The Front Porch Prophet

Doc and Eugene went into the examining room, and A.J. sat down to wait. Minnie offered a cup of coffee, which he gratefully accepted. It had been a long night and was turning into a longer morning. To pass the time, he raised the lid of Eugene’s shoe box, which had been entrusted into his care. It was full of twenty-dollar bills banded neatly into stacks. All told, the shoe box contained fifteen thousand dollars. A.J. whistled softly and closed the lid. After about twenty minutes, Eugene and Doc came out of the office. They were arguing.

“No, Doc, I won’t do that. If it’s my time, then it’s my time.”

“Damn it, Eugene. It doesn’t have to be your time yet. We can buy you five, maybe six months.” Doc sounded exasperated.

“Fuck five or six months,” Eugene said intensely. “What good are five or six months?”

“Eugene, if you don’t do what I say, you will die.”

“Doc, if I do what you say, I’ll die anyway. No offense, but I’ll pass. How much do I owe you?”

“I don’t want your money,” Doc said. “I want you to use your head.” He looked over at A.J. “You talk some sense into him.”

“He won’t listen to me,” A.J. said. “Never has.” Eugene reached for the shoe box and removed one of the stacks of twenties. He placed the cash on the table.

“I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but you can’t save me, and I’m not spending my final days wired up like a stereo. I’m going my way, and now I’m going to the truck.” Eugene walked out the door.

“What was that all about?” A.J. asked.

“Ethically speaking, I’m not supposed to discuss it with you, but what the hell. Along with about twenty other things that are going wrong, his liver is starting to fail. Or at least, that’s what I think. He needs to be in a hospital for some tests and some treatment, and he needs to stop drinking. Hell, he smells like a distillery right now.”

“He won’t do either,” said A.J. There was no use pretending.

“His time is short,” Doc said, “and he won’t lift a damn finger to prolong it.” He pointed at the money on the table. “I don’t want that.”

“You know he likes to pay his way, Doc. Keep it. Treat the widows and orphans with it.” A.J. was forming a question in his mind. “Do you know long he has?”

“I have no idea how long. We are no longer even nearly in the six-month neighborhood. In medical terms, he’s circling the drain.” Outside, they could hear the truck horn blow. Doc stepped back in his office and returned with a bottle of pills. “When his pain becomes severe, these will help. I ordered them especially for him.” Doc graced A.J. with an appraising glance. “The dosage is a little tricky, especially when mixed with alcohol. As the pain gets worse, the medication has to be increased. A little too much, and he just doesn’t wake up. Lethal but painless.” There was a long silence, a pregnant pause rife with unspoken thoughts. The truck horn blew again.

“I’ve got to go,. Doc,” A.J. said, pocketing the little pills that were guaranteed one way or another to end Eugene’s pain. He wondered what was going on in Doc’s mind, but he knew there would be no clarifications. He looked at Doc momentarily, and then walked to the truck. Eugene was petulant.

“The man just told me not to put on any long-playing records, so you stand around and shoot the shit with him for half the day. Great.”

“Sorry about that.” A.J. looked at his watch. They were in the launch window for the visit to Diane. He drove in the direction of her house. On the way, they met the vehicle driven by Diane’s companion of the previous evening. The two drivers traded glances and recognition. A.J. grunted. Life was peculiar at times.

They arrived at Diane’s, and he pulled up close and parked. Eugene had preened during the drive and looked more presentable. A.J. wanted to wait in the truck, but Eugene had other ideas. He seemed desperate for an ally, and A.J. relented. Together they walked up on the porch, and A.J. knocked. Diane answered almost immediately. She was wearing blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt. Her hair was tousled. She gasped. A.J. recalled that she had not seen Eugene for a while.

“Eugene, what’s happened to you? You look terrible!” Her hand went involuntarily to her mouth.

“I’ve been a little sick,” he said. “Can we come in?” She held the door, and Eugene stepped through, holding his shoe box. A.J. looked at his watch.

“I’ve got something important to take care of,” A.J. said. After being up all night, a cup of coffee was important. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he called over his shoulder as he cut a quick retreat. He had gotten Eugene to the water, but it was up to him to drink or drown.