Strange Medicine

Every day it was the same. At around ten minutes to 6pm he began closing up. He put away the various bottles of pills and medications, counted the money in the cash registers, swept up behind the counter. He usually locked the door a bit early, sometimes as early as 5 minutes to 6. He put on his coat and hat and flipped the sign to “CLOSED” and left promptly to catch his bus home. That was the routine. At least before the day, before things changed.

His name was Jonathon Snow. He was a handsome man in his youth. He went to medical school for a couple of years before dropping out and becoming a pharmacist, much to his Father’s disappointment. Jonathon justified the decision with, “giant hospital bills don’t help people get better, medicine does”.

Now he lived alone, a widower. His wife died in a car accident. He made a habit of not thinking about her or them together. These days he filled his time with puzzles and books or the television. He occupied himself with trivial things that didn’t affect anybody too much. His Grandson bought him a Gameboy for Christmas one year and he played Tetris on the bus ride home. He looked ridiculous, a 64 year old man playing a child’s game among the suit wearing commuters and high school students. But he didn’t care about his image and it showed. He made no efforts to dress well or dye his hair, gussy up his appearance like other men his age. He knew his glory days were over. It used to pain him to see photos of himself as a young man but he got used to it as the years went on. At heart he knew he led a rather sad life but he didn’t let it bother him too much. He was content with the knowledge that his charms had faded. He relished his role as the bitter old man of the neighborhood.

The day things changed was a Tuesday. Jonathon stood at the door of the pharmacy, locking it at exactly 5:56pm when he suddenly felt like somebody was watching him. In the distance he heard a voice call out “Hey, Mister”. He looked to his right, into the parking lot and saw a tall man with thinning hair and bad skin approach him.

“Mister, you work at this pharmacy here?”

“Yes”, Jonathon responded nervously. “Can I help you with something?”

The man leaned toward him and put his hand on his shoulder. Jonathon pulled away, repulsed and scared. “What are you? Some sort of junkie?”

“No. I’m…I’m sorry. Listen. I just need some help. Can I talk to you for a second?”

“If you’re having car trouble I won’t be of any help. We don’t carry any sort of automotive products”

“No, no. It’s…it’s my daughter. You see, she’s sick. I don’t know what she’s got. She needs pills. Something. Can you help us?”

“That’s preposterous! I’m no Doctor! You need medical attention you go to a hospital, they write you a prescription and then you come back and I will give you your medicine”

“But we don’t have insurance. We’ve tried. Don’t you think I know this seems crazy? I’m desperate. I’m not crazy. I’m just a normal guy. Like you”

“You are nothing like me”

“Well, I don’t know what kind of man you are but normal people help out each other and take risks for their fellow man”

“On what planet?”

“She’s 5 years old, sir. Have some compassion”

“O.k. Let’s say I somehow decide to risk my career, my home, my life to help you…”

The man interrupts him, “Her. To help her”

“To help her. You are forgetting the fact that I am not a Doctor. I can’t diagnose diseases. What if I give her the wrong pills? She could get worse. She could die”

“Well, can you at least look at her? See what you think it might be? I mean, don’t you guys have to go to school for medicine? Just…one look. Please?”

The man again put his hand on Jonathon’s shoulder. Jonathon let it remain there this time. He sighed.

“O.k. One look. But I’m not promising anything. And I won’t give you medication without a proper prescription”

The man smiled. “Sure, Doc! Oh, thank you. Thank you. I’m at the end of my rope with this thing.”

“Bring her by to the store tomorrow. For now you must excuse me. I’ve got to catch my bus”

“I can give you a ride. Where do you live?”

“Oh, that’s quite alright. I must be going”

“Alright. Suit yourself. See you tomorrow, Doc!”

“It’s Jonathon. Please. I told you I’m no Doctor”

“O.k. Bye, John” he said as he walked off towards his truck in the parking lot.

