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Jordan Keller

One Hit (Wonder)


A pink background with vinyl records and red lettering
A short story loosely based on real events

I laugh at my mom’s remark, but I don’t know if it’s funny. It felt like the right thing to do. My dad and husband are chuckling, so I must be somewhere close to right. The food lies picked over on the table. A long-standing favorite restaurant of my family, but I don’t know if it was delicious. The barbecue stain on my father’s shirt must be proof it was. There’s another flavor on my tongue, and it’s fading. The colors around me are as muted as the gray day outside. As muted as my senses. In the back of my head, I feel a tugging, a whisper of want. I tap my foot under the table and try to quell it.

It doesn’t work.

It gets louder. The itch grows. The need intensifies. Thinking I could last two hours without it was a joke. Thinking conversations with my parents could satisfy it is an insult. The overhead noise is noxious.

I excuse myself to the bathroom as the drinks are refilled. I just need a quick dose to get through wine and dessert and chatter. No one will know.

My fingers are fishing for my supplies before I’m out of the hallway. I lock myself inside the first bathroom stall. Excitement causes my hands to shake knowing how close I am. I pull out my phone and headphones. Just a chorus, I tell myself. The headphones untangle with ease, the music app already pulled up, the album waiting for me. The song fills my lungs with oxygen. My eyes fill with sight. My mind fills with purpose. A calm washes over me in a way I can’t explain.

Right where I left the song, it takes me back to a needless feeling. I want for nothing because everything I want is currently playing. It resonates on the same frequency as my soul.

Just a chorus. Just finish the song. Just one more.

Yanking out the headphones is painful. Knowing the music is waiting for me is comforting. The thrill of sneaking away from my family for it is… complicated.

I get back to our table with a smile. The colors have returned. I remember the sweetness of the barbecue sauce. Mom’s joke had been funny. I don’t mind the pop radio on the speakers.

Just a chorus. Just a dose. No one knows. Mom’s cigarettes are on the table for easy reach. Dad’s wine glass is full for an easy drink. Remnants of my vice circle inside my brain. No one knows.

Except my husband and our shared Spotify account.

He mouths across the table at me: Junkie.


Book covers for Ashes Over Avalon, Wildfire and Burnout, on a fiery background and white text.
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1 Comment


ramadon1224
Jul 12

Funny how much music can cure haha. Nice story!

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