Two hours earlier it was starting off to be an unusual evening.
I received a call from a friend in Burlington that there was an aurora borealis heading my way. I had never seen one except on the Discovery Channel. I had always thought that they are so fleeting that to even be able to capture it on film would be highly unusual. Therefore, to actually be told one was coming my way, I was dubious.
I ran outside in spite of my skepticism. If it was going to happen, I was not going to miss it on my watch. And I wasn’t disappointed.
I watched in the northwest sky as a well-defined sheet of red came in a spray over my head. Unusual. Red is not a common color in this phenomenon.
“Red, that is at the limit of what the human eye can see” Borealis FAQ.
They are usually green- blue and white. This one was red and purple. It came spreading from a small point in the distance to a well defined spray line until the sky was a complete wash in red, and as quickly as it came, it disappeared in a second. It looked as if it were being sucked into a tiny pinhole over my head.
I was so enamored; I continued to stare at the minute dot in the sky. And lucky I did. A burst of red, green, purple, and yellow came from that little hole in the heavens and covered the entire atmosphere.
And then the twilight faded into pastels and I could see, indiscernible to most, there were fine lines going north, south, east, and west. It looked like graph paper. No one else saw it….
Earlier that day.
6am
Today is a holiday. No work and a strangely promising day if you lent yourself to mysticism.
I decided to hit the grocery store early before the New Year’s Eve crowd came enmass to prepare for football and friends, as opposed to Christmas with faith and family. I expected to see more than a few people, I was certain I wasn’t the only person who took advantage of this time frame to do my shopping, but the store was empty.
I took advantage of the situation, I can take my time. I grabbed a newspaper – a few and far between treat, made my way to the store’s coffee shop, sure to have at least a few of the early morning regulars.
This little built-in Starbucks always juiced a good crowd no matter the occasion or time. But the only patrons were the store’s staff. They sipped their choices hunched over the table, exchanging veiled banter. They stopped, as if in accord, turned their heads up, and most said hello, others smiled and flicked fingers from their cups of java in a wave.
It was bewildering. I made my order, the barista especially affable. Quickly, as Starbucks’ intention, my Vente’ Mocha Frappicino was ready. I made it to a table, customers engaging me as I tried to ignore them, but my upbringing forced me to engage.
“This is so very peculiar” I thought.
I opened the paper and found some of the journalism to be typical:
Gas prices at an all-time high, some stations forced to closed…
Hunting season reflects a diminished interest…
And the headlines “President Obama concerned over the ineffectiveness of Nuclear Regulation”.
The chances of a mistake by ignorance has been ….
I was immediately distracted by a story that almost seemed to speak to these headlines;
Record number of patients were detached home from hospitals. ..
Who would even notice such a thing? Patients requested doctors to discharge them early so they could be home with family. The story continued. It seems more people believed in the far-fetched stories of psychics than originally thought! I laid the paper down, went to get a scone, came back to reclaim my seat, the paper was gone. I looked around the room, no paper, all eyes on me. The Twilight Zone…perhaps. I left, after grabbing a few items.
I forgot Milk, and I was not going back in there. At least not till I found a mirror. My rearview reflected no unusual facial missteps or snot hanging from my nose. I checked my pants, not unzipped, no toilet paper hanging from the back of my jeans or the bottom of my shoes.
I stopped at the convenience store instead. And IT WAS MOBBED.
What the hell?
People were buying things they would purchase at the grocery because of the ridiculous markup. Toilet paper, coffee, ice. I checked the date on the milk, it expires in two days. Unusual for a convenience store. Milk is a top selling item and they always had a generous expiration. And supply. I picked up the last carton and made my way to the end of the line.
The clerk was exceedingly pleasant, as were the customers waiting their turn, holding diapers and juice. It as after 6am, yet no one was purchasing alcohol. I requested a lotto ticket for the upcoming drawing.
“This is the first one I sold today” the clerk smiled, his eyes raised in curiosity.
I then noticed the sign: We will be closing at noon today. We will stay until then because of the generous patronage you have afforded this establishment.
Odd. This must be their last day. For whatever reason, a lot of these businesses were closing. I secretly hoped I would win so the merchant could realize the 1% pay-off from the claim.
The day went by uneventful. My family had no idea where I was, and I didn’t want to open those doors. I had a haunting feeling that I should. I let that go. I turned on HBO to watch Testament. And following that, the hit from last year’s Christmas, The Darkest Hour would follow. They both were going to run consecutively throughout the day, lucky, because I decided to nap in between. Until the phone rang.
“Dianne, go outside, there is a borealis on its way”.
I ran outside, really not expecting to see it, but there it was.
I sat on the front porch for another hour trying to absorb what I saw.
How many dreams I had about this very thing. Am I dreaming now, or I am imagining it? But I saw those graph lines almost embossed in the night sky with the borealis fading into pastels. I had no witnesses so I was on my own.
And then the sky broke loose with this cold rain, the kind you feel in your bones.
The borealis had sung with electricity. My exacting brain was fearful of the rain mixed with that electricity and I made certain to sport my rubber-soled sneakers, keeping my hands and body clear of any kind of conductor. I placed my hind end firmly in the wooden rocker, using my feet to scuff myself to the window and watch the events of the night sky.
I was distracted by the houses across the street with their big picture windows. No games on the TV’s, no TV’s. Their rooms were filled with older and younger folks and children. Not a bunch of men, or female sports fanatics. Family.
This day is just getting distractingly peculiar.
And then within the painted sky, small orbs appeared and a meteor shower ensued. I was mesmerized, as the perfect squares of the graph image I saw at the beginning became ever so vivid and then larger pastel orbs refelecting planets. My neighbors and their families slowly crept outside, arms folded, some with their hands on the small shoulders of offspring, their eyes fixed on the unfolding show. No one seemed to notice me, and as accustomed as I was to luring others into my concepts of the moment, I chose to let them be. They looked as if that was their choice as well.
The orbs continued, but they paled in comparison to the atmospheric exhibition. I dreamt this a thousand times and a thousand times it felt like a dream. This time it’s real. I recognized the clarity of words in human voices, I could smell the environment dampness, I could feel the electricity. And I finally knew.
The folks at Starbucks, the empty grocery, the packed convenience store, the general goodwill, the movie choices.
As I enter this into my journal, this New Years eve of 2012, the night sky is now as bright as a summer dawn and … ….. ……. …….. ………….. …………………… ——————-
My birthday!.. Too old to celebrate, I am certain that is what you are thinking. It is a national past time. Age and what it means. Over the hill at 40. Definitely at 50. And then when you reach the milestone of 100, everyone starts to have parties. No matter, you cannot enjoy them because your adult diaper is on crooked and no-one has the responsibility an infant’s keeper has. And you sleep through most of it, also much like an infant.
No, I am going to enjoy this 43rd non descript birthday.
I got my first card today in bed! From my reason for celebrating. I had met someone new and now it looked like my life was going to turn around. Someone who cares as much for me as I do for her.
Maybe even more so.
I have been warned, but the warnings “no stick”.Even her family. But I can assure you, my inanimate friend, they do not know her.
She is a sweet kind person who has discovered me as I have her. She feels differently about me. And this is the person no one can see, because this is the person who has not found mutual love.
Until now.
August 1996
My sister and mother came from Kenosha to visit out of the blue. Why? My father told me when I called him that he instructed them NOT to show up on my doorstep.
However, they did. I should not put “however” because it is a given that the wicked witch of the North and her flying monkey will go anywhere and everywhere they are forbidden. And raise havoc. Which they did. Then they left.
December 1996
Christmas. It has been hectic, I know I should write more often, but I have been both busy, and a bit under the weather. Unusual for me. I have no time for being sick. And please do not tell anyone, (like you could) but I have no patience for the unwell.
My sister went to Disneyworld for Christmas. She doesn’t work, has no money, how the hell does she do this? I have no doubt my mother helped, but from last I heard, my father said they were having a few financial problems. My mother said he exaggerates.
I got over 100 Christmas cards. I write about that because one wasn’t signed. Very frustrating.
Next year I will go through all these cards to make my list. And will be frustrated all over again.
You will receive one from me this year. You will probably send me a card next year, signed, but won’t receive one from me, because I DIDN’T KNOW you sent me one. And then the following year you won’t send me one. It will take 4 years to fix this.
whew!!! This is exhausting just thinking about it. I will always double-check to make CERTAIN I will sign it.
June 21, 1997
Again, I received my first card in bed, and my second. Taylor gave me the first, my sweet daughter the second. And it’s Saturday!!!!
June 21 1997
Ok, same day. I never write same day. But now I am just plain pissed.
I got many birthday cards over the previous week, so, very few today. Two. And one not signed. Who is this fucking imbecile?
Maybe they will call.
Christmas 1997
What another splendid year. However, I was totally preoccupied with WHY SOMEONE SENT ME A CARD UNSIGNED.
And I am ill again. Worse than last year.
Sometimes I throw up every day. I hate doctors, but if this keeps up I will have no options.
January 1998
I went to the doctor. Of course I was no longer sick.
After explaining the last two xmas’s being sick, he concluded I need a shrink. I am allergic to Christmas. Something about my brother dying.
June 1998
I won’t go into great detail. It’s fathers day, the same day I was born, but my mother and sister asked me to not call.
“We all know you were born on fathers day. Why don’t you just let dad have his day instead of trying to get all the attention. He may not live very long”
Now, the average family, the normal family would expect such a call under the circumstances.
I got an unsigned card. I want to believe it’s from my sister not wanting people to know. But she sends out schmaltzy cards with poetry because she has no idea how to be sentimental, so why not hire someone else. For $2 it’s a deal. I hope it’s her.
December 1998
Ok. I feel like crap. Not as bad as last year.
I have been seeing a shrink and there is a lot to say about the subconscious and ritual.
And the ritual of an unsigned x-mas card once again. These cards don’t even have character so I can GUESS. They look like the cards my grandma would pick up at the dime store. For a dime.
June 1999
My daughter isn’t here.
She told her counselor she was being abused and was going to run away.
I asked the counselor what was it that was causing this abuse? Her room and the mess I allow her to keep it in? Is it her computers, personal phone? All her friends having keys to the house and having carte blanche to come and go? Was it my extreme blind love for her? Was it my working my ass off so she can go to every debate tournament, out of state debating, Europe?
I got ANOTHER of those cards. Maybe it’s from her. She is crafty enough to want to be part of my celebration and stubborn enough to not admit it.
Taylor decided we will send her to her dad’s and that is where she has been for almost 5 months.
December 1999
My psych doctor decided to send me to an internist.
All I will have to ask him is “WHO THE HELL IS SENDING ME THESE ANNONYMOUS CARDS.
June 2000
My daughter graduated and is going on to college. This will be my last birthday where she is absolutely required to be a part of it. She is finally back in the fold.
And I am not as sick these days. I still work unreal hours, sometimes over 60 a week up to 80. But I start each day sick. I think I’ll go on a fast.
December 2000
Merry Christmas.
I have lost 40 pounds. I decided to fast and it made me feel so good, I continued with a very limited healthy diet.
This is my first Christmas without feeling like a burden. At times, I was certain Taylor had it and would leave. But she thrives with the ill. She works in the hospital and even though, there have been times her frustration would show through, but her deep emotions would win. She seems pre-occupied this year.
My daughter came home from college. She has had mono and has had a most difficult year.
And again…the card.
We are moving. Let’s see if this ghost follows.
June 2001
I cannot believe we move and everything moves with us, even this constant teasing greeting card thing. I actually went to the police station. They laughed. What should I expect? But it has gone from irritation to anger, then curiosity, then anger again and now, it is fear.
I was called into Human Resources last week. They had been getting calls every year on my birthday and they refused to confirm or deny my employment because of the suspicious nature of the inquiry. I wish I had known. I could have told the police. But now as it stands, they think I am a loon and this additional information is only another confirmation that I am out of my mind.
The HR guy doesn’t think so, but it has sent red flags. Am I in trouble? Do I have an unsettled debt? The questions all being answered with a firm NO.
I had a pulmonary embolism last month. I don’t take time to write about it because of my preoccupation with my Birthday and will the card come? I actually hope it will because the alternative would be worse. I wouldn’t know why I didn’t get it. Perhaps this anonymous person no longer lived. Or cared.
December 2001
This has been a bad year for everyone. We were first hand witnesses to the death of thousands by terrorism.
And I got my personal terrorism. This year the card was a might better in that it had character, and it was funny. A Shoebox greeting about an old woman celebrating her’s and the Christ child’s mutual birthdates. But it just didn’t come off as funny as it could.
I had two operations in as many months and had a hysterectomy for Christmas that literally almost killed me. I am on far too much pain medicine. I know this, but refuse to stop. And Taylor advocates it,. She said I could not work without it. The fentanyl is the worst of the bunch. It is in patches and sometimes they don’t stick. They are costly, so she said I should just tear open the defective ones and take the whole mess.
I have since found out I have been taking enough to put 10 heart patients down.
