Meds

by Ray Garton

  Russ had a habit of running to the boss and complaining whenever others on the staff did things he didn’t like. He seemed convinced that the station existed for his purposes alone and anything he did not approve of was simply unacceptable.

  Kelly came to the booth and placed their orders on the table. As she turned and walked away, she surreptitiously winked at Eli.

  “I don’t know why any of you put up with him,” Eli said.

  “Because he gets great ratings. He pisses people off.”

  “Making people angry is a good thing?” Eli said as he began to eat his sundae.

  “Oh, sure. Controversy is always good radio.” She had not yet looked down at her Chocolate Iniquity—three scoops of different kinds of chocolate ice cream in a sugar-cone bowl topped with chocolate syrup, nuts, marshmallows, and a cherry. Perched atop the cherry like a little crown was the ring. “These days, outrage is the fuel of talk radio, and if Russ isn’t outraged about something himself, then he’s outraging other people. And when he’s not doing either, he—” She stopped talking and stared down at the ring with her mouth open. Her eyes rose to meet Eli’s.

  He put down his spoon and grinned as he reached across the table and took her hand in both of his. “I’ve never been as happy as I’ve been since I met you,” he said. “Never in my life. I want to do more than just live together. I want to have kids with you. And grandkids, and great grandkids. I want to get old with you. Will you marry me?”

  Her large brown eyes filled with glistening tears as she sat frozen in place. She did not move for a long time, then suddenly slid out of the booth, came around the table, and threw herself into Eli’s arms.

  “Yes,” she whispered into his ear. “Yes, of course, yes.”

  Awhile later, a voice said, “I’m guessing this has worked out well.”

  Still embracing Chloe, Eli looked up to see Annabelle standing beside the booth, round face broadened by a big smile. “Thanks, Annabelle,” he said.

  Chloe pulled away, got up, and gave Annabelle a hug. She tried to speak, but her voice broke tearfully and Annabelle laughed.

  “It’s on the house tonight,” Annabelle said to Eli. “Farley’s engagement special.”

  Eli and Chloe sat together on one side of the booth as they ate their ice cream. They held hands as they left Farley’s. Before getting in the car, Eli gave her a long kiss. At home, they went straight to the bedroom, shed their clothes, got into bed, and made love happily, laughing and sighing and gasping. Chloe fell asleep in his arms.

  Eli stared into the dark feeling happy, content, and relieved. The future had been looking better ever since he’d met Chloe, but now it held promise Eli hadn’t felt since his youth. But he did not want to think too far ahead. The program that had helped him with his addictions stressed the importance of dealing with one day at a time. This day was ending, and another would begin when he awoke in the morning. He would find Chloe still there beside him. That was a reason to smile. Then he would go into the bathroom, splash cold water on his face, and open the medicine cabinet. He would take his bottle of Paaxone off the shelf and drink one of the pills down with water. It seemed that Paaxone had calmed him, allowed him to approach his problems with confidence and determination. Dr. Myerson said at some point in the near future, she would taper him off the drug, but for now, he took one every morning. As long as he had Chloe and Paaxone, he would be okay.

  Eli had not read the product insert that had come with his first prescription of Paaxone. He had not read the list of possible side effects, nor had he read the warning against stopping the drug suddenly. The warning was brief—only one short line in the insert’s dense, small print—and vague as to what might result, but it was clear: “Do not stop taking Paaxone abruptly.”

  Eli had only three pills left.

  Chapter 2

  Street Violence

  1.

  The next morning, Monday, the sun was a muted red disk that bled through the thick smoke like a wound. The air was smeared a pale, dirty brown. The air conditioner in Eli’s FedEx delivery truck blasted chilly air tainted with the harsh smell of smoke. But the previous night had left him too happy to be bothered by the fact that his eyes watered and his nostrils stung.