Jonathon walked to the bus stop. He instantly regretted the conversation. He wished he’d told the man to get lost, threatened to call the police, screamed bloody murder.

“How ridiculous”, he thought. What if the man has no daughter and instead comes to murder him and steal his drugs? A drug addict out of control, looking for anything he can get his hands on.

He played 3.5 games of Tetris on the ride home to distract him from these kinds of thoughts.

The next day Jonathon lay awake in bed and contemplated not going into work. He could have the girl who worked next door at the bakery put up a sign that says “Closed Today Due to Family Emergency”. He’d done it before when his Sister passed away. His customers would understand. But his conscious plagued him. He envisioned the strange man bundling up his daughter in a ratty winter coat, stolen probably, and driving her to the quiet little street in the upscale neighborhood…all in the hopes that she could feel better.

He left eventually, worried and nervous. He arrived at work late. The man and his daughter were already waiting for him at the door.

“You’re late”

“I thought you would come later. Isn’t she supposed to be in school?”

“Not today. Right, honey?”

“No school for me today”, said the girl.

“She doesn’t look sick”

“She is, Doc. She is”

“Call me Jonathon. Please”

“O.k. Sorry, Johnny”

He fumbled around for the keys to the store and let them in.

“You two must wait here for a moment. I must get things ready”

The man and the daughter waited in silence as Jonathon turned on the lights, flipped signs, turned on cash registers, got money out of the safe and generally made things ready for the public.

“You almost ready to go back there, John?”

“Yes. O.k, come on back”

The man and the girl made their way to the back of the store, up the little set of stairs and into the actual pharmacy.

“Have a seat, little girl”

“Susie. Her name is Susie”

Jonathon smiled at this.

“That was my wife’s name. Well, Susan. But we all called her Susie”.

Susie sat down on an overturned milk crate among the shelves of bottles and boxes.

“She’s named after her Mother’s Grandmother”

“I suppose it’s a common name”

Jonathon bent down to be face to face with the girl.

“O.k, Susie. So what’s wrong? Why don’t you feel good?”

“My ear hurts”

“Your ear?”

“Yeah. My ear is sick”

He looked up at her Father as if to say, “explain”.

“About a week ago she came into my room in the middle of the night crying. She said her ear hurt. We tried Tylenol but it didn’t help. Nothing helps”

“Does your ear hurt all the time, Susie?”

She nodded.

“Does it hurt now?”

She nodded again.

“What kind of pain is it?”

The girl looked up at her Father, confused.

“Tell the man how it feels, babe”

“It hurts”

“I know it hurts, sweetie but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Does it feel like a sudden, sharp pain? Like if you fell down and got an owie on her knee? Or is it like a dull ache? Like if you had a tummy ache?”

“It hurts for a long time”

The girl began getting bored and playing with her shoes.

Jonathon turned his attention to the Father.

“I think it’s probably an ear infection. If that’s the case you can’t cure it without antibiotics. Nothing over the counter will work”

“Can you give us something for it?”

Jonathon sighed, paused.

“Yes. But please, don’t tell anyone about this or I could lose my license.”

“Of course, of course”

He left them and walked down a long row of shelves and returned with a bottle.

“Does she have any allergies to medication?”

“I don’t think so”

“Well try this. It’s usually a safe bet. It’s a liquid. Give her a tablespoon twice a day, with food”

He looked down at the girl.

“Susie, do you like the taste of grape?”

She nodded.

“We'll give it a shot, Doc. Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me. The sleepless nights, hearing her cry. You have kids?”

“Yes but they’re grown now. I know what it was like though. I understand. If this doesn’t work or you need something else give me call”

Jonathon wrote down his phone number for the man and he hugged Susie goodbye. The men shook hands.

He went on with his day. He had an egg salad sandwich from the deli across the street, he did the New York Times crossword puzzle. He has his usual visit from Mr. Silvestri to refill his anti-depressants. He closed up at ten til 6 and took the long bus ride home in silence. In his rush in the morning he’d forgotten his gameboy.