After I got this last card, I opened a perfectly good patch and consumed it, sleeping for 2 days. But I woke up and the card was there on my end table untouched. Still there. I need to sleep, I am not feeling as well as I could.
June 2002
We moved to New Hampshire and I at once felt relieved. My health has started to improve. And my sister and mother have made amends with me, talking to me daily. Most days I ask Taylor to speak to them. I am too exhausted for anything. I really wish we had not made contact with them.
I got the card. This time it had a lot of flowers and trees. Very maudlin. I wonder if I would have gotten it if we had not talked to the family.
Happy Birthday to me. I am far too sick to enjoy it.
December 2002
My daughter needs additional funds to go to the another college. And even though she has a perfectly good scholarship to a more than amazing school -Drake, I want her to be happy.
I am going to cash in my insurance policy. Life insurance.
My mother sold Life Insurance for many years becoming one of the most successful in her field. So of course her children (me) are set.
I am going to give my little girl a fat healthy check for Christmas.
I got the card. I think I would be disappointed if I didn’t
January 2003
I have been far too ill, vomiting, stomach and head problems. I have gained 100 pounds in spite of the exhausting vomiting.
The doctors know nothing. They prescribe. Taylor insists. Insists I have all these tests, intrusive tests like heart catheterizations. Insists I see specialists who seem to find this an interesting puzzle.
I called my life insurance company located in Milwaukee since my mother closed her general agency after Roy died in Kenosha and something is not right. In 1996, they said, my policy was put in another name. What? How can they do that? It was a company name. My first notion was that perhaps my mother put it in another company to draw better retirement. But the insurance company said I would have had to agree to this.
How? How DO I AGREE? I had to sign papers, the woman told me, but she became mute and refused to discuss it. Did I sign anything in 1996? August to be exact. What did I do in 1996? Who can remember what they did last week much less almost 10 years ago?
I called my mom, but my sister is back to her old tricks refusing to let me speak to her “Upset her”.
How am I upsetting her? WhenEVER her policy holders die, she is the first one on the scene helping them through the mounds of paperwork, making certain to get the proper compensation, which is NEVER the amount they expect. But in a time where a loss has occurred arguing about money is vulgar.
June 2003
I have been far too ill to do anything but lay here and wait for a better day to come.
Taylor has been very upset by my maladies, but she takes care of me. I get around by wheelchair WHEN I get around. I am on an oxygen machine. First it was CPAP but now it’s pure oxygen.
She made me a beautiful cake, but I could barely eat it.
And I got a card. But it wasn’t a birthday card, it was a get well card. Taylor said she thinks it’s just a coincidence and that we probably actually know the sender who may have actually forgot to sign it. But I didn’t get an unsigned birthday card.
December 24, 2003
I am writing this from my hospital bed. It took many days for Taylor to find it, even though I knew exactly where it was. She finally found it.
I asked to see all the cards this year, and the card was not there. But I am certain, if it was – Taylor would not want to upset me.
December 26, 2003
Still no anonymous greeting. I guess that’s good. But I do not believe it.
I am not entering daily posts. I have very little to say. My illness has taken over every part of my life. I am going to give my book – my journal, to one of the nurses I met here. I asked him to send it to my daughter. If she is still speaking to me.
I could not give her that check, and I promised her. It is my fault.
January 2004
I cannot continue like this..
I am so
Please, remember child I love you. And I have a surprise for you.
Those were the last words she wrote. The nurse forwarded the Journal to California where her daughter lived. Enclosed with the journal was a check to her daughter for $75,000.
Two months later
Taylor had lain Dianne to rest one month prior. She then took the money she had been saving all these years, packed up her things, bought that $5000 dog and was heading out to Belize to start a diving company. It took a bit longer than she had hoped, but now it happened.
She circled down the drive, took one last look and then pulled up to the mailbox.
She found the usual credit card offers, a few bills she would ignore
My Doctor, Dr. T_____s asked me to write this three months ago. He is in this text, the doctor who had shingles.
There is so much out there about our candidates, but there is one issue, upsetting the patients and pain care MD’s here in Houston. It all stems back to the bassackwards way of governing that Perry inherited from his predecessor.
As we all know, George Bush decided that when your neighbor attacks you from their home across the street, the best way to handle it is to knock off the neighbor right next door. After all, he was a friend of the neighbor across the street.
For those who have no idea of whence I came, does Saddaam Hussein ring a bell?
Now, guess what? There is a NEW no.1 hydrocodone prescriber, because the OLD one, his or her predecessor is now out of business. What do you think he/she is going to do? What if you were his/her first patient the day after this arrest?
No doubt, you will be walking out the door with an 800 mg script for naproxen. And a hardy admonition, quite puzzling since the month before, you and he/she had been in agreement that the course of treatment was acceptable.
The one’s who stayed have strict by laws, the most ridiculous is you have to be a permanent resident and they will not see you until you have lived here a year.
Yet, if you are a chronic pain patient, or, just a person who has a bad headache and find out your doctor will not “write”, your next step is to find a doctor who will help you.
If you happen to be at a new clinic, and the DEA is looking for some entertainment, you most likely will find yourself in the company of people who are somewhat less desirable, in the back of the hypothetical paddy wagon.
With respect to the Texas State Board of Pharmacy, the TSBP has been setting an average of at least two pharmacies, along with the employed pharmacists, every month for temporary suspension hearings. A temporary suspension hearing is an extraordinary remedy designed to immediately remove from operation a pharmacy or pharmacist whose continued practice represents an ongoing threat to the public welfare. A temporary suspension bypasses the normal disciplinary procedure by allowing the Pharmacy Board to immediately remove a licensee from practice pending a final resolution by the Board.
Such hearings can be held with little or no notice to the licensee and are decided by a three-member panel of the Board rather than an independent administrative law judge. For a number of reasons, these hearings are almost always difficult for the licensee. As the Board panel is generally comprised of lay persons without a legal background, the rules of evidence are usually only loosely followed if at all. The short notice given to the pharmacist or pharmacy, oftentimes less than two weeks, permits little preparation time especially given it typically takes the licensee a few days even to locate an attorney. Most importantly, as the panel is comprised of Board members, the hearing’s decision-makers are usually very sympathetic and receptive to the arguments and evidence presented by Board Staff.
A licensee often, and not without good reason, has the impression that the deck has been stacked against them.
Uh…yah that. Some may read that and say..well so what..others will get it. They go after whomever and shut them down, sometimes long before trial causing problems for Doctors, their employees and patients alike.
The board keeps changing the rues to encompass the people they think they can encumber quickly
Remember the ads with the smiling pharmacist, acting like your best friend? Ready to take care of YOU, not wanting to inconvenience, but wanting to make certain your needs are fulfilled?
Forget it!
You might as well put on a clown outfit and walk into said pharmacy with your oversized converse shoes. Because that is how you are going to be treated. They look at your history, see the refill was due, but the doctor forgot to call it in.
God Forbid! It be a weekend. You are doubly fucked. The pharmacist can see a history, sometimes of years, knowing it is legitimate. You are a regular fixture, they know you by name, they maybe have know you for years, including your family. Yet, they are the new Pontius pilot, washing their hands with DEA encrusted soap.
I called my Dr. on Thursday, for a Friday refill. The Doctor’s officey called me and told me it was called in. I called Walgreens on Friday and they said they had it. I walked there, in the heat – a mile and got there at 5:15 pm.
There was a mixup, and the pharmacist said it was never called in. So there is it, I called the Doctor in a responsible fashion, they called the pharmacy, the pharmacy told me it was ok. I enter the pharmacy after hours, before a 3 day weekend, and a pharmacy that has been dealing with me for a year with no problems not only screwed up but were limited by these laws to do anything about it.
“I will lose my license”, ““Why” you ask, “you know I get these every month, can’t you at least just give me enough to get through until he is back n his office?
“Absolutely NOT, The DEA will have my neck”.
And so it goes, the new mantra of physician and pharmacy alike.
As a matter of fact, don the same outfit if you are thinking of going to the ER for a solution. You can walk in holding your detached left arm in your right hand, and you will most certainly be ridiculed by the staff for begging for pain relief. The costume is just your way of having fun while they do it.
I was sitting in my doctor’s office having a consult, when his phone rang.
He begged my forgiveness, but he was waiting for HIS doctor to call so he could get a refill on HIS pain meds. He had shingles on his face. He was so frustrated after trying to get in touch with him for days.
You see, they cannot write for themselves. Which is ridiculous. It’s not as if they would have a habitual running problem with writing, this most certainly can be discovered easily enough. Why penalize the entire medical community because one or two do not have ethics. And I can PROMISE you, the Doctor’s that do so, will continue to do so. All they have to do is find someone to accept the script and have it filled. They are doing it today, as I write this. No solution there.
About 3 years ago, after men and women were coming home from Afghanistan and the like, the rate of suicide suddenly rose. Then Michael Jackson decided to treat himself to home spun anesthesia.An investigation/study showed that drug trafficking in Texas as at an all time high. Our governor saw this as an “opportunity” to be the GREAT CRIME STOPPER and ran with it. He dropped all kinds of stuff out of his already overflowing satchel of “how to be president of the United States when no one is looking” tricks to fit this new mess in there.
He needed to get numbers and results. It did not matter if one had nothing to do with the other. He was on his rode to the White House and all he needed were words, and statistics. He would get some of those magnetic number and letter kits,,
put them up on the refrigerator and then spell out words given to him by his nanny,
Deputy Doodah Dewherst.
He would first put up the words he liked, and then deputy Dew would give him numbers from the alleged statistics, starting with the biggest and on down. Then Perry matches the words he prefers with the numbers that work for him. Finally taking out construction paper and his brand new box of crayons and voila Tort reform!
Captain Perry and Deputy Dewherst confuse the issues once again.. Instead of going after the drug pushers, he is going after doctors and pharmacies.
Four years later, drug trafficking is at an all time high, as is overdosing, addiction and liver disease, valuable employee down time and finally, drug related arrests..
You see, now that doctors can not treat t their patients pain problems, patients are taking to the streets, pill mills. They are self medicating.
Since the doctor is not in charge of how these patients get their meds, they are no longer moderated and given only the required dose and NO MORE. ‘
Now they can get an unlimited supply. And anyone on pain meds knows, including those of you self righteous “Oh, I take pain medication, but I don’t abuse it and I am not addicted”.
If you are on pain meds, you are addicted. But guess what? That’s not a crime.
Addiction sounds ugly but in reality, our addictions span a range without limitations. From food to movies. And some of these addictions are necessary.
If you are in pain, and on medication, you most likely ARE ADDICTED.
But if you have chronic pain, something you will have for the rest of your life, what does it matter? Just like diabetes, you will need to have medication, regulated to address the issue.
Patients who do NOT need this medication at a regular interval, i.e. 30 days, but intermittently, headaches etc. are finding doctors reluctant to treat. Some have even forfeited the “right to write” downsizing their prescription pads to omit controlled substances.
Shrugging their shoulders,
“Sorry, I cannot give you those” they say, “I would rather you be in pain than me be in jail” they don’t say, out loud.
Since when do doctor’s allow anyone to tell them how to doctor? I have tried to tell them and I have gotten reprimanded like a child.
So, in order for these poor people to be able to continue to work, or take care of their everyday life during these episodes of pain, they are buying from street dealers and finding they like what they are taking.
What the hell, they do not have to put up with their doctors questioning refills.
Why not buy more?
As a matter of fact, this is far easier than seeing a doctor. No appointment, no waiting, no explaining, no humiliation from Doctor or pharmacy. Now we have a completely new level of addiction. Addicts with additional insult of chronic health issues.
Without doctors to make certain a patient is not experiencing additional health problems due to excessive drug use, screening for liver and kidney problems, these patients end up with advanced health issues, some irreversible..
This is also, why the drug overdosing is at an all time high. No regulation.
And drug related suicides?
Does Perry really think he can stop suicides?
Thus was his soap box issue, suicides from drug overdosing. He was going to stop this by arresting doctors who issue such medications?!???
Do we all not know that if someone wants to kill themselves, nothing is going to stop them?
Drug trafficking in Texas is at another all time high. These people are making money hand over fist and will continue to pat Mr. Perry on the back, doing what they can to make certain his law stays law.
And they will continue to make more and more.
Money and Drugs.
Sometimes the drugs that are not regulated, contain substances that are dangerous. The pharmacies are losing money to these fiends. The pharmacies are there for just that reason, but without their supervision, the dealers can do as they please. They could care less about well being, they aren’t in it for the patient’s sake.
People are being arrested.
Nothing sadder than a 72 year old woman who can barely make it to her seat, having to plead guilty to buying medicine that can make her days a little easier.
And work.
SSDI has had a huge rise from workers no longer being able to do their job from chronic pain issues. More loss for these companies due to excessive sick days.
I asked Dr. B___K, an anesthesiologist from St. Luke’s, how he feels.