  It was not a typical Monday. Things felt different, new. When his alarm went off that morning, he’d awakened to find Chloe propped up on her elbow beside him, watching him with sleepy eyes. He’d killed the alarm clock, then turned to her.

  “Why aren’t you already up and dressed?” he asked. She had to be at work three hours earlier than he and was usually ready to go by the time he got up.

  “I called and said I’d be late,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She’d smirked, then grinned broadly. “Because we’re getting married,” she’d whispered gleefully.

  They’d made love then and lingered in bed, cuddling and kissing.

  That had put a glowing sheen on the whole day. He felt as if his life was beginning all over again and he would finally be able to put the darkness of the last few years far behind him. He began to think that maybe it was time to try getting back into advertising.

  Eli’s actions at Market Art had traveled quickly through the grapevine. He’d been in no condition to continue working in advertising then, but even if he had been, no one would have hired him. He’d lived on his savings for awhile, then took whatever menial jobs he could find. Once Dr. Myerson started him on Paaxone and he began to attend meetings, he started to feel more confident and clear-headed. He’d gotten the job at FedEx with the help of a friend of Chloe’s who held an administrative position at the Santa Vermelha station, and he considered himself lucky to have it. But he missed his old work. It had engaged his mind and provided him with an outlet for his creativity. He hoped that enough time had gone by for his past transgressions to be forgotten. He’d proven himself to be sincere in his recovery, so maybe he would be able to start over again in advertising soon. He and Chloe had discussed having children, and that would require more income than his FedEx job was providing. The thought of getting back to his old work created an invigorating tension in his gut, a delightful sense of anticipation.

  Just before noon, he delivered a couple of packages to an office temp agency, then broke for lunch. He drove to a small shopping center not far from his neighborhood, parked, and went into Sandwitchery, a sandwich shop he frequented. It was crowded at that hour, and he waited in line for several minutes. He put in an order for a sandwich and while it was being prepared, he went to the ThriftRite Pharmacy next door.

  It was a small independent pharmacy with several shelves of over-the-counter drugs, a rack of magazines and paperbacks, another of snacks, and a few chairs for customers waiting for their prescriptions to be filled. The pharmacist and owner, a grey-haired man in his early sixties named Carl Hoover, stood in the back at a long counter surrounded by shelves of drugs, filling a prescription. Carl’s wife Lily stood at the register waiting on a line of four customers.

  “Eli!” Carl called from the back. He beckoned Eli with his hand as he moved to the front. They met at the counter to the side of the register. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

  Smiling, Eli said, “Why’s that?”

  “Well, there seems to be a problem with your prescription.”

  Eli’s smile faltered. “A problem?”

  “Not with your prescription specifically, but with the drug itself. I haven’t been able to get any more Paaxone in the store.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Eli said, frowning.

  “I’m not sure I do, either. I’ve tried twice to get more, once before you called in your refill and once after. All I’ve been told is that it’s unavailable.”

  “Unavailable? Paaxone?”

  Carl shrugged as he nodded. “I’ve been very busy and I just haven’t had a chance to follow up on it. I’m sorry, but at the moment, I have no Paaxone.”

  “But I only have a couple left.”

 
“If you’d like, I can transfer the prescription to another pharmacy. I could call it over to Walgreens. They’re a chain and they’re better supplied than I am. Would you like me to do that?”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure, I’ll do it right away. They’ll probably have it ready for you later this afternoon.”

  Still frowning, Eli said, “Why do you think Paaxone is unavailable?”

  Carl shook his head. “I have no idea. It’s not unheard of. The supply of any drug is limited, and a little independent shop like mine is not a high priority to pharmaceutical companies or distributors. They supply the big chains first, the mid-size chains second. I’m sure it’ll be corrected soon. I’m sure I’ll get a shipment this week. In the meantime, I’ll call this over to Walgreens right away.”

