The Medicine
Jim lay prostrate and blinking on the cool, sticky linoleum.
The doorbell. It buzzed weakly, like a wasp dying.
For a moment he mused, distantly, to have it fixed before he left. Then again, he wouldn't get to pay for it. And Diane would get the debt after all, on top of her sadness or exasperation or maybe relief, he couldn't predict which. And Katie, little Katie.
So he wouldn't worry about it. He would leave it for the next tenant. Reluctantly, he peeled himself off the kitchen floor and ambled into the living room. The sun moved behind the clouds and the light grew muted as he let in his guest.
'I've been looking for the right medicine for a while now.'
'You have?'
'Yes. The right stuff, the one doctors won't let you have.'
'I know. But it's awfully strong.'
'Which is why they won't let you have it, of course.'
They had moved to the balcony. The buildings shimmered in the grey heat. The air was sweaty and acrid. Below, his visitor's boxy, brown Buick was parked neatly by the cracked curb.
'Do you want a drink?'
'Do you have anything left?'
'I'm sure I've got some soda or something.'
'I'll just have a glass of water.'
'Suit yourself.'
Jim kicked off his sandals and pushed back the screen door. The two went inside. He lumbered back to the kitchen to fetch the water and a warm can of cola.
'You can take off your jacket if you like,' he called. 'I haven't got anywhere to hang it, though.'
'I'll be fine.' His guest sat down on a folding chair and loosened his tie a little.
'What did you do with everything?'
The apartment was the dirty skeleton of a home. Mildew bloomed along the corners and spotted the ceiling. The walls were scarred with clean squares in the grime where picture frames had once hung. The only furniture left was the two folding chairs, cheap and bowed from use.
Jim came back from the kitchen and set the drinks on the floor.
'Well, I gave away a lot of it, I threw away some, and I sold the rest. My dad's old encyclopedias, our radio, most of the furniture.'
'Did you keep the money?'
'Nah. No reason to. I paid a month's rent and sent the rest to Diane.'
'How is she?'
'I don't know for sure. I haven't talked to her in years. She's probably doing great. And little Katie's doing just fine too, I bet.'
They were quiet as Jim rested his head on his palms and his guest lit a cigarette.
'Are you okay?'
'I don't know. I don't think about it too much, it used to hurt a lot to think about everything.'
'I'm sure. But it doesn't really matter.'
'I guess.'
A fire engine wailed softly in the distance. The two men cast long, sad shadows onto the floor.
'Why do you do this?'
'It helps.'
'Does it pay?'
'Most of the time.'
'A medicine man, huh? That's clever.'
'True, though.'
A silence crept in for a moment. Jim took a final, stinging gulp of ginger ale and crushed the can between his palms before speaking again.
'I'm just a little nervous.'
'You'll be all right.'
'Thanks. You know, I appreciate that you're a man of few words,' said Jim. 'I just go on and on with questions and things. Does it irritate you?'
'Not at all. Besides, it doesn't matter.'
'It doesn't. God, I keep forgetting.'
Jim's visitor wore clean, pressed slacks and a matching sport coat. His face was solemn and handsome, with thick, striking eyebrows. His hands were nimble, flexed with expertise.
Jim himself had grown homely from years alone. No amount of shaving ever rid his face of that peppery stubble, and his balding head and sad eyes made him pitiful.
He rose to throw away his can.
'It's raining.'
Outside, the muggy air had cleared and fat raindrops fell, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The sky was darkening.
He closed the screen door and sat back down.
'I remember loving this kind of rain when I was a kid. My mother didn't like it when I splashed in puddles and got muddy.' He chuckled. 'Katie loved puddles too.'
'And her mother?'
'I didn't mind, and neither did she. I would have liked a mom like Diane when I was a kid.'
'Really?'
'Katie loves her. I'' he hesitated, and a wistful shadow passed across his face. 'I don't know about myself. I haven't been so good.'
This truth rendered both of them silent.
The rain was suddenly pouring now, coming down in great furious sheets. Thunder sounded in loud, godly booms.
'Now?'
'Not yet. Wait until the storm passes. You know, I'm not so nervous anymore. I'm sure this is it.'
'What?'
'The fix I'm looking for.'
'It could be.'
'It is. It is. You know, I don't know what I was trying to do with myself before.'
'What was that?'
'I don't know. I never realized I was making bigger mistakes to fix the little ones, you know?'
'That's the way it goes.'
'Lots of awful things. I hurt my family.'
'You don't seem like that kind of guy.'
'I hurt myself. And I'm not that kind of guy. I wasn't ever.'
'No one is. But why, then?'
'I was so stupid. So goddamn stupid.'
'It doesn't matter.'
Tides of sadness grew and pressed against the roof of Jim's mouth. Against his sore eyes. Squeezing his throat.
'I know it doesn't. Yeah.'
They sat in silence. The storm was receding. The rain fell more slowly, and the thunder rumbled quietly, further away. A strange, dull sunlight came through the balcony door.
'Now?'
Jim thought for a moment. 'Sure. I want to tell you something, though.' He knew his guest wouldn't care to hear it, but he'd say it anyway.
'Yes?'
'I wrote to Diane and Katie the other day.'
His guest rose his powerful eyebrows in polite surprise. 'Did you?'
'I did. Long letters, too. I mailed them in a big yellow envelope, the big ones.'
'What did you write?'
'What else could I write?'
'An apology?'
'Yeah. I wish I could apologize for a thousand years. I'm really sorry, I've always been so goddamn sorry.' He lowered his head into his hands.
'Is that it?'
'That's all. Just open the terrace door, could you? I love the rain.' He raised his head calmly, and sighed as his guest slid back the glass.
'But you know--'
'It doesn't matter. Yeah.'
The gun glinted as the guest drew it from his pocket, and with a sudden explosion the merciful bullet entered Jim's chest.
Want to comment on this Short Stories?
Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
|
 |
|