“It’s great, we are seeing a rise of patients electing for surgery for their pain instead of medication”
Oh, well, ok then, …WHAT!!!
For those who have chosen the legal route, thus, relinquishing their comfort, but attaining a level of respect from the medical community, getting off these pain meds is far easier. .
Enter SUBOXONE.
A marvelous drug. Acts like a placebo. It is not, it just eliminates the horrible drug withdrawal. But you cannot get high. It is very costly and prescription drug programs barely cover the cost. And they have no patient assistance programs. They don’t need to. And they are in the UK. Another American insult.
Oh and a dose of Seroquel, the new Prozac.
Now everyone that has had drug issues, is choosing the Suboxone route, they are sub diagnosed with Bi-polar. And treated with Seroquel. Which is egregious when you know someone who actually is Bi-polar, having their affliction derailed by “posers” needing their meds.
And the pay back to the doctor and pharmacies is realistically, a wonderful pocket padder.
Doctors who sympathized with these legitimate maladies and helped, now ridicule their patients, passing the responsibility, telling them they need to take these new meds.
The old medications, used for over 100 years, are no longer any good.
Yet new drugs… ok, lets talk Tort reform. How many law suits are out there for these new drugs,? Costing us millions during the prescription phase and then 100’s of millions during the lawsuit phase from new complications from these meds, including, dying?
Every time I turn around, a doctor is trying to prescribe something new brought in by a drug rep
“It’s non addicting”.
What he is not saying:
“You will likely have other issues, such as a kidney, liver or lung transplant. Alternatively, a brain tumor, loss of speech, hearing seeing and oh… A gambling addiction”
.Perry has taken a page from Bush’s “Solution for 911″. Find an easier target to pay for the crime” And that is doctors and pharmacies, and ultimately the average Texas citizen. Perry attacks the doctors and pharmacies for what the drug dealer is doing. Thus enabling dealers, disabling the medical community.
Kill the neighbor next door, who is a pain in the butt, but NOT the problem. The real culprit, the guy across the street? He’ll get the message when he sees the guy next door laying dead on his lawn.
The prompt is OS Fiction “arguing around the dinner table”
I have never tried food blogging, and this is probably one of the very few attempts you will see. But this year, I have all these OS family that, even though I cannot eat with you, I can share with you.
The calories are fiction, the recipes not, but the rest?The family? You decide.
Holiday dinners were always an event in the Bobschuch family. And the food was “Simply Irresistable”
As for Arguments, the second you walk into the door you can expect to be embroiled in an argument. And Holidays were no exception. It was usually about food and who was the best, worst etc. Surprisingly we all liked to walk on the “wild side” experimenting, and with good results – most times.
In spite of the fact that our mother did not have “exotic” taste, we all (except Gil) had a flair in any dish put forward. Mother’s interpretation of exotic was mushrooms, spinach, Brussels sprouts…you get the idea? Yet we thrived. Grandma had all the family recipes that we could draw from. And change as we delighted.
Oatmeal was garnished with ice cream, nothing was fodder, we found fun and delight in all we cooked.
Every holiday someone did something in spite of mother “Don’t you DARE ruin this meal Mark!” “Marlee, just this once…?”, “Dianne, let your brother and sister cook, they know better” Mark would laugh at that since I am the one that introduced him and Marlee to cooking.
If you know my family, then humor yourself and read what people have to say on Facebook the day after. You will talk to your self OUT LOUD with laughter. Nothing can be THAT good! But, if you want to be invited back, you had better post SOMETHING, just to stay in good graces with the family. There is no “lukewarm” in this family, you either are or you aren’t part of the inner circle. God forbid anyone straddle the fence. That is a guarantee of accusations of betrayal.
Now, Marlee would undoubtedly agree with Mom. No matter what mother said or did, Marlee would advocate. Mother was her only refuge. Without her, Marlee would have needed to work, and that was not going to happen. And Marlee was a compulsive hoarder of duplicates, triplicates and a lot of stufflicates. If she liked it , mother would buy it in every color, fabric, if food, any flavor. So Marlee had an obvious bent and we all knew it and ignored it.
Marlee was queen of the kitchen, causing the rest of us to find ways to tempt her away from the kitchen so we could share our own tastes. And some of the fairre is definitely worth donning the “mask of delight” for four to sometimes ten hours.
Grandmother brought her specials to the table. The one we loved, but knew “the truth” about was cottage cheese. Grandmother would put her cottage cheese in a lead crystal hand carved bowl, on the table, slapping hands that tried to steal a spoonful before everyone sat down. We Loooovvvved her cottage cheese.
Grandma, that is so fattening” more than one of us would accuse.
“Ahhhhh, (in her best Mad TV Lorraine rasp) it is not. It’s cottage cheese”
Grandma’s cottage cheese recipe
One carton Cottage cheese, any brand as long as it is from Wisconsin
One package cream cheese (ok Philadelphia has Wisconsin on that one)
Chopped or dried onions…to taste
1/8 cup chives
Grated garlic, to taste
1/8 cup of whipping cream
Soften cream cheese, if necessary, put in the microwave for 30 seconds. Fold in onions with a mixer, chives and garlic (I usually use 1 head of Garlic, or appx. 8 cloves) into cream cheese, adding whipping cream slowly for consistency (remember, once chilled it will thicken, but be careful not to add too much.)
Once creamy, fold evenly into cottage cheese and there you have it, a low fat wonderful side.
So I lie, this is fiction …, at least some of it is.
Whomever was not in the kitchen fighting over what was to be part of the faire and what was not, was assigned to table duty.
And a pristine table it was. Fitz and Floyd china (funny story there. Father had given mother the gift of new china one year for her birthday. He had the clerk show her several patterns, but not the price. Mother chose a beautiful pattern, and all was well with the world, until she saw the price. The clerk had left the label book on the counter while arrangement s for pay, and delivery were made. Mother noticed the china she chose was one of the least expensive. She changed her mind, she really wanted the Fitz and Floyd, the most expensive.)
Her special crystal, accrued through many visits to the Wisconsin Dells
, each goblet a different color.
Individual salt and peppers and washbowls, linens and every other unnecessary item to acquire nourishment.
The turkey was Mark’s domain, when Mark was home. And mother wanted her special dressing, which was nice, savory, but folks you have not had dressing until you taste Marks
The very dressing Mother would scream fowl – literally.
Mark’s dressing:
Eckridge farm dry dressing crumbs, 2 large bags. Or as Mark would do it, buy two long loaves of French bread, break into small pieces and dry over night.)
Eckridge sausage, 16 ounces
Chestnuts appx ½ pound (cross cut the top of each one, put on a baking tray and heat at 450 for about 15 minutes, watch so as not to burn. Peel each one, then chop) If you cannot find chestnuts, do without, but I promise, they add a wonderful flavor and texture.
Water chestnuts – 2 cans thinly sliced
I large red onion
One large yellow onion
One bunch green onions
Four stalks celery
½ pound of butter
Turkey broth (boil the gizzard, liver, heart and neck until cooked, use the heart, gizzard and liver chopped up in the dressing), hopefully yielding 2 cups.
Parsley, sage rosemary and thyme to your personal taste
Melt butter in a large pot deep enough to add all the ingredients. Chop all the items to small pieces adding to the butter. Add the liver, heart and gizzard DO NOT USE THE NECK! Too many bones. When all is browned, but not pulpy, add the breadcrumbs to the buttery mix. Toss with a large spoon. When all evenly coated, add the broth slowly until you get a nice consistency.
Keep in mind, the juices from the turkey will co mingle and make it sloppy, so stay just a tiny bit on the dry side, but not too dry.
Clean your bird. I will not give you poundage, because that is determined by the people you have invited. Wash the cavity well, don’t use soap, I know, why would someone do that, but it has happened. Stuff both the hind AND the neck cavity with stuffing. Slap the skin over the neck, the legs should already have one of those metal hinges. You can struggle with that, but it will work eventually.
Take the remainder and put in a casserole dish. As the Turkey bakes, cyphen off some of the gravy and add to the dressing. Bake the dressing during the time the bird is sitting out of the oven cooling. Once the bird is done, immediately remove all the dressing, add it to the left over dressing, or put it in it’s own dish.
You will fall into euphoria when eating this dish. I promise, it is decadent.
Mother screams and waddles to the kitchen pulling out her cornbread mixture and while cussing puts together a last minute “save”. No need for the recipe, it’s on the package
Now, the bird. Don’t want it dry. If you are a family that does not want the dressing in the bird, the following is a sure way to make certain the bird is not dry.
But use this, whether you stuff it or not.
At the store, they have injectable mixes from Tony Cachere’s or Zatarin.. I like the butter and garlic. And that injector good for a long time.
On the stove I melt a half pound of butter and add the Tony Cachere’ (or Zatarin’s) mix. Some people like garlic A LOT. Me. I like Garlic a lot. So I add extra to the melted simmered butter mix.
Before the bird goes in, inject the legs, breast, between the legs, any place that could be construed as an erotic zone, ok, just any place. Do this often during the baking process. An injected bird is the BEST bird.
I hope you saved some of that whipping cream for the gravy.
Cyphen off as much of the clear drippings as possible, Put in a saucepan and warm up adding about a tablespoon of flour. If it is lumpy, or seperating, use your egg beater to smooth it out. Use the egg beater anyhow, it makes a richer gravy. Add whipping cream to thin. If you run out, use milk. You will want to drink that gravy out of a cup.
Other non-fattening tips.
Take half your mash potatoes and add sour cream and a little garlic. Ymmmmmnmmmmummmmm
Yams, add some granola cereal to the top before baking.
Everything is then set at the table, the proper bitching in direct correlation to the compliments. But there is a certain silence when all agree silently, even long after the prayer, that this is by far a “to die for meal.”
And desert. Do you really think pumpkin pie does the trick? Take your favorite cheesecake recipe and add pumpkin pie filling.
I make a chocolate silk pie that is equal to none. And it is fat free!!! NOT! and it will look ten times better than this picture.
Make pudding according to directions, adding the Ovaltine after it has set. Add powdered sugar to the whipping cream and whip just past topping consistency, but not quite butter consistency. Set half aside Soften cream cheese and with an electric beater fold in set pudding, and whipping cream.
Pour into graham cracker pie pan, or make your own. I use macadamia nuts and Oreos, pulverizing them, adding just a scoche of butter to make it moldable. I then use a pie pan, pressing into the concoction into the sides and bottom with my fingers.
Use the remainder of the whipping cream on the top and garnish with slivered chocolate,
You can use any leftover filling in pudding cups
Chill for 2 hours before serving.
Now, you are going to look at the following recipe and say NO-WAY. I am not going to cook OR eat this. I felt the same the first time I watched them being prepared. My daughter was adamnent, she wanted nothing to do with them.
Well…the first time they were made in my kitchen, after the first batch was removed and set to cool in the kitchen, they disappeared, just that fast. My daughter had taken ALL of them, and ate ALL o them. She lay on her bed grossed out by her deed, but begged for more.
Christmas oatmeal cookies:
Use your favorite Oatmeal Cookie recipe, the Oatmeal package has it on the side.
(Now, I finally found out what that horrid gelled fruit for Fruitcakes is actually good for.)
Yes, add 1 package (about 12 ounces) of mixed dried candied fruit to the oatmeal mix.
When putting them on the pan, make sure to MASH them down, or you will have cookie balls, not cooked all the way thru. Bake them according to directions, but watch the first batch. Your oven will tell you the length of time they need to cook.
Please, make at least one batch, I promise, you will be sooooo happy you did.
As for the dinner table, everyone had a joke, an argument, a disagreement, a loved remembrance. All had a wonderful meal and left feeling happy all over again.
And I STRONGLY suggest you make the cookies. Or else someone else will and THEY will be the talk of the holidays.
And…after all, what you disgrace your body with calories, you will make up in fighting Cholesteral.
Her definitive custodian, her impudent concierge stood facing her with a bleak yet humorous gawp washing across his face.
Then the words she had heard at many funerals, in church, even in the day to day chores of her life…The Lord is my shepherd…I shall not want.
The pace quickened, the prison warden read the decree. She was handcuffed and pulled to the room that would be her last place of reckoning.
She could see the white tiles and still whiter floor of the adjacent room from her cell. She could not see it all, but she knew. There was more in that room.
And now here it was.
The appliance, with the 45-degree blade, as big as her cell door it seemed. Nothing else in this white room with men dressed in black garb. Soon it would have the accessory color of crimson. Even with these last moments, did she beckon back to her love of color and life.
The guard pulled her from the cuffs at her back, wrenching her shoulder.
“Please sir, that hurts!” she cried
“It won’t soon enough,” he growled back
No, expect nothing but scorn here. Even knowing she would not be here 5 minutes from now, why couldn’t she be allowed some form of benevolence?
“Kneel”
She looked at the brown step made for that purpose. Not even a slice of felt, or perhaps a piece of burlap. And it was brown. Somehow creating converse in this black and white room only tainted by the pale skin of her enemies.