  Eli thanked Carl, waved hello to Lily, then left the pharmacy. He went back to the sandwich shop and got his sandwich. There were no available tables, so he returned to his truck and started it up. He decided to drive down to Park Marina, park beside the Sacramento River, and watch the geese and ducks while he ate. He drove through the parking lot and stopped at the exit to wait for a break in traffic. The hot pastrami sandwich’s aroma began to fill the cab, and it made his stomach grumble.

  In front of Eli, cars swept by in both directions on Third Street, which was always busy during the day, even busier at lunchtime. A few pedestrians walked back and forth on the sidewalk. Across the street, sales banners hung in the windows of a mattress store. Next to that, the small parking lot of A-1 Liquors was crowded with cars. Thick smoke hung like a fog over the street and gave everything a murky appearance.

  On the sidewalk across the street and to Eli’s right, a man in a dark grey suit ran as if on a morning jog, dodging other pedestrians. His striped tie flapped around his neck and his face was red, taut with strain, and glistening with sweat. Eli found it odd that the man was running in the stifling August heat with the air so thick with smoke, especially in a suit. He looked to the left, in the direction the man was running. A lovely Asian woman walked toward the running man. She held the hand of a toddler, a little boy who held a Happy Meal box in his other hand. Eli assumed they’d just come from the McDonalds just up the street.

  The boy dropped his Happy Meal box. The woman stopped, turned, and bent down to pick it up as a few other people walked around them. The running man in the suit neared them from the right. What happened next seemed to happen at a slowed-down, dream-like pace and was so unexpected that Eli wasn’t sure what he was seeing at first.

  The jogging man swept the toddler up in his arms as he ran past the mother, who was bending over to retrieve the Happy Meal. Thinking he was witnessing the snatching of a child, Eli gasped as his back stiffened.

  Just past the bent-over mother, the man in the suit stumbled to a halt as he struggled with the little boy in his arms. The mother stood, turning toward her son, her right arm reaching out too late for him. The man spun toward her and the little boy swung outward, stubby arms flailing. Eli flinched when he realized the man now held the little boy by the calves and was swinging him around like a club. The boy collided with his mother and knocked her face-down to the sidewalk. Her purse and the Happy Meal tumbled away from her on the concrete. The man lifted the little boy over his head in both hands, then threw him down hard at the fallen mother. The boy landed on her back, little limbs splayed, and her body jolted with the impact. The man began to kick her furiously. His arms flapped at his sides with each swing of his right foot and his tie bounced spastically.

  Suddenly hypersensitive, Eli saw droplets of sweat spatter from the man’s head with each kick. He saw the man’s face twist into a mask of rage, saw his lip peel back over clenched teeth and his eyebrows huddle low over wide eyes as he brutally kicked the woman on the ground again and again. She struggled to roll over and the little boy toppled off of her and onto the sidewalk. She wrapped her arms around the boy to shield him from the attack, but the more the man kicked her, the weaker and more halting her movements became.

  Eli had stopped breathing. He sat frozen at the wheel of his truck and stared open-mouthed at the violence across the street for several seconds. He did not notice when the traffic on Third Street cleared enough for him to pull out of the shopping center parking lot. He did not notice the car waiting behind him. He could not take his eyes from the man kicking the woman on the sidewalk. Eli’s knuckles turned a milky white as he clutched the steering wheel.

  A car horn sounded behind him—a sharp, impatient beep-beep, and a second later, a long beeeeeep. The sound snapped him out of his frozen state and abruptly released the clutching grip the violence across the street held on his mind. He looked in the side mirror and saw the car behind him. The man at the wheel was gesturing with his arms and his mouth was moving silently, angrily.

  Eli looked across the street again. The woman was no longer moving. Her limp body jerked a little with the impact of each kick. The little boy struggled and rolled out of the embrace of her flaccid arms. Eli released a small, helpless whimper as he watched. It suddenly occurred to him to call for help. As he reached for his cell phone, he noticed that other pedestrians on the sidewalk across the street were already doing the same. Foot traffic had stopped and people were holding cell phones to their ears, while others simply stood by and watched.

