COLD TURKEY

Anna Sanderson

When Jess was coming down, her body shivered with imaginary cold. She felt queasy, threw
up, felt sick again. She told me there were tiny drummers playing in her head. My
withdrawal’s different, but the longing and the desperation are there, hands too often
trembling above the call button on my phone, the same way hers did when faced with those
small plastic packages of white powder she found so hard to resist. I remember Jess once
told me I’d never understand was it was like going cold turkey. Now, learning to live without
her, I only wish she’d been right.