She knelt on the splintered kneeler as he pushed her head to the half ellipse carved to make her neck fit in a utilitarian fashion.
She thought of her family. Her husband, who finally found her, but denied her. Her baby sister Mary, who sailed across the sea to help her live out the lonely days of being an officer’s wife during these war torn days of World War II.
When she left the apartment she shared with her husband and Mary, she could never have envisioned she would never see them again. She had heard of Mary’s pregnancy. She didn’t pay attention to the hearsay that the child was her husband’s. She didn’t believe it. Mary, 10 years her junior was her first love. Never would she betray her in such a fashion
Mary may very well be pregnant. She was quite smitten with a gentleman in the building.
Perhaps they are married now.
Oh to have seen it. Mary dressed in white, walking to her love. She would have guided Mary through the wedding night, keeping her from feeling fear, or shame.
She just wished she could be there to see her through the difficulty of childbirth, if she were, indeed, with child.
She prayed Mary never knew of this incarceration and it‘s inevitability, and she hoped she never would.
Then the slice, whip!
The blade came down with such speed; thank God, it would be over.
All she could see was red. A very slushy pinkish red. Then the tugging pulling.
Oh my GOD, I am not dead yet.
For God’s sake please!!!!!
But she could not here her own screams, so they certainly couldn’t. Her vocal chords were cut. Of course, nothing was going to come out. It was so painful. There was more red, she tried to close her eyes, yet they pulled and pulled on her head.
She tried to move her arms but they felt pinned to her side instead of cuffed behind her back.
She tried to cry, but the tears would not come.
She tried to open her mouth and give a silent scream, but it felt as if her mouth were being compressed against her nose.
Will this stop?
Please make this stop! Oh, death is such a tormentor.
She could hear talking, yet it was muffled, as one would hear behind a solid door, or when you put your head under a pillow.
She heard “pull pull….“
no, not pull, it was ”push“.
“PUSH!”
No, she was right the first time…
“I am pulling the head out. Just wait, please, just hold still.”
Finally, someone had compassion.
“I can see the eyes open” “Hand me the scissors”
What were they going to do now? What could he use the scissors for, to poke her eyes out so he didn’t have them stare at him? Cut the last of her neck off?
She opened her eyes and saw an unfamiliar face. A huge unfamiliar face.
She felt her head being carried.
“I am not dead”
“I AM NOT DEAD”
She cried she could feel her tears, this made her stop.
Then she saw her husbands face. Her dear sweet love. He was smiling. She must be dead and this was the after thoughts spoken of so secretly among those that believed in a MORTAL afterlife.
She then saw her sister and she was clam. It’s over and this is my reward. The faces of those she so loved…
Then her husband’s voice.
“It’s a girl…your sister would be so happy for you, we have a baby girl.”
The babies lay in their crib, crying for sustenance. And attention.
The mother came in and picked up the larger of the two, a girl she named Ramona. The slighter of the two, Melody, stopped crying, but just for a second as she watched the mother leave the room.
The Nanny/wet nurse shuffled past the mother and took the tiny infant into her breast, singing to her as she rocked her…
One Year Later (actually, 11 months and 1 week later)
The birthday cake was covered with roses and small toys all candied for the children to eat, yet they were really too small and hazardous, they could choke.
Ramona grasped for the candy as a child is want to do. Melody rested in Nanny’s arms. She was much more resilient from the past year, but her Nanny preferred to hold her.
Mother was quite taken with Ramona, but chose to let the Nanny tend to Melody.
You see, Melody was frail, they almost lost her. Mother was anxious. Terrified that she would cause damage, or maybe, become attached and lose her. Everyone knew, she was pretty much past the SIDS point. But …
Melody loved her Nanny, though she had a propensity to talk to empty space. And she did this with the fervor one would have when talking to a confidante‘, or relative. Melody never cared. She felt safe in her arms. She really felt she was treated far better than Ramona, though Ramona had the undivided attention of mother.
Melody and Ramona loved each other. They most certainly would not want the life of other children, born of one egg or one cell. At night when they were put down to sleep they would chatter their “twin talk” to near exhaustion.
Mother commented “I am so blessed that I can sleep at night rather than having to entertain my child until it finally closed it’s eyes.”
The mornings were much the same. Mother fed Ramona, Nanny fed Melody and then they were put in the playpen to continue their conversation encrypted for only their ears to understand.
The learned to sit up, roll over, and crawl together.
Ramona would sit in Nanny’s lap, at times yearning for her mother, but accepting the terms of her limitations. Nanny was far more fun anyhow.
Nanny had friends no-one could see. At least Melody couldn’t. But she acted as if she did. Ramona asked her, in their cryptic conversations if she did not find Nanny strange. Melody found EVERYTHING strange about her, but it didn’t matter.
Let her listen to the voices in the sky if she wanted.
Ramona ran the show, that was certain, but Melody loved being the younger and smaller of the two. Ramona protected her.
The year had gone by quickly and here it was ONE YEAR.
She sat and watched as Ramona pushed her little fat fingers into the “Strawberry Shortcake” birthday cake. Melody reached forward, but Nanny ran her usual intervention. “Cleanliness is Godliness” she would say. Nanny didn’t like sticky fingers or messy clothes. Neither did Nanny’s imaginary friends.
There were times Melody thought she actually saw these friends. Sometimes she could see the images of hands or perhaps a face. Nanny was very happy when Melody would show the recognition. Thank goodness Nanny did not understand the mysterious idiom of the twins. She may be hurt by some of it, startled by others.
Melody watched and waited for her turn to have some of the delectable desert, something Nanny would frown on, but today would be an exception. Everyone sang happy birthday.
Mother said “One year my dear twins, one year” she cried.
Nanny cried.
And suddenly everyone else did. It had been a rough go for mother and a year was a landmark for her as well.
The next year the girls progressed as they needed to. Mother was still cool to Melody and only Nanny took her to the doctor. Mother took Ramona when necessary, but Melody required the monthly visits because of her small size and the complications that could arise. Nanny would bundle her up and take her on the bus.
The girls were taken to the park, mother pushing Ramona, Nanny pushing Melody. This was years before the “twin” strollers, so they rode independent of each other, but it did not interfere with their ability to interact with each other, as a matter of fact, it was better.
Mother would push Ramona on the swing as Ramona would sometimes cry to her mother that she wanted Melody. All mother could understand was “Melody” as Ramona would bellow.
“Let Melody stay where she is. She can’t get on the swing like you do” mother would say.
The year went by in splendid fashion. They both grew into robust toddlers getting into everything, Ramona commandeering in most cases. They loved each other so.
Nanny, it seemed, was becoming more and more attached to Melody, and Melody to Nanny.
“I don’t know what I will do when you don’t need me any longer” Nanny would sigh.
Melody could not imagine that day. She would smile at Nanny, Nanny felt Melody actually understood. Melody did understand.
Before everyone knew it, they were two, and walking, and almost toilet trained. Melody was gaining the momentum on that much faster than Ramona. Ramona was far too busy with her activities to be bothered.
“Such a good girl Nanny would say. Isn’t she a good girl?” Nanny would ask her imaginary friends. Trying to debase Ramona. The only thing Melody found distasteful about Nanny.
A peculiar thing happened right around that rite of passage, she actually started to see more of Nanny’s friends, and she wasn’t quite happy with the fact there were quite a few of these people.
Ramona acted as if she didn’t see them. Melody was afraid to admit it. At this tender age she already knew there could be repercussions. And mother seemed so concerned she didn’t speak to Nanny. Melody was afraid Nanny would have to leave if this kept up. Yet…Melody started to see the secret people as well, though she said nothing. She kept mute so mother would not think she was falling into some eccentric comportment because of Nanny’s proclivities .
Soon the third birthday, then the fourth. Then their fifth. The girls had learned to read a bit and they read to each other in the huge canopy bed mother had bought for them.
Finally the fifth birthday.
Melody was feeling especially independent. She had resolved to herself this year I will open the gifts. She was not going to allow Nanny to get in the way.
She talked to Nanny about this. “We’ll see, but you know how Ramona is, and you don’t want to upset mother by making a scene. You know how she feels about Ramona”
No she didn’t want to make a scene, and yes, she had grown used to the fact Mother had her favorite, but she was ready.
The cake was put before them and Melody geared up for the grab. They both stopped and stared at each other. They had just learned to read, and write their names. The cake had writing, printing as a matter of fact
“Happy Fifth Birthday Ramona”
Everyone was clapping and for the first time all the capricious folk Nanny had been confiding in, became as lucid to Ramona’s vision as to Nanny‘s.
“Mother, where is Melody’s name?” she asked with her sweet yet determined five year old voice.
“Who’s Melody” a few of the people asked, the others just clammed up solemnly.
“Melody is Ramona’s imaginary friend” Mother cried softly, looking away, “It is very peculiar, but Ramona actually named her imaginary playmate after her twin sister who died at birth.”
Ramona snapped her head around to look at everyone, then the cake, then her mother and finally Melody, who slowly faded as she was carried off into the light of the picture window by Nanny
This weeks prompt: Discovery under the floor boards.
Was she meant to be here?
The room was awash with the early morning brightness peeking through the pine trees leaving shadows here and there across the “cheap chic” room Emily had created.
Decades before, in a time long past, she had shopped garage sales, junk shops, friend’s garages and basements, finding her treasures where others had made trash. Some of the pieces she sanded down to the bare rubbed wood. Others she left in state. She then “white washed” the pieces, paying attention to each groove, placard, scroll, and knob. The coverage was never complete. That was her intention. Stressed Martha Stewart would call it.
The room was carefully accessorized with the colors of beach sand on the east coast of the Carolinas. Soft colors of peach, sea foam, coral and waterdown blue.
She met the morning with her head pressed to her pillow, eyes scanning the forested back yard, birds calling for her to come and join them in the celebration of life. She thought of lying in bed. Leaving the wild to the savages who want to plunder. But the birds were having NONE of it. Her favorite “Bob White” because it’s song sounded just like that; bobwhite! Bobwhite was calling for her join them. If you read or understand music, it would be c cde.
She was initially awakened by the creaking becoming more and more apparent every morning. But more worrisome, she heard voices. They were most times muffled, at times distinct. Excited, so much so, she was compelled to join in the excitement.
She was deaf in one ear, so she could never, really, pinpoint the exact location. She was certain it was the ceiling. However, common sense said it was most likely the floor. Never mind, not important.
The peach tree had finished blooming and was bearing fruit. The tree covered a huge spanse of the backyard. By the end of the season, she would have too many bushels to count, or to sell. She would spend many loving laborious hours making jams, canning and candying peaches. She made baby food, which she set out in front of the cabin for neighbor folks to pick up at their leisure free of charge.
She never met any of them. Not one. They were most likely hesitant to make her acquaintance. She was an odd sort. Eccentric, as the Game Controller called her. But she was meant to be, had always been, here…from the beginning. No one came here. Not even her family. It had been so long since she had seen them she was starting to doubt their existence
The land surrounding her cottage was filled with wildlife. The woods were dense and dangerous. She could hear shots more often than not. There were times she could actually see the gunmen. Hunters they called themselves. However, to her they were murderers. Moreover, they did not like her much.
She had pellets in her window frames to prove it. And a those small inverted nipple shaped holes, you know, a tiny hole with gradient circles around showing layers in the glass. There were times when those pellets travled furthure, diggin deep into the little fat of her skin like a maggot burrowing into putrified meat. These were her only forays into public life. She dislikes the doctor, hospital and the nurses. They were always the same, always devoid of humor, or even personalities. Emily was far too colorful for them.
A couple of times she had been hurt almost fatally. She barely remembers those days. She would wake many days later, after healing…and sleeping. Then waking to the creak, click, creeeeaaak… ugh, it was unnerving. And the voices. Were they external, or just swimming in her head?
The Game Controller would then bring her home where she would sleep until another sunrise.
She doesn’t remember when she met the Game Controller. She felt like she knew him forever. Maybe she did?
Emily swung her feet over the bed and into her slippers, pulling her robe over her slight frame, made her way to the kitchen to have some tea.
…creak, CREAK! It was getting louder. Laughing, yelling. She swore she heard someone walking on the roof.
She hated telling the Game Controller. He would tell her she was just hearing things, the cabin was settling, cliché lines.
After finishing her tea, she grabbed some jeans, shoes, and shirt. She then tidied up the room and strolled out the front door to the woods to feed the deer who had become her family. She could hear the guns and soon she saw the orange vests of the slayers hiding in the trees. Within minutes of this discovery she was tackled and thrown to the ground.
“You are going to get killed” The Game Controller whispered.
It seemed like he ALWAYS said the same thing. But, what else does one say. She pulled away, jumped to her feet, and then with her engaging smile, she reached for the Game Controller’s hand and helped him to his feet while thanking him.
“Is there an attic in the house?” she asked, knowing he probably knew less about her home than she did. At least she hoped so.
He looked at her perplexed. As if she was speaking in a foreign vane.
