* * *
I filled the prescription at Novak’s Pharmacy at Church and Wellesley, formerly Farber’s Pharmacy, arriving just before closing at nine p.m.
“How’s the roof?” I asked the pharmacist.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Never mind.”
When I got back to my apartment, the door was unlocked. I opened it but stood in the hall. Why had the unassuming spaces that had always been a comfort to me suddenly become heart-constricting and anxiety-inducing? I could feel my hands begin to shake and my head begin to ache around my eyes, and I struggled to take a deep breath. I heard voices from the lobby that were certainly friendly and unthreatening but, for some reason, I gasped; my arms and legs felt stiff and heavy. I ripped open the bag from the pharmacy, opened the container of pills