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, a man who had just come out of the mattress store ran across the parking lot and tackled the man in the suit. As the two of them went down together, the man in the suit began to struggle wildly, kicking and hitting at the man who had intervened. A large black woman rushed to the mother and her little boy on the sidewalk.

  The car behind Eli’s truck hit the horn and let it wail, then lunged around him on the left. As it turned right onto Third Street, cutting across Eli’s path, the driver stuck his left hand out the window with his middle finger jutting above the roof of the car.

  Eli sat there a bit longer, hands turned palms up before him as he stared at them. The palms were moist and his trembling hands felt weak. After a moment, he realized the trembling had moved through his entire body.

  He put his hands back on the wheel, put the truck in gear, and turned left onto Third Street. On his way to Park Marina, the trembling moved through his entire body. Not only had he lost his appetite, but he felt a bit nauseated.

  For the time being, he’d completely forgotten about his pills. ...

  2.

  “Morale continues to decay among troops in Afghanistan, where the use of young boys as suicide bombers by terrorist groups has resulted in a sharp rise in American deaths. More on this from AP news, starting right now on KNWS.”

  Chloe removed her headphones and wheeled her chair backward away from the board. She’d just finished the noon news. The national AP news broadcast had started and would be followed by an hour-long syndicated medical advice show hosted by a doctor who’d been doing radio so long, he’d probably forgotten what it was like to practice medicine. With her mug of coffee in one hand and a folder of notes in the other, she left the news room.

  “Chloe!”

  She spun around in the hall and saw Russ Campbell standing just outside door of the main studio. He wore his usual look of intestinal discomfort, with the features of his pasty face pulled together in a sour look. His silver hair was parted down the center and his white beard and mustache—which never developed into anything more than stubble—surrounded his mouth, which was curled into something resembling a question mark lying on its side. Although he didn’t wear bow ties, he’d always struck Chloe as the kind of man who should. He tilted his head forward and looked over the top of his small glasses at her.

  “Kevin says you’re engaged,” he said.

  Chloe thought, You hate me, so why do you give a shit?

  She smiled and said, “Yes.”

  His frown deepened as his eyes moved to her hand. “Let me see the ring.”

  Chloe hated it when Russ feigned interest in things he cared
nothing about. It usually resulted in him saying something obnoxious. She went to him and held out her hand. “Eli popped the question last night,” she said.

  Russ tilted his head back and looked down at the ring through his bifocals. “Mm. Well, money isn’t everything. Good for you, honey.”

  She cringed inwardly at the word “honey” coming from Russ.

  “Will this be your first?” he said.

  “My first what?”

  “First marriage, of course.”

  “Oh. Yes. My first.”

  “What did you think I meant?”

  “I thought maybe you were asking if it was my first proposal.”

  A movement flashed over Russ’s mouth that approximated a brief smirk. “Oh, honey, I don’t have to ask that.” Behind his glasses, his eyes quickly moved up and down her body. “I’m sure you’ve gotten plenty of... proposals. Your fiancé—is this the guy you met in rehab?”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly rehab. We were in a program together. We still are.”

  His frown deepened even more as he cocked his head to one side. “Is that wise?”

  It was Chloe’s turn to frown. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Russ.”

  He shrugged slightly. “Well, two addicts getting married? Could be a recipe for disaster.”

  Chloe could feel her jaws bulging as she clenched her teeth. “I have work to do. See you later, Russ.” She turned and went down the hall.

  In her small office, she put her coffee and folder on the desk. Before she could sit down, her cell phone chirped. She checked the caller ID and saw Eli’s name.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she said.

  “Hey, how’s your day going?”

  She heard some tension in his voice. “Well, it’s better now. I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”

  “I’m at Park Marina with the ducks and geese. I came here to eat lunch, but... I’m not so hungry anymore. You wouldn’t believe what I just saw.”