. I have a husband,” she snapped, the force of her southern upbringing jolting the man back at least five feet.

Jessica marched past. Behind her, she heard the man try the same line on the next young woman, “I can tell from your face, you are one of the chosen ones–”

Jessica swung around. “I’d like to warn you, the only thing he has chosen you for is a quick feel.”

The girl blinked, “Thank you?” She smiled and kept chatting to the guru in robes.

“I'll pray for you.” Jessica muttered. If she couldn’t save Anna Kate from her bad decisions, how could she save Charleston from itself?

Jessica's head began to spin from being around so many people. She searched her purse — it was nearly noon. She couldn’t find the lorazepam. Maybe it would turn up later like it always does.

She needed to find some proper folks to get her bearings. In this now apparent sea of crystal sellers and northerners dressed like Dalai Lamas, one booth stood out like a blazing beacon of civility. Well-dressed Southern folks, some even wore ties.

“Y’all look Christian,” she said. “Any chance, you've seen my sister?” She flashed a photo of Anna Kate.

“Jesus is alright with me,” one of the men said in a mid-Carolina drawl. He stroked his goatee. “I think I’ve seen her. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Thank you!”

“Before you leave, do you have a sec to take a fun personality test?”

“A personality test. Why not?”

“Question one: are you easily distracted?”

“Always.”

“Do you experience panic attacks”

“Next question.”

“Do you often feel criticized?”

“This is Charleston, criticism is our state sport”

Twenty questions later, Jessica had had enough,

“Thank you, Now, I must get going. By the way, do you have any emergency anxiety medication?”

“If you have anxiety, Ron Hubbard can help with that.”

“Thank you, Ron sounds like a fine gentleman, but I have a husband. I think I just need a drink. A Bourbon Sweet Tea, in a glass.”

“This is the best we can do.” They handed her a Scientology leaflet, which she used to fan her face.

Jessica left the scientists, and fled to an empty room that looked like it was being set up for a band rehearsal.

She wanted to call her sister to find out what in the world was taking her so long. She took out her mobile, but it didn't have any reception. Well, isn’t that special.

Breath, Dr Barnes had told her. She had never stopped breathing since the day she was born. So, Jessica asked God to send her help, like that Eskimo in the snowstorm, and she prayed for a sign.

“I'm Steve, welcome to the Healing Room” A man said, and placed a big copper bowl on her stomach, one which looked very much like it came from a Pottery Barn.

“What’s with the vase, Steve?”

He didn't answer the question. “Hum like the Earth’s frequency.”

Steve intoned a grumble that sounded like a lawnmower chewing up a pine cone.

“I don't think I can do that today.”

“It's a Buddhist calming ritual.”

“So you’re a Bu~ddhist?”

“I practice Tibetan Buddhism”

She didn't know what that meant, so she got to the point. “Have you seen my sister.” She showed him her sister’s photo.

“How could you expect me to find someone I've never met before out of the thousands of people here?.”

Jessica's eyes narrowed. “Where are you from, Steve?”

“New Jersey,”

“Figures. Have a good day, Steve.”

Jessica got herself away from the bowl carrying Buddhist, and went out into the conference hall to look for someone dependable. Her gaze landed on a security guard, one with a shirt that strained valiantly against the tides of time and a good Southern diet.

She approached him. “I don’t know why my sister invited me to this enclave of crystal merchants and Bu~ddhists”

He studied her, and nodded. People born south of the Mason-Dixon don't need to introduce themselves before starting a conversation.

“Mmm-hmm. We get all sorts here every day of the week.” The man replied in a fine Charlestonian drawl.

“And why is there no cell service?”

“These organizers wanted it to be ‘mindful’ they say.”

“Mindful of what?”

He glanced at a passing group chanting in Sanskrit. ”Damned if I know,” he said, then sauntered off without even saying goodbye.

Jessica had given up hope. And then, salvation. A booth labeled “Return to the Path”, manned by none other than Pastor Jeff from her Presbyterian congregation.

“Jessica!” he beamed. “Is Jesus with you today?”

“I’ve got Jesus,” she said, “but I’m fresh outta Lorazepam. What are you doing here?”

Jeff leaned in. “Undercover. Christian cult watch. We lost Beth last month to the devil.” He nodded toward the personality-test boys.

“So all this is hush hush.” Jessica looked around conspiratorially. “First they came for the sweet tea, now they've come for the Presbyterians.”

“Where’s our General Lee when we need him?”

“You’re doing divine work here, pastor. Now, do you know where the lord could provide me with a drink?”

“You might find one over yonder, Jeb’s is right across the street.”

She left the convention center, heading out across Etna Street. Her phone began to buzz. 17 messages from Anna Kate: WHERE ARE YOU?

She called her baby sister. “Where are you, Anna?”

“Right here. I’ve been to every booth at the Charleston Garden Festival looking for you!”

Jessica’s blood pressure spiked. “The what?”

“The garden festival, at the North Charleston convention center! Mom used to take us here every week after Easter.”

“I’m downtown, at the other convention center, surrounded by all sort of weirdos.”

“Come up to North Charleston.”

“North Charleston? And be with the low country folk? I would rather drive to Savannah.”

“Have it your way, Jess.” There was a pause on the line. “Are you doing ok, sister?”

“They are really trying to make me drink the tofu here.”

“Kool-Aid. You mean drink the Kool-Aid?”

“I guess so. I thought it was tofu, or soy milk.” She told Anna Kate, all about Steve, the scientists, and the chosen person guru.

“ My sister, at a Bu~ddhist convention, isn't that the thought!”

After they hung up, Jessica stared at the “Alternative Faith Festival” sign and at the young folk and northerners shuffling past. Stepping into the car, she remembered the prescription bottle in the glove department. She dry-swallowed a Lorazepam, cranked up the AC, and turned onto Church Street to start the drive home. For the first time, she felt a flicker of hope. Charleston might be overrun with snowbirds and soy lattes, but at least they’d chosen her city. And not, God forbid, Florida.