In the morning he rose early and went to work as usual. He closed the shop at 10 til 6 and went home. No word from the man or his daughter. This routine went on for about a week until the man once again greeted him from the parking lot as he closed the shop up. He jumped when he heard the man approach.

“Oh, jeez. You startled me. Don’t you believe in telephones?”

Both men chuckled.

“Well, how is she?”

“Better. I think. She said it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. I think it’s slowly going away. You’re a genius, Doc. Thank you”

“Well, you’re welcome. I’m glad I could help”

“Can we get another bottle? You know, one for the road?”

“Of course. Come in”

He reopened the door and led the man to the back once again. He gave him another bottle and said that she should be completely fine after another couple days.

“What do you I owe you for your help?”

“You keep it. No charge”

The man hugged Jonathon and thanked him. He offered him a ride home again. This time he accepted the man’s gracious offer and they rode together in the man’s pick-up truck.

The man noticed Jonathon had a newspaper tucked under his arm.

“You read the sports section today?”

“No. I’m afraid I’m not big on sports. I enjoy the crossword puzzle”

“Oh. I like the jumble. I don’t have the brain for the crossword”

The men continued on like this for some time.

He let Jonathon off in front of his house and as he opened the truck door asked if he would accept a dinner as a thank you for his help. Jonathon said it was a deal.

When he came over he brought his Gameboy for Susie to play with while the men talked in the kitchen. Susie was back to normal and wild as all get out.

“Where’s your wife?” Jonathon asked the man.

“Oh. She’s passed”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know”

“It’s o.k. I know its cause I look young. She died of cancer. We didn’t have the money to fight it”

“My wife is gone too. She died in a car accident”

“I’m sorry to hear that”

“It’s o.k. I’m too old for a wife anyway”

The men laughed and Susie did too even though she didn’t understand what was funny.

Jonathon let her keep the Gameboy. “I’m too old for that too”

Things were different after that.

The Spirit of Her Spirit

Her ghosts are everywhere.
On the bus there’s the ghost of her hair.
At the library I smell the ghost of her perfume.

It isn’t just that she left me. Or left us. It’s that she left herself.

She changed. She cut her hair. She changed the way she dressed, started wearing simpler clothes. Blacks, grays. She got a tattoo of a boat on her forearm. I missed her unmarked flesh. I missed her bright blue dresses.

I remember the last conversation we had.

I just don’t feel like talking anymore.

With me or in general?

In general, George. In general.

She used to call my answering machine when she knew I was away and sing silly songs into the tape. She would tell stories for hours when I couldn’t. She was my voice. Now I feel like a mute, haunted and alone.

Chief Red Feather and Cowboy Bill

He lay dead on the hill. The sun beat down upon him. He was stiff as a board. His name was Chief Red Feather. He was Tommy.

I stood over him. I held my cowboy hat in my hands because it was too hot to wear it. With my mouth I made the sound of gun shots and pointed my index finger at him.

“Bang! Bang! You’re dead, Red Feather!”

His Mother could be seen in the distance out of the corner of my eye. She was calling for him. The sound of her voice caught up to us and Tommy bolted up.

“What, Mom?! I’m playing!”

“Supper is almost ready. Your friend can stay for supper but you gotta wash up. Alright?”

He sat still there and closed his eyes for one second, trying to pretend he wasn’t hot wearing the cheap headdress made from found feathers.

“What are we having?”

“Chicken and potatoes and peas”

Tommy groaned. He looked up at me and squinted.

“You want to stay for supper?”

My first instinct was to say yes but I knew I had better get home to my own Mother.

“I can’t. My Ma is expecting me”

“O.k. Suit yourself, bucko”

He said bucko in a strange way. Like he heard it on television or from his Dad. He looked proud for sounding so grown-up and condescending.

He stood up and marched toward the farmhouse. I walked over to the fence and got my bike.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“It’s a school day, ain’t it?”