“No, I don’t know what you are talking about” He said this often, making her feel like she was out of her mind. And maybe she was. But she needed to know.
“Have you found the key yet”
He was speaking of a key, lost on the property before she came. She was never quite certain of the key’s purpose. She had, in fact, found the key a while ago. In the birdhouse attached to the maple tree of all places. She happened to see a woodpecker go in, but then was afraid to leave because of the squirrel pummeling him from the outside. Emily freed the bird and in doing so, found the old brass Skelton key. She didn’t tell the Game Controller. Instead she secreted the key in her top drawer until she could find it’s purpose. She wasn’t certain why. She just felt like the Game Controller was far too preoccupied with it and she really did not like change. Something deep inside told her the key was certain to bring change.
She went for a small walk with the Game Controller, until one of the assassins made himself known. The two got into a scramble, and the Game Controller got hurt. She tried to rush him to get help, but the days ended earlier and earlier and when darkness prevailed, she was somehow summoned to her cottage and the Game Controller was left to fend for himself.
It was odd, some days ended quite abruptly. Others seemed to be incessant.
She woke the following morning to the same series of creak, cracks, ticks and fluttering from “God knows where”. Instead of usual routine of slippers, robe, tea, dressing and finding her way to her beloved wildlife, she broke routine and slowly walked the floor with bare feet, each step feeling for inconsistencies. But the sound was not coming from the floor, she was certain. But if not the floor then where? Emily perused the room, settling on the bureau. She knew it wasn’t too heavy, she had stained t and carried it, cumbersome as it was, into the house.
She leveled her weight in order to push the dresser to the center of the room. She then pushed the bench from the end of the bed the few steps to the bureau. She pulled herself up to standing on the bench and then clambered up to the top of the bureau. The creaking had stopped, thankfully, only momentarily.
She slowly stood up, it was awkward. Only someone who has scoped such a situation can know that standing that high and craning your neck back can cause vertigo and probably get you killed. But Emily was not to be deterred. And she was RIGHT! The creaking started up again and it was closer, clearer. She ran her hand across the wood slat ceiling when she felt a peculiar shape. Not peculiar at all, it was a key hole.
On the ceiling. Suddenly the voices became clearer, she could almost understand what they were saying “Open it!!” and “Get the key, hurry or you will get shot”
She quickly jumped down,obeying the voices she sat on top of the bureau awkwardly pulling the drawer open from the uncomfortable position, rummaged through her “dainties” until she found the key.
The voices were glad, they were laughing, clapping. She felt almost proud of herself.
A shadow ran across the far wall. She quickly glanced at the window seeing the Game Controller coming closer to the house.
She made haste to her position below the keyhole, took the key, and fit it in to the lock. The voices were almost out of control as she turned the key. Slowly she pushed up the slats, then grasped the edges, pulling herself up. She suddenly realized, she was not rising up, but was in fact hanging below the floor. She became faint, folding, falling.
“You won! You won! The larger of two boys exclaimed as he dropped the game controller.
The child, all of 3 days old, lay in her bassinet. A little girl, Linda, born on father’s day. A certain hit with her father and grandparents. Not so much with her mother, a child herself at 20 years. Already the mother of a 3 and 4 year old. She would need all the courage and patience a woman twice her age had.
She reached down and gently played with the child’s lower lip, trying to make her smile. Linda surrendered and mother smiled.
Then she was gone. Linda stared at the incidence of shapes and shadows that were to be her entertainment until she could maneuver her tiny hands and feet to explore.
The orb slowly moved into focus, soon there were eyes and nose, and fingers, fat and covered with the activities of the day fingernails almost black. Another hand rising above with what Linda would soon realize to be a bottle swiftly planted itself in her mouth. As much as Linda welcomed the nourishment, the way it was delivered, knocking against her gums made her cry out.
Gill laughed as his 3 year old hands ground the bottle into the baby’s mouth, stifling a cry.
Soon another head appeared, this one a bit taller, but not much, reached down, took the bottle with his tiny hand and smacked Gill with the other.
“Mom” Gill cried “Glen hit me!…and he is hurting Linda” Gill accused.
Poor Glen. This was typical, but he never ceased to be surprised at his younger brother’s audacity.
Before he could counteract, mother grabbed him and his brother carrying them by there arms to their room. She all but tossed them in.
“I will be back, the two of you had better behave until then or it will be worse.”
She slammed the door closed.
Gill lackadaisically jumped up on the trundle bed, grinning, smacking his knees together and pointing at Glen.
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha, you are gonna get it, you are gonna get it” he sang in a voice discernable to Glen only
Glen sat on the floor, knees raised to his chin.
Gill continued his taunting “you are gonna get it, you are gonna get it”
Glen had tried over the last three years since this demon entered his domain, to contrive a game plan for killing him. You would think a child of 4 would not have such contemptible thoughts. But then, you don’t know Gill.
“You are gonna get it, you are gonna get it”
Glen had enough and charged , jumping up and out like a cougar hands in a cusp ready to grab the boy’s neck just as the door opened.
“OH MY GOD” Mother cried intercepting the charge, pulling Glen away, snapping his arm.
She was afraid she broke it and that was the only thing that saved him from the belt. Which she sported in her other hand.
“You need to listen to me and listen to me NOW!” she ordered Glen, as Gill snickered behind her back, visible only to Glen. “You are NOT going to start this with your baby sister like you have to Gill” She said turning to look at Glen’s nemesis.
Gill was the master of quick change and immediately donned the look of a child tortured and defeated.
Glen almost took that opportunity to end his brother’s existence once and for all, after all, he was going to suffer the recriminations whether he did or didn’t.
Glen, you are staying in your room until your father comes home” she turned and took Gill’s hand “come on, you can help with your sister’
As they both left the room, Gill turned around and stuck his tongue out at Glen. Just as well, Glen thought, at least I can have some peace.
The baby cried from the other room, then screamed, Gill giggled. Glen could here Gill’s mischievous laughter and jumping, accepting defeat once again.
December 1959
Linda was a talkative child and loved the audience around her, but she was a fastidious artist, even at 6 and would spend hours alone in her room. Her interaction with her brothers was minimal if she could help it.
She was growing into a non-descript sort of girl. Mousy brown hair, green eyes, big nose, big butt, a lot of ammunition for her brothers to use.
Her room, her private domain, was pink, pink and then more pink. She had many dolls, her favorite being the two life sized dolls she got when she was three. She had been terrified when she first opened them that Christmas, running, leaping into her fathers arms causing him to howl in pain as she hit his ulcer ridden stomach. She was crying so hysterically, he immediately pulled her close, stood up and carried her over to the doll.
“She’s very sad Linda, she has been waiting to meet you and you don’t like her” he said softly “ Would you like that?”
And from that moment, the blonde, blue-eyed doll had become her best friend and was followed by another brown haired version a year later.
Her brothers resented her having her own room. She resented not having a sister to share hers. Shoot, she would even have a brother share hers. But when her baby brother was born the year before, her mother said “No, all boys stay together”
Linda felt ostracized. She didn’t understand that mother wasn’t singling her out because she was a female. But her whole life, she would feel somewhat inferior, unacceptable, in a man’s world.
She would never get used to the taunting and teasing inflicted by her brothers. Gill was especially demonstrative. Glens were confined in the acceptable arena of sibling rivalry. But Gill’s was far more troubling. Even to folks around their parents who would try to broach the issue, where mother would become defensive, as a mother should want to do. But there were times Linda would beg God to put a stop to it. At times even wishing the worse. And she was not alone, Glen seemed to harvest the same.
Gill could care less. Like a young sycophant, he drew strength from another person’s contempt. Linda never thought her mother didn’t know. Mother was not blind, but she was somewhat powerless. Mother had a sort of sympathy for Gill, he was born so quickly, one year to the day after her first child, in fact, (never trust breastfeeding) and had never had a chance to have the time infants have with their parents. And Grandmother and grandfather did not warm up to the boy, when they had an almost unreasonable affection for Glen and Linda.
Her mother and father were in bowling teams at Guttormsen’s in Kenosha.
This was to be the first and most memorable evening the boy’s would be in charge instead of a sitter. Mother sat down at the kitchen table, Linda, Gill and Glen taking there regular places, hands folded on the table. Linda gripped the sides of her chair, knowing she was not going to welcome what mother was going to say.
“Now, boys?” she said grabbing their attention “ I am going to trust you to take care of your sister”
Linda knew, no matter the outcome, she might as well get used to it. Being the charge of the boys was ideal for mother and if she could prove it’s success it would open doors for her to be more independent. After all, she was just 26 years old.
“And Linda has a responsibility as well”
Oh Great. Linda thought, I not only have to expend a certain amount of energy surviving this plight, but I had a “responsibility” as well. In the future, video games would use this situation as a storyline for users to be able to survive under exasperating instances. They would call it “Tomb Raider”
“You can stay up until 11pm” mother instructed, it was a Friday night and as a rule, 10pm was the cut-off. But this was special.
“Dianne, you can stay up until 11 as well, but since you enjoy your art and reading, maybe you can spend the last hour before bedtime in your room.”
As pathetically undermining as that was, in truth, Linda would have chosen that as well. She didn’t like being in the company of her brothers when no-one was around. Gill incessantly taunted her, doing disgusting things like picking his nose and wiping it on her, or pouring her a drink and then spitting in it. Hiding in places when it was dark, jumping out and scaring the bejeesus out of her.
Glen’s was more passive. Basically not pointed at anyone in particular, but irritating none-the-less. Like not answering her when she asked a question , or exaggerating a plight, like when she swallowed her Aspergum and he told her she was going to die, causing her to cry until her parent or parents came home to soothe her. He also sat literally, on top of the TV changing channels constantly. No one could bother enjoying a show when he was in charge. They called him Charlie the channel chaser”. You can only imagine the torment he caused after the remote controller came out. A nd if there were a side to take, he would take Gill’s over hers.
Linda, if the boys don’t go to bed at 11, then you are to tell me the next morning” mother continued “Gill, Glen, the same goes with Linda’
Mother only said that to sound fair. In reality, she knew she didn’t have to say that to them. Linda would never have disobeyed them, the punishment would be far worse than anything mother could dish.
You can each have a glass of pop and I left a bag of chips. Linda stared at the bag on the counter aware that would be the last she would see of them.
“I left the phone number on the counter.” she stood up and took the number from the counter, showing them.
“And Joan (mother’s best friend) is across the street, Carol next door, if you need anything”
She wound down the order phase of this event
“Do NOT call me unless it is an emergency, and fighting amongst yourselves is not an emergency”
With that she was gone. Gill engaged his permanent “cat that ate the canary” smile. Linda retreated to her room closing the door and hoping against hope that was going to be the last interaction with them.
“We are going to pour the pop now” Gill said with his nastiest vile tone.
She crept out her room into the kitchen, keeping a safe distance, yet ready to grab her glass before Gill added anything.
Glen carefully measured each glass pouring small amounts to be exact. Gill immediately grabbed his glass, but then, put it back and took Linda’s, gulping down a huge amount, leaving it half full before Glen grabbed it from him, spilling on the floor. By the time they were done Linda’s glass was almost empty. Tears rolled down her cheek. It wasn’t necessarily for longing of a beverage only allowed on specific occasions, but for the absolute unfairness of it all.
Glen took his glass and poured some of it into Linda’s, then taking Gill’s as he reached for it, pouring some of his into Linda’s. Before he could finish pouring Gill shot a fist across all of them, the glasses falling like domino’s.
Glen grabbed him, the two falling to the floor and with a ruckus in action, Linda turned and left the room.
Linda sat on the floor, arranging her Barbie in her new Barbie sports car, pink like Linda’s room. Barbie waved, happy beautiful without a care. Linda longed to be that doll, loved by that person who took meticulous care not too have others damage anything about her. No, Linda never allowed anyone to touch her toys.
She could hear the boys calling, crying and thump thump. Quiet. She didn’t know if she should leave the room, maybe one of them was hurt, or dead. But soon she could hear them laughing, so she left the room to see if there was going to be a new distribution of pop, knowing, mother only left two large glass bottles of Pepsi and they had pretty much expired it.
The boys were gone, the kitchen a sticky mess. She picked up the glasses, retrieving them from the baseboards under the cupboards and as far as the dining area. She returned them to the sink, then turned to go back to her hobbit hole.
“Linda, clean that up, or e will tell mom what you did”
“What I did” she squelched “I didn’t do anything!
“You did” Linda meant that for Gill, but both of them were standing there.
“We did” Gill put his arm over Glen’s shoulder “Did you hear that? Linda said WE did it”
He dropped his arm flagging Glen to follow him. “Clean it up or we will tell mom how you threw it across the room causing us to not have any pop at all.”
She cried, and clean it all up. She retreated to her room.
Then a soft knock.
“Hey Linda, come out, we have something for you.”
“What?“ Linda peered out the crack she made with the door.
