BOTTLED UP
At least the green-tinted bottle wasn’t corked; I could just about breathe. Stretching was harder. I could stand on tiptoe and reach halfway up, or I could curl up tightly and tolerate the ensuing cramps.
Nyssa was yelling “Doctor!” and trying to climb up to the mouth of the bottle; I was alarmed – what if she fell in? Fortunately, she slipped back.
When Tegan found us, she knew what to do: she rubbed the bottle. I was filtered out like a spirit, landing gently. “Sometimes I rub you the wrong way, Doctor,” she teased, “but I did okay this time!”
