Rush by Kim Wozencraft

Author:Kim Wozencraft [Wozencraft, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-9970894-1-7
Published: 2017-12-30T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

We sat in the barren waiting room at the county health center watching the junkies and poor, pregnant Black women traipse in and out until finally a nurse called for us.

Doctor number one must have been pushing ninety, with a beard down to his belt buckle and frizzy gray hair almost to his shoulders. He sat hunched at his desk; when he stood up, the bend of his shoulders stayed the same. I thought of Rumpelstiltskin.

He didn’t so much as take our temperatures. When Jim told him we couldn’t sleep, he wrote out prescriptions for Valium and Quaalude, no questions asked.

Back in the car, Jim looked at the scripts and shook his head. He put on his best West Texas drawl and said, “Well, shit, darlin’, El Jefe’s taking care of us. Don’t this beat all. A miracle of modern medicine.”

From there we went to the psychologist’s office for a three-thirty appointment. The nurse led us to a small room that was entirely carpeted: the floor, walls, ceiling, even the benches along the walls, in a mealy, gray-colored plush pile. Pillows the shade of cream were tossed along the benches, and dozens of framed certificate hung on the wall.

“This place smells of incompetence,” I said.

“Be nice,” Jim said. “Maybe we’ll score again.”

“Wrong credentials,” I said. “The paper says psychologist. Check the diploma. He can’t write scripts.”

We were still standing in the middle of the room when the doc walked in, tall and lumpy, wearing beige double-knit slacks with a navy blue sport shirt and gray suede slip-ons. At first glance he appeared to have a reasonably full head of black hair, but when I looked closely I saw that it wasn’t much more than a single black strand that was snaked around his pate and plastered in place with some kind of industrial-strength hairspray. “Good afternoon,” he said in a syrupy voice. “I’m Doctor Mawes. Jack, if you like. I just want to tell you that Chief Nettle is a personal friend of mine, and I’ve spoken to him at length. Rest assured that everything you say will be strictly confidential.”

I took that as a sure sign that he would head for a telephone as soon as we left. He was practically quivering with excitement, thrilled to be in on a secret.

“Doctor,” Jim said, “I’m not sure why we’re here except that the boss said we had an appointment. I guess if you’ve talked to him you know we’re under a lot of stress and all, and that I was overdosed a few months ago.”

Dr. Jack sat directly across from us, pressing a pillow between his hands. He looked like he might drool.

“Let me tell you about my track record,” he said. “I’ve had wonderful success in the past. To date, I’m proud to say, I’ve saved thirty-three marriages and redeemed almost forty-seven alcoholics. I haven’t lost a drug case yet. The treatment I have in mind would do you two a world of good.”

“How long does it take?” Jim asked.

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