“”If you don’t tell mom we stayed up late, we can show you your Christmas gifts.” Gill said with a sweet almost believable voice.
Linda was a child and what child does not want to see what they are getting. A t the same time ANYTHING + Gill was trouble. So she declined.
“Ah c’mon, you want to know, you do don’t you?”
Yes she did, but not this way.
“No” and with that she closed the door, but not without one of Gill’s phony wails that he had been injured in some way. This time, he claimed it was the door.
Then…quiet. Peace at last. She sat on her bed and played for an hour or so, content that the worst was over and she could enjoy the solitude.
She got up pulling open the drawer of the blond Danish modern furniture, grabbing a nightgown and underwear, preparing to take a bath. Something she did not like to do without her parents standing in hypothetical sentry so as not to have her brothers intrude. She turned to the window to close the drapes when suddenly a face popped up, someone she had never seen before
She screamed,….and screamed and screamed. The face was smashed tight in grotesque features. Then a second…she went running crying screaming out of the bedroom to find her brothers. A she got to the back door, it crashed opened and the two horribly disfigured people came through – one grabbing for her neck.
Then a laugh and they swiped the hose, nylons, off their face. They laughed hysterically, until Glen saw the terror they had created. He stopped, and nudged Gill toward the family room in the basement.
Glen took Linda by the arm led her to her room, sat her down on the bed, then left closing the door without saying a thing. No doubt, certain that this was a bad idea and the trouble they would be in would be worse than anything they had lived through before, Glen came back in the room.
“You sure you don’t want to see you stuff?” he continued “You know, you might as well, because if Gill and I get caught, staying up, than he will tell mom anyhow. You might as well enjoy it.”
He led her into the kitchen, Gill was one step ahead and had the broom closet open.
And at once, she was mesmerized and lost in the fantasies of a perfect Christmas, unlike any she knew. It had a huge cardboard “Treasure Chest” and in it was everything “Barbie”. Anything and everything she ever wished for was right there.
She went to sleep that night in a cloud of doll clothes, a house, shoes, a case, little hangers. She slept well and never knew, nor cared what the brothers were up to.
The boys had fallen asleep on the couch and were awakened by mother. Linda was almost certain of what was next. But she hoped upon hope she was not going to suffer.
Her mother called her in the room “Linda, when did you go to bed?”
“I think around 9 or 9:30”. Linda went to bed with a wonderful scenario for dream land and could not wait to dream it on thru”.
“You are going to tell me that you went to be at 9:00 (or 9:30 Linda thought, but said nothing) on a weekend night.” Mother was incredulous.
Glen piped in “Yes, she was , she went to bed early.” and it was settled. It seemed like the only person NOT in trouble was Linda.
The day went by quietly, the boys humbled in their room. Linda dressed to go out and play in the snow, but her mother intercepted.
“Since you were Such a good girl last night, you are going to go shopping with your father and I and then we will pick up some Pizza at Rio’s.”
This was an unusual invitation, Linda was not going to question it, and in fact, intended on enjoying it, her brothers would seek vengeance whether she stayed home or went. Might as well.
She sat between her parents, contented, feeling like an only child. They talked “grown-up talk”, she just enjoyed the situation for what it was. They pulled up to Ace Hardware, at that time, the only place in Kenosha to shop for gifts, toys etc. She and her mother went in the store, hand in hand, her father was to follow shortly.
She wanted to see the toys, but her mother beckoned her to the back of the store
Her father approached from behind with a familiar container. A cardboard box that looked like a treasure chest. The same box her gifts were hidden in.
Her father poured out the many colored packages of fashionable Barbie attire, tiny hangers, doll case, high heels, even a new “Midge “ doll.
Linda heard nothing, her tears clouded everything within view. People were stopping and staring.
“This is what happens to little girls who snoop and find their gifts.” Linda does not remember in her whole life feeling as pained, humiliated and betrayed, though Gill would spend his life with her in his view finder.
The next two weeks till Christmas were depressing, filled with thoughts of what she should have done, and all she could resolve was nothing. She could do nothing. Everything would have played out as it did. Gill would have made certain. At least she got to enjoy the idea of a magnificent Christmas. He found enjoyment in what had occurred. Linda swore that if he received nothing for Christmas, he would have been happy just watching what had happened to her.
Mother knew. She had to know. Father absolutely knew. Christmas came. Mother and father had retreated back to the store and had gone ahead and kept most of the purchases.
But to this day you cannot regal Linda with temptations of seeing any gift you may have for her. THAT was the year she found out there wasn’t a Santa. Which, in some ways was even sadder than the gifts she longed for. Her innicence was gone.
For the remainder of her life, every time she would hear “Don’t you want to know…?”
She was certain. She did not want to know. Ever again.
The phone rang just as they were going into Operating Theatre 6. Everyone was hustling around, small plastic wrappings flying in the air, selfish determined, hands reaching under over and through other limbs after the same end. And the phone continued to ring.
“Dammit, can SOMEONE get that” Dr. Plant slammed his fist full of syringes on the counter “Where the hell is Mel? He should be here by now, this is ridiculous, not ONE cart ready. NOT ONE!”.
And where is the fuckin receptionist.”.
Dr. Plant knew it was the nursing staff who answered phones. Government tightening their belt and Veteran’s suffered the ramifications
.When he was angry, he reverted back to the mind set he had almost 50 years ago when a nurse would no more man a phone as wear black stockings. They had the candy stripers and orderlies for that. What ever happened to Orderlies?
“Hello” more of a statement than a greeting. Dr. Plant opened the desk drawer in Melvin’s office where they were scavenging, and pulled out a memo pad. As he pulled out the pink tablet, something caught his eye, way back in the corner.
It was Melvin on the other end of the line, calling in for the third time in a week. Dr. Plant hung up without a word, carefully placed the pads back in the drawer and made a mental note to come back and inspect this discovery without prying eyes.
This was getting out of control. Melvin was missing work and the entire staff suffered the repercussions. Melvin always said he was the most necessary employee in the unit. They could NEVER do surgery without him, though that day they proved they could. HIS philosophy The less I give, the more I get back. They couldn’t live without him, he bragged. He said it would be a snowy day in Houston before they fired him.
The truth was it was the VA. They don’t like to fire anyone, too much paperwork. He was no more necessary than a janitor. As hard as Janitors work, it isn’t a job that requires training. Anyone can sweep a floor and unclog a toilet, they just choose not to. The same held true when it came to the mediocrity of Melvin’s chores. Fill the cart, for surgeries.
A job a seven year-old being asked to set a table, which, Mel could not.. And it was almost always consistent, Melvin said he could do it in the dark. But he felt he had the staff by the short ones and acted out accordingly. He felt he had the right to gripe and complain about a simple change in routine, on the same level the surgical team did when something bad went down in the OR. .
Every morning he would rise and Gayle would here the same thing.
“I really hate my job, let’s move”.
Gayle was intensely affected by this. They had a nice place, everything was content, beautiful. Melvin gets it in his craw and his determination wins out. But she tried her best to placate him. If this were the only job he felt this way about, Gayle would support him in changing jobs. But every job he had, he hated. Gayle felt bad for him that he could not find a place to retire from.
The rest of the group did a collective sigh and completed the task at hand, not willingly, begrudgingly – more so.
Melvin had called to tell Dr. Plant he was sick and Dr. Plant just slammed down the phone.
There seemed to be a rhythmic rumble to their voices asking the same question they had the last two times this week that have caused nothing but dissent among the troupes.
“He is sick again? Truthfully, has he ever been well?”. Crystal asked.
Crys is a surgical nurse. One of Mel’s favorite prey whom he despised and ridiculed to others, but to her face he was as sweet as New Orleans bread pudding. .
Melvin collected people. And he kept them in separate emotional cages, making certain one thought the other detested them. They only knew what he wanted them to. He knew everything about them that they didn’t want him to. That way when one would make a demand of her, she could complain to the other. You know, always kissing ass, all the time thinking HIS ass was getting kissed. Now he was sick,a again aand instead of worry, his coworkers dwelled. it had been almost 10 years of the same mantra. It was just ridiculous. How long could he stay away before everyone except him could do his job.
I think he’s got that Baron von..” Crystal trailed off.
“Munchausen’s Syndrome” Dr. Plant said “and yes, I have no doubt, but the problem is, once we give him that diagnoses some jackass will tell him it is a handicap and soon enough we will be paying him for a five day work week, whereas he would only work one day.”.
“Different word same result, Munchausen’s just sounds more legitimate. Both are considered an affliction” He mumbled, but not low enough as it bounced off the white gleaming tile of the Arena.
Crys and Dr. Plant exchanged looks, and at once became startled at the other’s reaction. There was an uncomfortable pregnant pause.
“No that is when someone wants to make someone else get sick” Lora corrected herself. “and Melvin doesn’t seem the sort to share attention.”.
Again, silence.
Gayle, Melvin’s wife, adored Melvin and certainly would not be so commited to him if Melvin was the monster they were all alluding to.
Gayle was a devoted wife, pandering to Melvin’s every wish. She appeared to find no fault with Melvin.
Gayle found many faults with Melvin, but not one worth mentioning to him. That would only hurt his feelings.
“Above reproach” Gayle would strike out should someone interject otherwise.
But the reality is, every moment she spent with him, building him up in one way or another, it was like Pavlov’s dog, he rang the bell she came running in trained response.
“Yes honey, they asked about you”. When, in fact, no, her mother, sister, daughter, son did not ask about Melvin and in fact threatened to hang up if Gayle mentioned him.
“Yes honey, you are right, you are always right” when Melvin would start bitching about Crystal being lazy causing Melvin to do her job.
Or Dr. Suarez being inept. It was always something. If for one moment Gayle reached out and tried to bring rationality into the endeavor, be the devil’s advocate in order to work through these things, she would meet Mel’s resistance and accusations of red coating.
“OK Honey, we can go and sit in the hospital waiting room all day Saturday while you wait for a doctor to check out a pimple in your bum” .
Bless his heart, that one made him quite hysterical. Gayle was lavished with a play by play on every instance pus flowed from an orifice … in the most intimate areas. A real treat. It made for a mediocre sex life at best.
Candace had told Gayle 14 years prior, “Do not trust him with your checkbook” and “You need to control him about going to the doctor. He will drag you along and make you think he is dying if he sees you are buying it. He LOVES to stay in hospitals, He craves the attention and the intimacy.”
Intimacy? She explained that he liked to be treated like an infant. He liked the reticence a caretaker needed to overcome in order to perform the physical tasks. Changing bandages, bathing him, etc. Since they had been together Melvin had surgery on his neck, ankle, breast, arms, ass, ears (thrice), mole removals (a dozen or so times), testicles, mouth and stomach. It’s exhausting just thinking about it. And Gayle was there for him. She never left him alone. She was the sole household support for 18 months after his ankle surgery that would not heel because he refused to stop smoking.
“You can close” Dr. Plant reached toward the surgical sponges, Crystal went to get one for him. When she handed it to him, she pressed her hand against his, and regretted it at once.
“What if he misinterpreted it?” She thought “I just wanted to see if he was as concerned about Melvin as I am.”
Dr. Plant was already on task. He scrubbed out, dried his hands and tossed the towel in the trash instead of hamper. Without correcting he whisked past the good mornings and typical beginning of the workday questions that people were no more interested in the answers than he was in responding.
“Did you have a good evening last night?”.
“A successful surgery, Doctor?
:How do you like this weather, Doctor?”.
“Where the hell is MELVIN, DOCTOR?”
He pushed the 8 digit code into Melvin’s workroom door lock, having to repeat it.
AT that moment, you would never believe he was a skilled crafty surgeon, handling nerves like silk thread. His anticipation of what he may discover betrayed him as he made another effort. He could barely push in one number without attacking the others. It gave way, he edged into the room, barely opening the door, trying to keep attention at bay. He left the over head light off opting to work with the small ambient lighting under the cabinets.
He pulled open the drawer, caught himself stepping back quickly. He stooped down, then crunched down further. He went back to the light switch flipping it on and turned back to the drawer. He scanned the room. .
“Maybe I picked the wrong drawer” he thought. The pink pad was there. No, it was the right drawer.
The item was gone. He rushed out of the room headlong into Crys.
“Ok, what’s going on” he asked, Crys pulled him into Mel’s office, grabbing his forearm disrespectfully.
“Did you take something from this drawer?” he had one hand on his hip, the other outstretched to the suspect drawer.
“Wha???what??” Crystal now had a new twist on this already complicated story. .
“This drawer! This morning when Melvin called, I went to get a pad of paper to write a message on and there was a small tubular item. I didn’t get a good look, but I know it was there. Now it’s gone”.
Crystal went to the drawer and started taking things out, methodically to make certain she replaced them in the exact same space.
“What was his excuse for not coming in.” Crystal continued her search.
“It’s something with Gayle” Dr. Plant sat down on the special ergonomic chair Melvin had to have. He had the carpal tunnel surgery anyway – too far gone Melvin whimpered.
