Pharmacy Follies

With my cartoonishly large caricature foot throbbing to the point of actually making sound, I get into the car and motor to the CVS to fill the prescription. While I wait, I eyeball the 4-point canes with the jazzy Lilly Pulitzer knock off handle covers. I seriously consider buying one. It will make a nice accessory to my prosthetic foot once this one shrivels up and falls off.

The pharmacist is a little concerned about my dose and calls the doctor. Perhaps that dose is reserved only for those in the acute stages of leprosy? The pharmacist looks at me curiously while she is on the phone. I can tell she is wondering where the outward signs of disease will appear. Will my ear fall off and land on the counter with a thud?

I self consciously wait while the prescription is dispensed and my name is bellowed from the loudspeaker (though I am standing right there, impatiently tapping my good foot). I want to strangle the pharmacy tech. Does everyone need to know I am getting a prescription? Does everyone get to imagine what hidden diseases I am harboring? Can't I just limp out anonymously?

Apparently not.

I run into a former co-worker. She wants to know all about my new job.

I run into a neighbor. She wants to know why my car was at the curb all Summer.

I run into an old babysitter. She wants to see pictures of Hil and Pat all grown into teenagers.

I am losing steam. I am running out of good will. I am fresh out of patience. I look like death warmed over. I am forcing an unconvincing smile to my miserable face.

Please leave me alone.

I drive the last two blocks home. I usually would make this trip on foot. Not tonight. Surely I'd be found dead on someone's lawn between my house and the CVS. I greet the kids while I multitask opening the prescription, which is sealed as though it may have to circumvent the moon in deep space.

"Two pills a day" it reads. It's 7:30.

I call Lars.

"Hey --- I am home. The kids have eaten. If you need to pick up Pat you can."

He is morbidly curious about my doctor's appointment. I secretly want to scramble his brainwaves and tell him it was an obstetrical visit. But I don't. I tell him the whole story now that I have been sprung from captivity.

He has loads of questions. He must be bored. I have never met a man more unnaturally lacking in curiosity than Lars.

But I go along with it. I need him for something. I have a question, too.

"Lars, can I ask you something?"

It is such a rare question for him that he is stunned into silence.