I knew what I had to do next - find a way to get these drugs and get them quickly.
As I walked down the street towards the pharmacy, my mind was clouded with thoughts of my past. Memories of events that had transpired in my life and ones I've been working so hard to forget, consumed my mind. It was a daunting feeling, one that made me want to forget everything and just drown my sorrows in a bottle.
"Shit!" I cursed under my breath, feeling the urge to drink increasing by the second. As I walked, my mind was fixated on the idea of going to the nearest bar and getting wasted. But then, I thought about the sick baby and her mother, who was fighting for strength. Even though they weren't my responsibility, I had already started helping them, and I couldn't just leave them in their time of need.
Despite passing several buildings, I had yet to find a pharmacy. However, I noticed a woman selling small petty things by the side of the road, and decided to ask her for directions.
"Hello, ma'am," I said politely, my voice husky and sober. "I need to get to the pharmacy-"
"Heyyyy! Mister..." the woman cut me off and continued talking right away. "...there is one at the end of this road, once you turn to your left, you'd see one at the corner of the right building. It's right at the next block," she said, pointing down the road.
I thanked her and continued on my way, hoping that my thoughts wouldn't stray back to the past. Eventually, I found the pharmacy, but it was already closing up. The nurse looked at me disapprovingly, probably assuming that I was either an alcoholic or a beggar. The before would be right.
"It's way past closing time. As you can see, I'm locking up...come back another time," she said carefully.
But I didn't have time for that. I shoved the piece of paper with the prescription towards her and said, "I need the drugs written there. It's for a newborn baby who's really sick now and almost dying. Don't let a child die because of segregation."
The woman paused mid-locking the door and stared at me warily. She took the crumpled piece of paper begrudgingly and asked, "The child must be high on fever and must have caught a cold too. How old is the baby?"
I thought for a moment, trying to remember when I last saw the baby. "The child is not up to five months old," I answered at last.
The woman silently nodded and continued searching for the medication.
An hour later, as I stepped inside the dingy motel, I clutched the small bag of drugs as if it was the most precious thing in the world. I didn't want to lose it or misplace it. I had also bought new clothes for the baby, as I couldn't bear to see the child in dirty clothes, exposed to germs.
But the cost of the medication for the little boy was much more than I had anticipated. It was no wonder that the mother was forced to beg on the streets for the money. In contrast, the drugs I had purchased for her were relatively inexpensive, consisting of aspirin, pain relievers, and fever meds.
As I approached their room, my thoughts drifted to the woman and her baby. I couldn't help but hope that this would be the last time I would see them. I longed to return to my familiar life on the streets, where I could numb my feelings with alcohol and drugs.
But as I entered the room, my heart sank at the sight of the two of them still sleeping in the bed. They looked so vulnerable and defenseless, tugging at what little compassion I had left within me.
I headed to the bathroom to freshen up and change clothes, gazing at myself in the mirror. The man staring back at me was a stranger, a shell of my former self. I quickly turned away, eager to attend to the mother and child.
Sitting beside the woman, I gently roused her from her slumber. She looked so frail and weak.
"Jaimie," she murmured softly.
"Your baby is safe," I reassured her, hoping to ease her worries.
"I don't feel so good," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You'll be fine," I replied confidently. "Here, open your mouth." I fed her slowly, mindful that she needed food before taking the medication. After she had eaten for a few minutes, she shook her head. "I'm full," she moaned.
I fetched a glass of water and helped her swallow the medicine, following the nurse's instructions. "Drink more water," I urged her gently. She drank obediently, her eyes fixed on me.
"You're staring," I remarked, trying to break the tension.
"Thank you so much," her voice came out groggy.
I swallowed tightly and averted my eyes.
"I won't recognize you without the mustache," she whispered, a small smile playing at her lips.
I felt a twinge of emotion in my chest, but I brushed it aside. "That's a blessing, lady."