I was looking forward to meeting my dad for lunch today at the Trattoria Bohemia on J Street in Sacramento. And I did actually meet him there, arriving only about 5 minutes later than I usually do when I meet my dad. I work hard on this, knowing that when we say "12:00" he'll be there at 11:45. Today's tardiness was due to parking. After I'd found some, I rushed down the 3600 block of J St. (quite the little "hip strip", by the way), spotting a cupcake bakery that I thought we'd stop at afterwards. Of course Dad was there already, most of the way through the Bee and on his second cup. We ordered pasta (ravioli of ricotta and spinach that was too garlic-heavy) and about 1/2 way through, I became aware that I was shielding my eyes from the light bulbs and my head was slumping. Since I hadn't had one since 11 December, I was unprepared...no happy pills anywhere. "Dad, I'm getting a migraine," I said, trying not to whine. "I thought something was wrong," he said. I don't often inform him of any ills...he has been a bit alarmist in the past and tends toward misdiagnosis. "I thought there was an awful lot of nutmeg in that ricotta!" he declared triumphantly, yet full of concern. I just looked at him, "¿¿¿???" He paid the check and we left, stopping at his car. "Does Benadryl™ work on that?" he asked. "¿¿¿What??? ¡¡¡No!!!" I replied. And verging on a bit of alarm myself, followed up with, "Why do have Benadryl™ in the car? You don't take that while driving, do you?"
"No, of course not," he said. "I also have that same bottle of Ibuprofen that gave me that allergic reaction that time." Through the fog of the migraine I thought, "God, I hope he didn't take Benadryl™ to combat that allergic reaction!" But I didn't ask.It was starting to rain as I left Sacto. I thought I could make Vallejo before throwing up, since that bodily function is usually quite the epic for me. I pulled over in West Sac. No joy. As I drove on, I remember that sometimes listening to music and concentrating on it would keep the headache at bay.
I hit "CD" on the stereo to find something appropriate on one of the mixes of recent musical gifts. Soul Coughing's song poem "Screenwriter's Blues" helped a bit. I hit the >> button and Anthrax came on (I know, you're thinking, "OMG, who gave you anthrax??"). >>. The next song was José Alfredo Jiménez's "Ella", but that just served to make me think I had a tequila hangover instead of a migraine. >>. The Violent Femmes..."and three, three, three for my heartache and four, four, four for my headaches" Oh God, music's supposed to distract me, not remind me! >>. The more gentle "Glory Box" by Portishead...that one usually works to create a mood that today I couldn't have been too much farther from. "Not tonight, I have a headache," I told it. >>. Andrés Segovia. Perfecto.
But the rain and motion were stronger than the guitar this time. I pulled over at the gas station at Pedrick Road. In full sight of everyone on I-80 passing by and all the patrons gassing up, I stumbled out of the car and staggered over to the field at the edge of the parking lot, dropped to my hands and knees and just did it, sort of like Stella would have, except I didn't eat any grass. I had to go inside the convenience store to do the aftercare. Shaking, sunglasses on in the flimsy white undershirt I'd stripped down to, I just said, "Restroom." in response to the clerk's "You allright?" As I pulled away, fizzy drink and gum within reach, "Behind the Wall of Sleep" cued up. It worked, the lyrics, low voice of the singer and gentle yet intense guitar playing four times, getting me where I needed to be.
Unfortunately, music alone won't take it away. I still need pharmaceutical help. Thank God for Benadryl™!
No comments:
Post a Comment