Crystal stopped short, and decided her search was futile. With one quick whisk, she swiped all the crap she had just retrieved back into the drawer. .
Melvin had been lamenting as of late. More so … more pressing than usual. He was having monetary problems. Crys had difficulty understanding this since Melvin just got back from a cruise, his third in two years. Right after he declared bankruptcy. And that new SUV. He traded in his car and Gayle’s little truck Mel’s mother bequeathed to Gayle, leaving Gayle home alone in the foothills of Mt. Washington. Gayle didn’t seem to mind. It was isolated and quite beautiful. She didn’t need a car anyway. The days of BMW’s and sports cars were long gone. Melvin wanted an SUV, Melvin got an SUV.
Now she was sick. Doctor Plant expressed concern, albeit misguided concern. He was worried Melvin would be gone even more so now if Gayle was experiencing physical difficulties.
Crys on the other hand was concerned about Gayle and Melvin. Not many folks in the unit were fond of Mel. Most had tossed their rose colored glasses long ago.
“Well that makes sense” they would say about Mel’s fan club “only people like Melvin can stand to be with him” Whispers in the lunch room “That great minds think alike, and so do theirs”.
But back to the vial. It had to be there – Crystal didn’t doubt the doctor, what reason would he have for pursuing such an idea. So where did it go?
Melvin had played his cards or coworkers, one and the same, to his ideal. The chosen would all speak to Mel, but never to each other. An example of his rhetoric, Melvin said he wasn’t prejudiced bringing up instead, a friend of his from Houston, Sharon.
“Now Sharon, she is prejudiced, but she can’t help it, she’s black”
Uh huh. Just like that. Impervious. Melvin told his wife if he were to find out she had ever been with a black man before him, he would divorce her and never touch her again.
Gayle started to have health problems as suddenly as going to bed one night and waking up a completely different person. Her mother experienced heart problems having several bypass surgeries. Gayle felt it was from the repeated cortisone shots her mother got from a young age after having her leg broken in a horrific accident on the Eden’s Expressway. Althoug she may very well have gotten those problems genetically, Gayle thought.
Clink. The vial fell as if, out of nowhere, to the ground. And shattered. The vial’s label, irremediably confusing, lay at the toe of Dr. Plant’s blue, blood stained clog. .
Immediately Crys reached for it, Dr. Plant in the same moment crushed it further with his toe.
He knew what it was. It was egg white mixture that when added to another element, (not available to the public) becomes Propofol. A drug that will paralyze you, as it was expected to do, used in surgery as the patient is lulled into sleep. Once the drug takes affect, the patient is completely paralyzed, dependant upon artificial means to survive. Michael Jackson died from this dangerous brew.
Dr. Plant took Crys’s hand “Forget about this, you are to mention nothing.”.
He then went into Mel’s drug supply searching for an indistinguishable placebo to take the place of the vial Crys and Dr. Plant collectively sent smashing to the floor. He found another set of vials in Mel’s back room. Dr. Plant was both preoccupied with finding the innocuous substance and concern for the reason the powerful confection was in his drawer to begin with. Melvin was not allowed to take whatever he pleased. Melvin was to be in control of these dangerous substances. And control meant making certain staff members did not take the opiates home for emergencyOR recreational use, including himself. It is not unusual for nursing staff and Melvin to slip vials in their pocket to be restocked later. But this was hidden in the back of the drawer.
He knows he should contact the authorities, but the chancellor would definitely nix that in lieu of Dr. Plant handling it internally. And the issue of going into a desk drawer of one of his subordinates. It is legal, and in most sectors of medicine, accountable. But this was a government facility and patients cry out about the most insignificant of issues, the staff is even worse. So his option was too confront him, or the path of least resistance, supplementing the original material and keeping vigilant..
He had learned years before when the snap top glass vials first came into play, he and several of his students had spent days trying to prove it wasn’t tamper proof. By the third day, one of his more reclusive students had found the solution to the problem that virtually never existed. He presented the vial to Plant. The doctor was immediately impressed, how did he do it? Maybe he didn’t. It may still have a medicinal substance and the student was pulling Dr. Plant’s leg. He went to snap off the glass reservoir, he saw the barely, almost invisible, break, right along the snap line.
Superglue. And when Dr. Plant opened it, it was devoid of any medicinal matter.
He sat in the back room of the supply closet, a scrawl of “do not disturb and yes that means you” on the glass window incased in the door.
He went thru 10 different vials, all lay around him on the counter and floor. All with the dry egg white residual .
“Shit, what a mess. I need to make certain Rusty (the rehab Bulldog the VA had adopted) does not come back here.” he said for no one to hear.
And finally, the last vial (of course it was the last one, otherwise he would keep going on) Perfect break. He laid it down carefully, scrimmaging thru the wasted product to get his PDR and find a substance that will duplicate it in appearance, while having no affect at all.
Crys had already started her endeavor. She was quick at the “reservoir snap off”. She often commented, when she could get no one else to, that her bottles could be put back together in the snap of her fingers, She would then snap her purple gloved digits to what sounded like a squeak and fart. .
Crys was afraid Melvin was absconding morphine for either Gayle or himself. Whatever, she was due back in the OR toot sweet and didn’t have time to meditate a good reason. All she could get her hands on without suspicion was Sufentanil. She had placed it in her pocket with the intention of having Mel restock it. One of the strongest opiates on the market. She put the substance tin the jeririgged vial, to the clear line, carefully sealing it with the SuperGlue they use to close certain wounds. Potent stuff. She needed to make certain that she either call Mel tonight, or be here first thing in the morning to advise him about the circumstances, and the drug switch, blatantly ignoring Dr. Plant’s orders top keep mum.
She scurried to the medicinal closet, more of a huge storeroom, where Mel talked on the phone incessantly, napped or ate one of the MANY meals he has throughout the day. She ran headlong into Dr. Plant who had just left his vial in the drawer. He immediately backed into the room as Crys entered. She needed to be discreet. As Dr. Plant started messing about, she leaned against the counter, opened the drawer with her hands behind her back, slipping the vial into the drawer. .
“Dr. Plant, we have a full – and then some schedule.” Crys tried to sound insouciant. “We are an hour behind. Are you ready?” .
And with that, both convinced they had, independently ,saved face for the unit and Melvin. But why? Melvin was never part of a solution because he was the problem.
But his pathetic puppy dog eyes, always alleged superfluous pain. But not so much that he couldn’t Scuba Dive. Crys has no idea why she decided to cover for her. Dr. Plant on the other hand, is relieved it is over. He will talk to Melvin in the morning. If he shows up.
That night a norther moved in making a silky blanket of white on the trees and slate rock cliffs with the first snow of the season. Crys had nothing but getting home on her mind. Dr. Plant had a dinner party tonight. It was Friday. Neither had thought about that. No one works weekends at that hospital. And all was forgotten.
For the time being.
10:30pm.
The Med’s Closet (aka Melvin’s office)
Buttons pushed, door creaks open, a drawer is pulled out, a hand reaches in and finds not one, but two vials. Upon inspection, one was Propofol, the other morphine. Enough Propofol to put an elephant under. And the second vial had a label alleging just enough morphine to be able to sleep thru the finality of tonight’s activities. She wasn’t told about this second vial, so she decided to keep it. Curious, but not enough to investigate. It had to be a quick in and out.
The woman climbed into her Uncle’s SUV and headed straight away to make it there safely.
When she got to the door, she gently kicked the snow off her boots, quietly opening the screen door and the glass paneled front door. Uncle Melvin was in the front room, smoking a cigarette, watching the omnipresent weather channel. He had it turned on in every room. Why? No-one ever knows. .
She took out the Propofol and handed it to her uncle without a word.
“Thanks for doing this Tricia, I couldn’t leave her she has been so sick” He broke the silence. and then he smiled. “You are staying here right? I mean, I really don’t want to be here alone for… you know.”
“Yeah, I’ll stay, but once it’s done I’m out of here. You won’t need to see me until you cash that triple indemnity.” Aunt Gayle had saved her life, doing whatever she could to get Tricia off drugs. She really didn’t want to be around for this.
Tricia went to take a shower and put on Gayles favorite Chenille robe. “I think I’ll take this” as she pulled it snug around her waist. She grabbed a full glass atomizer with White Diamonds perfume,and added it to other treasures in the pockets.
“She won’t be needing this either. “
Her mom, Melvin’s sister, would be by shortly, so she wanted to settle in, pull up the vial of the morphine and sleep.
She was still squeamish about these matters. Her mother on the other hand was a seasoned veteran. After her shower Tricia went under the sink where Uncle Mel kept about 100 disposable syringes. She made her selection, a fine needle, the liquid didn’t look viscous. She pulled the vial of Sufentanil she unknowingly thought was morphine, out of her purse, popped the reservoir top not noticing it had been corrupted. . She put the full syringe, enough to put down an army, in her pocket and found her way to where Uncle Melvin was mixing his potion. Tricia shuttered..with fear, elation? Out of debt, she kept telling herself. Out of Debt.
Uncle Mel put his fingers to his lips “shhhhh. I don’t want her to wake up, I don’t think I could do it if she did”.
Tricia gave him the okay sign and with that Uncle Melvin was behind the door to the bedroom where Aunt Gayle was sleeping.
Tricia took the syringe out of her pocket and decided to “main line” it rather than intramuscular. It said in the PDR (Physician’s Desk Reference).that it could be used for either. The syringe was not quite empty as she fell back on the couch hitting her head on the small slip of wood in the arm. She started snoring.
1:00 am.
Candace opened the front door ever so slightly an immediately fell back against the door, amost falling on the icey deck when she was greeted by Gayle washing dishes.
“Oh, you got here. I was worried, the snow, so beautiful” Gayle said softly.
“But it is underneath the superficial that can be dangerous.”.
Prophetic.
Candace simply shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, sitting down on the antique cedar chest. She peeled off her gloves, boots and the winter garb she thought earlier today was unnecessary. She kept Gayle in her gaze, certain any minute she should keel over, but Gayle looked sprightly. Did Melvin change his mind?
She went to the bedroom, creeping past her daughter who was no longer snoring.
“Melvin..Get up wake up!” .
Melvin jumped up. Oh my God, I took some of Gayle’s clonopin. Didn’t want to be awake..You know”.
He jumped out of the bed without realizing Gayle wasn’t there.
“It’s over Candace!!!! Florida here we come.! I can’t pack fast enough. How long do you think the inquiry will last? How long does a coroners inquest take? Oh is that the same as an inquiry in general? And the insurance…?
“Melvin”
“MELVIN!” Candace could not believe she was related to this man, any glimmer of rationale just slips out the door when money is involved.
“WHAT” He sat down and tied his shoes, ready for the incoming traffic. He started to practice his call to the police.
“Melvin, shut the fuck up!” Do you notice anything” Candace cried, distressed at the unexpected turn of events and irritated with her brother for his lack of common sense.
“No..what..WHAT ?”.
“Where is Gayle” Candy folded her arms, leaned against the wall focusing on the spot where Gayle usually lays her head.
“What? .. fuck where is she, did she pass out somewhere?”.
Gayle opened the bedroom door. “That shot you gave me really hurts!
Mel plopped solidly down on the bed, staring at Gayle as if she were the second coming.
“Mel, Crys is on the phone, she needs to speak with you”. Gayle dried her hands on the towel over her shoulder.
“Oh and I think something is very wrong with Tricia.”
GIL entered the store with the confidence of Santa sliding down the chimney. There was an energy, a spirit to his step.
Gil’s life was back on track and he was more than confident the future would continue accordingly. The full moon shone bright, on his back as it reflected against the windows of the store. Windows covered with “sale” signs, drawn with the haphazard sweep of a utility paint brush in vivid neon oranges and red, cheap butcher paper it’s medium. Gil noted his personal favorite, JW, was available at his asking price.
This store still had the old-fashioned bells attached to the doorframe. Not the Doo?Doo! Of those “newfangled” contraptions. This town stood on the edge of forever, ignoring the world around it. The bells rang that truth. Clear and welcoming in a still atmosphere. This life in a Northern Town.
Gil pulled open the door, stepping in, scanning the store at once. Like customers do in anticipation of finding that one special object of desire. But his heart raced and his eyes quickened to an image in the periphery.
A man, facing the wall, his hands raised as one would with a gun poised to his back. Another man slowly turned his face showing his irritation and disappointment at his ineptitude, leaving the door unattended..
The robber slowly raised his hands, but Gil was faster. .
Gil ducked down, pulling up the hem of his pants revealing, only to himself, a 38 special standard issue gun. He engaged the device and slowly rose, gun cocked and raised.
The attempted robber raised his hand and Gil shot hitting the poor innocent fellow defending his store instead, square in the back of the head.
The robber winced quickly turning to watch the man sink to the floor. And just as quickly as he absorbed his good fortune, he realized his certain death, he could almost watch the second bullet, everything around it a blur, just that small silver missile heading straight for his face.
