The Pharmacist Spoke to Me Like I Was Scared and Not Stupid

Dear Delyara, I didn’t realize how much I needed that until it happened. I was standing at the counter with a question I had already rehearsed three times in my head because I didn’t want to sound dramatic, uneducated, annoying, or like one more tired woman who couldn’t hold herself together properly in a bright public place. When I asked, she didn’t rush me. Didn’t talk down to me. Didn’t use that overly cheerful voice people use when they’ve already decided your fear is inconvenient. She just answered slowly. Carefully. Like my worry deserved room. I got back to the car and cried over a prescription bag. Not because of the medication. Because for one tiny moment, somebody met my fear with dignity. That is rarer than it should be.