It was on the second break that morning when I blinked at my phone, the letters in the text from my sister Veronica suddenly unreadable. I rubbed my eyes and looked at it again, blinking forcefully. But my vision wouldn’t clear, and the screen seemed too bright, the words obscured like there was some kind of filter—
The horrible sinking sensation hammered me. I closed my eyes, and there it was on the left in my field of vision—the aura warning of an impending migraine. It only happened every month or two, so I shouldn’t have complained, but it was the worst.
I hated it. I hated how helpless it made me feel when the aura appeared, and there was nothing I could do to rewind.
Fuck. I had to go. The break was ending, and I didn’t see Manon or Bill so I could explain. I went to grab my stuff as the aura grew and obscured my vision. I thought of it as a prism or crystal.
It was multifaceted, a 3D entity that began on the left and grew bigger and bigger before fading away. Sometimes I imagined it too big for my eyes to handle, encompassing my brain and constricting as the pain set in.
Digging in my sports bag, I prayed I’d remembered to throw in the new bottle of ibuprofen gel caps. It would come as a shock to no one that I hadn’t. The bottle was probably sitting in a plastic bag on the kitchen counter with whatever other shit I bought the other day at Shoppers.
The huge florescent lights overhead seemed brighter than ever, and I held my hand over my eyes. I finally spotted Manon amid a group of parents and waved her over as I quickly took off my skates, trying to breath through the low-level panic. I reminded myself I’d had migraines before, and I’d be okay no matter how helpless I felt.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Sorry, I need to go home.”
An eyebrow arched. “Jet lag?”
The few people in earshot laughed, and I couldn’t blame them. I tried to laugh too. “No, not this time.”
“Hungover?” Ivan suggested.
Manon’s lips thinned. “All right, if you’re hungover you’d better make your exit.”
It was probably dumb for me to feel quite so offended, but for once, this wasn’t my fault. “I’m not hungover!” I cringed at how whiny I sounded. Why should they believe me? “Honestly. I’m getting a migraine.”
Manon nodded as Bill appeared. “Okay. Go on home, Theo. We’ll check in on you tonight.” To Bill, she added, “He has a migraine.”
Bill simply said, “Okay. Feel better.”
I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not, and I hated that I cared. Now I had to either wait for the torturous bus or hope a Lyft driver was willing to come out to the arena. I grabbed my bag and made my escape, wishing I’d brought my sunglasses even though it was cloudy.
Outside the arena doors, I squinted at my phone. The pain hadn’t hit yet, but the aura made it so hard to see. It would disappear soon, and then bam.
“You’re leaving?”
Was this migraine causing auditory hallucinations? I turned to find Henry, skate guards on his blades. I said, “I don’t feel well.” He frowned, and I wasn’t sure he believed me. I wasn’t sure what that expression was on his face. Disappointment?
Nausea gripped me so hard I clamped my jaw shut, but it was no use. I lunged to the curb, bending and puking into the dead leaves scattered on the cracked pavement.
This happened sometimes when a migraine hit, and at least I’d only eaten a power bar, so there wasn’t much in there. I coughed and spat, dropping to my knees.
In the corner of my eye, Henry’s skates appeared. I rasped, “I’m not hungover!” It was stupid since he didn’t even like me, but it mattered that Henry knew this wasn’t because I’d been irresponsible. “I’m getting a migraine, I swear.” I coughed, more bile coming up.
His hand squeezed my shoulder gently. “I’ll drive you. Hold on.”
The relief was warm sweetness, but I shivered there on the curb, spitting and drinking little sips from my water bottle, which at least I’d remembered.
Henry returned, and I managed to get up and walk to his car. The aura was gone now, so the pain would start any minute, growing until my head felt trapped in cement.
In the car, I leaned against the window as he drove. “I really do have a migraine. There was an aura and everything.”
He kept his gaze on the road, slowing for a red light. I didn’t think he’d say anything, which probably meant he thought I was full of shit, which really bugged me.
Then he asked, “What’s that like?”
“The aura? I see it like a prism, kind of. It’s usually a little crescent moon, and then it gets bigger and bigger until it’s gone. Then the pain hits.” Eyes closed, I wished desperately for sunglasses.