It was 1963 and we felt the world would freeze with John F Kennedy and the Beatles
Linda was a 13 year-old girl, not blessed with anything fantastic or even pretty in features. She had a big nose, big ears, and big butt. She was certain of this, as her brothers let her know whenever possible.
Linda had a crush, her first, on a friend of her brother’s Gil. The boys name was Tom, Tom Mahoney. She swooned when she saw him. Her 13 year-old heart felt this was what love felt like. She could not breath when Tom came over to their house to listen to Gil and his band play rock-n-roll n the basement.
Linda’s insecurities were far reaching.
Her family had moved from one end of town to the other when she was 12. She went from being a relatively popular girl, to an outcast. She did everything and anything to fit in. Things that at times were unacceptable, but she was desperate. Desperately lonely, desperately scared. And she was turning into a woman, and that was the most difficult of all. She had no one to talk to about this. She had a couple of friends at school, but they were in the same league as her and equally oblivious to human nature.
Her brothers made great sport of her. Brothers did this Why should her life be any different.
But it was …different.
She knew something was not quite right. Her friends had siblings, and they let up once in a while. They touched, hugged, laughed after they fought.
One night, Tom came over when no one was home. She invited him in, flustered, smoothing her hair back, brushing off invisible crumbs from her shirt.
“I need to get something from the basement,” He said as he came in.
And Linda was all too ready to oblige, leading the way to the back stairs, down to the echoing cement walls where the band equipment lay at rest.
She stood back to the side. “Ummm, do you want something to drink” she shot upstairs before he could answer, grabbing a glass out of the cabinet, rushing to the fridge pouring lemonade into the glass spilling someone the floor, She rushed back down the stairs. Tom was fooling with some of the equipment, studying the real to reel tape recorder.
It was eight at night, unusually quiet. Mother had taken the two smaller children with her to a friend’s house, the boys were conspicuously gone, and her father, well, those days he was never home.
She handed Tom the glass, he took it, put it down on the side table and pulled her close to him. She shuddered with fear and titillation. She could not believe her fortune. Tonite of all nites. They were alone. And finally, he recognized her. He was attracted to her. She went into his embrace.
“Dear God, thank you, thank you, he feels the same about me, as I feel about him” she thought “I have a boyfriend.“
She had no idea about sex. People thought she did. She acted as if she was a well-versed sexual being, but she was a virgin, and really, had no concept of sex, love, birth or the like. But she knew she “loved” Tom, and no one was going to ruin it for her.
And there it was her first kiss, too quickly followed by her first petting and then onto the bed in the backroom where Gil slept. Tom was touching her in ways that frightened her more than excited, but she was afraid to do or say anything. She was afraid he would not want to be around her again. And in her feeble 13 year-old head, she thought she would be with him always. So she let him do as he pleased, stopping short of actual intercourse.
He left her in a state of disrepair. She was scared. What just happened to her? She went to sleep that night both invigorated and frightened.
The following day, she went to school with this secret. The day stretched to eternity. She wanted to be home. She was certain, Tom would be there, waiting for her. She practically ran the eight blocks home and the house was filled when she arrived.
The band members, the external group that just “hung” and a couple of girls. They headed downstairs, Linda following. Gil was being rather kind hearted tonight. He usually ran her off, but not this time. Linda felt uncomfortable, the girls whispered too each other and giggled, the boys, Linda would catch them laughing as they glanced her way. The bell rung up stairs and Linda welcomed the reprieve.
“Uh,, Linda, can you get that?” Gil laughed
She ignored her sixth sense that perhaps something was a miss and she was the object of certain cruelty. She went upstairs to get the door. All concerns melted. There was her love, her one true love. Tom. She opened the door and immediately reached her hand up to run through his hair as she expected him to kiss her. He pushed her hand away, brushed past her and took to the cellar. Her heart sank. Yet she did not have the dignity to disappear. No, she followed him down to the prophetic hell downstairs. Everyone clapped as he descended the stairs, and he beckoned back with an “aw shucks”
Linda followed, in complete denial. Soon the air was thick with mockery, and she went back up the stairs to find sanctuary. She cried in her pillow, and made a vow to never ever let a man that close to her again. But the damage was done. All she could do is move forward.
The years went by, she had boyfriends, but this one incident, really one of many involving her brother, stuck with her, became a compulsion to suspect harm in everything she did.
Gil had made her the butt of many jokes, and he had brought certain terror on her. Yet he always came out smelling like a rose.
She wanted to tell her mother, but she did not dare. And Gil counted on this.
As the years went by, she became a difficult child, and within reason. Her parents fought, were divorcing and both wanted her to testify in court against the other. They did not ask “the boys” her brothers, they wouldn’t do it and they were old enough to make that stand. Her younger brother and sister, too immature.
She was all they had.
Soon social services got involved and she was sent – at once- to a foster home in the countryside of Kenosha.
She saw little of her family, and that was ok. She was happy, though it was another kind of life. She met a boy, a country boy. His name was Lance. He was handsome and he certainly loved her. But she did not feel as strongly. But, still, she was grateful to have him at any cost.
Gil decided to visit her one day. She was not an idiot, she knew he had something up his sleeve. She sat on the huge spans of lawn, a country home with several acres could afford a lush green pasture such as this. As she laid back in the soft grass, clouds full and downy peeking through the branches of the crab apple tree.
She heard a vehicle approaching, a sports car with the roaring engines of the day. The white Camero with orange cam, an “Indy Pace Car” car tore past her, but not fast enough. She recognized the car, it was Gil. She jumped up to get his attention, but it was too late. He’ll be back. And he was , about an hour later.
“Hi sis” what? She thought, hi sis? She geared up for the bullshit to follow.
“Where did you go?” she asked, “ I saw you speed by here an hour ago”
“Oh, I went to see a friend” he smiled, “of yours”
“Who” she whispered, but felt she knew
“Lance” he smiled as he swung his 6’’3” frame her shoulders in a hug. She didn’t reciprocate.
“Why…WHY GIL!” was he ever going to just let her be? Every day of every week of every year…there he was. Why couldn’t Gil just leave her alone? She left him alone, she didn’t try to ruin his life, she didn’t care to. What makes Gil keep on pushing, hurting ruining, even when the she has kept a safe distance and respected Gil? What obsesses a person to this, to actually surrender everything moral, just to make a point?
“Oh, I just think he needs to know certain things about you” he answered, you know, a safety blanket. Now with me entering the police department, I need to make certain past privacy issues are not brought up. It could ruin my chances you know” he took a deep breath in and smiled , his arm reaching out ,sweeping.
“This is truly beautiful, sis, truly” Linda took his arm and shoved it as heard as she could away from her.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing, honest I didn’t tell him nothing” he folded his arm, one arm up to his face, finger tapping his chin. “I just had a little recording, something I whipped up 2 years ago.”
“You wanna hear it?” Gil reached into the back seat, pulled out the Sony Reel to Reel. “Uh…where can we plug this in? And better make it secret, wouldn’t want the new mom and dad to hear.
She led him to the barn, but not without stopping to let him say hello to Mrs. Girl, her new mum.
“Mom” that is how Linda addressed her “You remember my brother Gil” Mrs. Girl acknowledged him.
Linda explained that Gil had a recording she wanted to hear and that it was that LOUD rock roll that she wouldn’t like. Mrs. Girl gave her okay, and they headed to the building.
He strung up the tape, making his way through the wondrous contraption till finally…laughter Linda jumped back and froze at the recognition of Tom Mahoney’s voice, Gil and Tom were discussing her.
“And all I want you to do is see how far you can go with her” Gil was saying, and Tom laughing agreeing. Then another voice, her brother Glen.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“We are making a tape of your sis…”
Gil interrupted. “You know Glen, what we talked about? Linda and Tom doing the …you know”
“No Gill, I don’t know, and whatever you do, don’t include me” Sounds of Glen ascending stairs.
“One day I’ll be a cop and I swear, I will bust him for anything and everything” Gil sneered “He will want to leave town and for once I won’t have to put up with his shit.
The moments she had treasured turned to smut. She knew Tom didn’t feel anything for her, but this was her first moments at what she had lamely interpreted to be love. Not only were they in ruin once and for all, but a man she loved and respected, now knew the dirty truth.
“And don’t fool yourself sis (already with the sis, she wanted to shove those words down his throat)” Gil went on, “should you decide to do anything I don’t like, including wearing a red shirt when I want you to wear a yellow one, this tape will be brought out for entertainment.”
“Do you REALLY think the K.P.D. will keep lowlife like you?” Linda asked
“I am not going to play it for anyone that can affect me,” He squealed with excitement, “only people that can affect you>“
“Are you staying for dinner?” Mrs. Girl peered around the corner.
“Sure!: Gil said as he once again made his way around his sister hugging her. I’ll be right back, need to put this up”
Gil went to the car and quickly shoved the contraption in the backseat.
The house is set back a good 120 feet from the rode, but from the dining table, guest scould somewhat see if people were entering or leaving on the logging road. From the road it looked like a Norman Rockwell setting, everyone with their heads bowed in prayer, when a light glanced across the room and died. The windows were opened and for a moment, Mr. Girl thought he heard a car. It was dusk. Dark early those days. But Mr. Girl had that sense about it and rose to go out and investigate. Gil, donning his “police Officer Demeanor” Linda was unimpressed and continued to enjoy her meal, as sour as it set in her stomach.
Soon the back door opened. “Nothing, I don’t know what it was, but it’s gone.” Mr. Girl and Gill made their way back to their hald eaten plates.
The meal continued in relative silence, Linda rose to help with the dishes, Gil made way to the front room to say his goodbyes, he left Linda relieved. But sad. When will it stop. God, this certainly must stop she prayed.
“I am sorry, I know he is your brother but I just don’t like that boy” Mr. Girl said. “I feel like I need to wipe my hand off after he shakes it.”
Gil headed down 75th street back to the Kenosha proper, looking for a liquor store on the way when he happened across a new business in a small strip center before French drive.
He entered the store finding himself face to face with a “robbery in session”
A man, facing the wall, his hands raised as one would with a gun poised to his back. Another man slowly turned his face showing his irritation and disappointment at his ineptitude, leaving the door unattended..
The robber slowly raised his hands, but Gil was faster, using his skills, “shoot before he shoots you” .Gil thought.
Gil ducked down, pulling up the hem of his pants revealing, only to himself, a 22 standard issue gun. He engaged the device and slowly rose, gun cocked and raised.. Gil shot hitting the poor innocent fellow defending his store, square in the back of the head. The man crumpled to the ground. The robber winced quickly turning to look at the man sink to the floor. And just as quickly as he absorbed his good fortune, he realized his certain death,
The attempted robber raised his hand. This was his first attempt at being on this side of the law. It wasn’t worth dying over. He thought about his wife at home. He just had a new baby, this was their first Christmas, he wanted it to be special. He wasn’t thinking logically. He thought he could get a few dollars and that would be it.
Gil fired, shooting the young man in the chest.
Sirens came squealing around the corner, it seemed like there were 100’s of police officers, there were only a half dozen.
Gil stood there bewildered, a sort of pageantry over taking his mind. he envisioned the pomp and circumstance that would be his in this small town. Hhe realized he brought a criminal down in his tracks.
He had not yet absorbed that he killed an innocent person as well.
In slow motion, a police officer took Gil’s gun from his hand,. At the same time the officer pulled out handcuffs snapping them on Gil’s wrist
“Just a second” Gil objected
“Don’t say anything Gil, just don’t say anything”
Another Officer was kneeling at the side of the robber turned victim. He was taking a statement from him while the paramedics took the body of the storeowner away.
“He told us to not move” the Robber said “He said he would shoot and that we were to give him everything we had. He said he would shoot the store owner and blame me if I didn’t do what he said.” the man continued, “ I tried to stop him, but he said he was a cop and if I didn’t do as he said he was going to shoot the owner and blame it on me.”
“He’s lying” Gil yelled “he’s lying, I didn’t do anything“.
“Why are you arresting me?”
“Gil, we got the tape. A young man, Lance brought it to our attention. You were trying to extort him.”
Gil did nothing as his rights were being read.
“That poor guy, just in here minding his own business, baby, new wife. I pray he survives so he can give testimony.” The officer continued.
“Gil better hope he survives, otherwise he will be looking at the death penalty…times two.
,
Dewherst.
Instead of going after the drug pushers, he is going after doctors and pharmacies.
(funny story there. Father had given mother the gift of new china one year for her birthday. He had the clerk show her several patterns, 
, each goblet a different color.
and washbowls, linens and every other unnecessary item to acquire nourishment.
appx ½ pound (cross cut the top of each one, put on a baking tray and heat at 450 for about 15 minutes, watch so as not to burn. Peel each one, then chop) If you cannot find chestnuts, do without, but I promise, they add a wonderful flavor and texture.
or Zatarin.. I like the butter and garlic. And that injector good for a long time.
and it will look ten times better than this picture.
Is It Fiction? ... or maybe not. 