Terminal

“. . . can outrace Superman because Flash is the fastest man on Earth!”

“Cool!” I responded.

Michelle was staring at me. The bacon was draining on a paper-towel-covered plate. The eggs looked just about done.

“What?” I asked.

“How many aspirin did you just take?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“How many?”

“Four.”

“Will you please get that prescription filled today? I mean it, Tommy. This is getting ridiculous.”

“It’s Sunday, Michelle. The pharmacy ain’t open on Sunday.”

“Yes it is, and you know it is too. You look like shit, Tommy. Maybe you need to get a second opinion while you’re at it. Whatever you’ve got, it sure as hell isn’t getting any better.”

That’s because it’s growing, I thought. Growing at an alarming rate. In fact, Michelle babe, I’m afraid it’s terminal. And soon, it will be later my niggaz and peace out!

“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands in defeated surrender. “I’ll go get the prescription filled today. This morning in fact.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” She kissed me on the cheek, gave my hand a squeeze, and flipped the eggs onto a plate.

“Now come eat.”

I looked at the eggs and bacon and wanted to puke again. I felt the bile rise in my throat, burning me, but I fought the urge down and smiled.

“Looks great.” I licked my lips and sat down at the table.

I almost told her the truth then. The words were on the tip of my tongue. I swallowed them down again, and the taste was bitter.

“We’ve got to get ready for church,” Michelle said. “Come on, T. J., turn that thing off and go get dressed.”

“Five more minutes,” he negotiated. “It’s almost over.”

“Now,” Michelle countered, “or no ice cream after church. Besides, you’ve seen this one already.”

“I never get to do anything . . .”

Begrudgingly, he stomped down the hall to his bedroom. Michelle followed along behind him, arguing. As soon as they were gone, I got up, dumped the food into the garbage can, covered it up with paper towels, then changed bags. By the time they were finished, I was washing the dishes and Michelle was none the wiser.

T. J. was wearing his tan Osh Kosh and fraying old sweater, and it reminded me of my nightmare. I shivered, despite the scalding dishwater, as I recalled those cancerous tentacles wrapping around him.

“How was breakfast?” Michelle asked.

“Great.” I smiled. “Bacon was crispy, just the way I like it. Eggs were great too. Thanks for making it.”

“Must have been. You wolfed it down quick enough.”

I nodded and forced another smile.

“Okay, we’ve got to jet. We’re late and Mom’s going to have a fit. Will you be here when we get back?”

“I promised John I’d help him change his timing belt, then I’ll pick up the prescription. Should be home by two or three at the latest.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” She gave me another quick kiss, and I hugged T. J. and told him to have fun. Michelle made a fuss about me getting soapsuds all over his clothes, and T. J. giggled. Then she ushered him out the door.

I stood at the kitchen window and watched them walk down the sidewalk together, hand in hand. I cried. I cried for a long time and used a dishrag to dry both my hands and my face. Then it was off to the bathroom again for another battle with my stomach. This time, it came out both ends, and there was blood in both my vomit and my stool. After about twenty minutes, when I felt like an empty, dried-out bag of skin, I stood up and got on with the business of dying.

* * *

The truck didn’t want to start right away. It felt about as healthy as I did. When I finally got it running, I stopped at the big supermarket on Carlisle Street with the pharmacy inside. I had lied to Michelle about my plans. There was nothing wrong with John’s timing belt, and in fact, I didn’t even plan on seeing him all day. The last thing I wanted to do was spend the day hanging out with John and Sherm. There were other things that I needed to take care of instead. I had a To Do list for the day . . .

I walked through the produce section, past the paperback rack and the aisles for bottled soda, potato chips, and pet supplies before I found the pharmacy. There was a big guy behind the counter, dressed in a white lab coat with a name tag that said CASEY. He looked more like a club bouncer than a pharmacist.

“Good morning.” He grinned. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a prescription that I need to get filled. Wasn’t sure you’d be open today, to tell you the truth.”

“Yep, we’re open on Sundays. That’s why I’m stuck here today instead of at home watching the game. People get sick seven days a week. Let’s take a look at your prescription.”

I handed him the crumpled-up piece of white paper. He unfolded it, smoothed out the wrinkles, and carefully deciphered the doctor’s handwriting.

“Hmmm, eighty milligrams of OxyContin, to be taken twice daily. Not a problem. Should be about fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Okay.”

“I just need to see your insurance card, and I’ll also need your date of birth.”

I looked down at my feet. “I don’t have any insurance.”