De Humani Corporis Fabrica
Walking makes it worse. You clutch your chest like a gunshot victim, maybe needing to feel its rise and fall to know that it is, maybe only out of instinct: this is how people in pain walk on TV. Your dorm and the student center are not on opposite ends of campus, not exactly, but they might as well be. You stumble the long brick path to breakfast. You convince yourself it’s getting better actually. All good. Weird, huh? Ha ha.
Banana and yogurt for breakfast. You don’t know yet that you’re lactose intolerant; it’s better not to ask the body questions. Unimportant. Clare says maybe your lung’s collapsed—happened to her just a couple years ago. I’m fine, you say. In fact, it’s getting better. Maybe holding your breath between gasps will help mask it, deepen the inhales.
You’re not not scared, but no one will ever know that. Not even you. All good. Whatever.