“Yeah. I guess so. Bye, Tommy”

He just turned around and went inside. He never said goodbye. If it were anybody but Tommy it would annoy you but with him it made sense. It fit him.

I rode my bike home in the fading light of the summer sun.

Something To Make The Time Pass Quicker

She sat on the edge of the bed. The light from the bathroom hit her face. She looked beautiful. Different but beautiful.

“I can’t tell if I love you or I just love not being alone” she said. She began to cry.

Her suitcase sat at her feet. She was putting on lipstick while she talked. A distraction to keep her mind off the awful truth.

“I’m sorry. I have to go”

“But why? Can’t we talk about this?”

“I just need a change, Charlie. I can’t do this anymore.” She rose to her feet and grabbed her belongings and walked to the door.

I followed her, grabbed her by the elbow.

“I can’t let you do this”

“Please”

And with that she was gone. She waved goodbye and blew me a kiss from the parking lot.

Now I live alone in a house large enough for two. Eight hour work days and TV dinners. Sepia toned photos of a bygone era.

I caught a movie on TV the other day.

A love story.

It made me sad for too many reasons.

Maybe I should get a dog. Or a cat.

Something to make the time pass quicker.

Waiting

“Mommy” was the call.

“She’s not here” was the response.

They sat to my left.

In the corner an old woman reads Golf Digest. Her wrinkles and liver spots remind me of my own mortality and why I am here in the first place.

I’m suddenly nervous.

A nurse walks by with a clip board and calls a name.

“George Erickson”

A man I hadn’t noticed before stands up. He is probably in his late 40s. He looks fit, in shape. He probably doesn’t really need to be here. Maybe he is getting a physical because a new job requires it. Maybe his wife just felt something abnormal in his testicles while they were making love. Maybe she talked him into getting it checked out even though he takes good care of himself.

The nurse leads him away into the examining room where Doctor and patient will laugh together about how wives don’t understand the male anatomy and never will. They will exchange golf tips.

“Mommy!”

“Your Mother isn’t here, Caitlin!”

The man tries to keep his patience.

The girl huffs and scowls.

I notice that somebody has carved the word “FUCK” into the arm rest of my chair. “How odd”, I think but I suppose even vandals go to the Doctor.

Or maybe it was simply a man who just found out he had cancer or AIDs or some other fatal disease. Maybe “FUCK” was his way of letting off some steam, getting something off his chest.

I sigh and bury my face into my hands and wonder if I will be feel the urge to vandalize something after I’m done with the Doctor.

Before I left Angie asked if "it was fear or worry".

I told her "I think it's both".

In a while I will be home and everything could be different.

This is waiting.

A Song to Make One Feel Like Singing

She stood on the hill with her hands in her pockets.
This is the story how Paul met Amber.
He smiles from a distance and walks toward her.
It is a love story.
She pulled her hands out of her pockets when she saw him approaching.
It is a true story.

Paul was a sad man. He had been single for nearly 11 months. Dumped. Alone. Eating poorly. Sleeping poorly. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He had gone on a few dates here and there. Made eyes at women. He wasn’t unattractive. He simply had very high standards. He had very specific tastes that were hard to live up to. For example, his partial list of things he looks for in a mate:

-Hair at least shoulder length (preferably light brown or strawberry blonde)
-A keen sense of fashion but nothing too bourgeois. (“Thrift store chic” he calls it)
-No vegans/vegetarians.
-No smokers
-Must own at least one album by the Velvet Underground.
-Must like children.
-Large breasts but nothing too large (“just shy of Dolly Parton country”)
-Tattoos a plus.

To pull him out of his self imposed misery his Sister decided to set him up on a blind date. A woman from her office. Named Claire. Claire was nice enough. Average. Slender fingers and long brown hair that ended in ringlets. She wore glasses made of wood. She called them "designer frames". Paul liked her but wasn't smitten. She was a driven woman. Paul wasn't driven. He had no ambition. He was content to drift. To wander. They didn't get along for this reason.

