Sunny stepped into the store, reciting her shopping list in her head. This was going to be the one time she didn’t forget something, she was sure of it. How hard was it to get ingredients for an omelet, anyway? Sunny’s list was in the pocket of her jacket but pulling it out to check for forgotten items would be a type of failure, which wasn’t an option.
“Geez, kid” she said to herself, smiling slightly as she made her way to the produce aisle. “It’s just a meal. A healthy, labor-intensive meal.” Sunny had been living on her own for several months, and she was steadily learning that feeding herself anything that involved more than five minutes in the microwave was not her strongest capability. Sunny caught herself humming the 90’s song playing …show more content…
At the self checkout booth, a package of three knives with mint green handles caught her eye. Sunny had a set of basic silverware in her apartment, and it wasn’t until now that she entertained the idea of needing anything sharper than a butter knife. After all, mint green was her favorite color and Sunny’s therapist had suggested that she cook at least three meals per week from scratch, instead of living off of cans of Progresso soup, twelve cans of which sat in the bottom of Sunny’s cart in an attempt at adult rebellion. And as backup, in case her cooking endeavour ended badly. Studying the knives, she contemplated whether she should even buy them. What if she gave up after cracking the first egg and couldn’t move on to the vegetable murder? Biting her lip, she fanned herself with the package. The knives were …show more content…
It was an easy walk to her apartment, even with the bags. She hadn’t taken her meds, but that had been an intentional act for three days now. Ruby’s comment began to gnaw at Sunny’s mind, and she began to feel resentful. Hours spent in psychotherapy and group counseling, and literal of handfuls of pills down her throat every day was the price Sunny had to pay for her mind to to not whisper, for her hands to not shake, and for her throat not to close up when she stood in crowds. Ruby didn’t have to remind her of the broken, unreliable state of her mind. Sunny wanted to be done with them. She could take care of herself, keep herself from breaking down. She didn’t need the pills. Here she was, stepping out, cooking for herself, being normal for the first time in months, and Ruby had to remind her how easily she could revert to the days of feeding tubes, white rooms and somber psychiatrists. Sunny shivered, but not from the cool Indianapolis air that wrapped around her as she walked; she didn’t want the pills, but she also never wanted to be that crazy again. Could she have