Some Pills Should Fix That

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Little blonde boy, 3 years old, fresh eyes filled with wonder, even in the sterile white waiting room of the hospital. He runs around, taking the small yellow toddler chairs from the desk, and arranges them in a circle. This is his mission. He huffs and puffs, now pushing the chairs to form two rows facing each other, his brain calculating the best way to get chair from point a to point b. Around the table and in between these chairs. This is the best way. Unless the chairs need to be back in a circle again. Here comes mom. She looks young enough to be worrying about the SAT’s, much less a child. Her brow’s furrowed. She scolds her son for his energy. Sit, just sit in my lap. No. Stop moving. Don’t get up, sit her. She takes his head in her hands and forcibly faces it towards the tv in the upper right hand corner of the room. He struggles at first. The chairs! What about the chairs mom? I have to figure out the best formation to put the chairs in. But the screen is dancing and flashing. He stops struggling and soon his face is reduced to a zombie like stare. Eye’s glazed over and mouth open. Mom goes back to scrolling through her newsfeed.

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