They ate sushi and drank sake and smoked cigarettes. He studied her face and she talked about herself and her 5 year plan. When she asked him about his 5 year plan he excused himself to the restroom and changed the subject upon his return. In order to make him seem more daring, more spontaneous he suggests they go do karaoke after dinner. They arrived at a place called "Songs" at midnight.

Amber was already on stage. She was singing "Superstar" by the Carpenters. She wore a silvery dress and it shined bright in the stage lights.

Long ago, and, oh so far away
I fell in love with you

Paul was instantly transfixed. He couldn't remember his date's name (Claire). He could barely remember his name. It wasn't that Amber was especially attractive or well put together. She just had a spark. She looked exciting. She wanted to do more than just watch the evening news before bed or the daily crossword puzzle. He could tell. She was wild. Maybe even a little dangerous? She had a big mess of black hair. She was pale but not in an unattractive way. She looked European. Perhaps even Parisian. The way she moved on stage was silly. She collapsed to her knees. She theatrically clutched her chest.

Don't you remember you told me
You loved me baby?!
You said you'd be coming back this way again baby!

She rolled on to her back and did scissor kicks into the air.

Paul is mesmerized. Claire teases him to "take a picture, it'll last longer" but he ignores her. The song ends and she returns to her seat in the back with her Sister. They laugh to each other. They hug.

Paul and Claire take a seat at the bar. He offers her a drink but she declines. She says it’s late and she’d better get home and walk her golden retriever. This strikes Paul as funny for some reason and he cracks a smile.

He watches her leave and orders a whiskey and coke. He studies Amber and her sister in their booth. They eat gyoza and calamari and drink cheap beer. They take turns singing on stage. The sister is cute but not quite as appealing. She doesn’t have the charm, the charisma.

Paul’s curiosity gets the better of him and he approaches Amber while her sister sings David Bowie’s “Changes”.

They exchange a simple greeting. He tells a joke about David Bowie. She laughs. He asks if she comes there often. He kicks himself for the cliché sounding question. She says every week because she loves performing. She asks if he likes karaoke. He says “I do now”. She laughs again. She asks him to join them and proceeds to entertain him all night. She tells him her ideas for plays. She confesses she grew up wanting to be Cher. He tries to hold his own. He exaggerates his participation in his High School's drama club.

They make loose plans to flying kites in the park on the next Sunday. Paul feels good. Excited. He wakes up Sunday feeling energized, refreshed. For the first time in a while he doesn’t need coffee. He walks to the park instead of driving. He sees her in the distance.

She stood on the hill with her hands in her pockets.
This is the story how Paul met Amber.
He smiles from a distance and walks toward her.
It is a love story.
She pulled her hands out of her pockets when she saw him approaching.
It is a true story.

Pride of the Shore

There isn’t a patch of wet cement in a 30 mile radius without your name scrawled in it.
There ain’t an old oak tree in the park without our initials carved across its trunk.

We have a fine view of the park. It isn’t of anything especially pretty or interesting but it is pleasant. If you stand on your tip-toes and lift your head in a certain way you can see the tops of the trees turn to brown and red and orange in the Fall.

It is Fall now. The air is turning crisp. We both have tickles in our throats. It’s going to be a cold winter.

Soon we’ll make snow angels every chance we get. Soon there won’t be a night of rest for the fireplace. We’ll duplicate cave drawings on the dust of the windowsill when we get bored from being stuck inside with nowhere to go. You’ll begin building a better body in secret. You'll do push-ups and sit-ups while I am at work. All winter long, in long winter clothes.

You’ll stun boys at the beach come June.

We’ll sit on the sand and I’ll tell you that the sting of loneliness can really hurt a man like me and you will touch my arm and tell me that I’ll never have to worry about that. We’ll build sand castles every chance we get and your bathing suit will be the pride of the shore.