THINGS THEY DON'T TEACH YOU IN MEDICAL SCHOOL by Paul Newman

TKnC welcomes Paul back into the fray with a chilling moral tale.

Things They Don't Teach You In Medical School 

Gloria hadn’t changed into the hospital gown yet.  She sat on the edge of the gurney in a short denim skirt.  It was faded and slashed and looked like powder blue road kill without the tire marks. She wore it with a red camisole top that should have been sexy but there was nothing there to show off except the stark geometry of collarbone and sternum. She talked into her cell phone.  Her voice was thin and raspy like there wasn’t enough air behind it or maybe it was just worn dry from friction.

“Yeah, I'm still waiting.  Stop yelling at me, It’s not my fault!”

“I dunno.  The nurse just came in and took my blood pressure and stuff.  It’s crazy in here today.  It may take a while.”

There was a long pause.  Her face went red as she listened.  

“You ought to try doing this some time if you want to get so fucking picky!  It’s not like they hand me a menu!”

The privacy curtain slid back with a metallic scrape.  She flipped the cell phone closed without another word and looked up at the doctor as he walked in.

He looked like a doctor, moved like one, walked like one; confident and controlled with an overriding sense of purpose, like he expected tables and chairs to move out of his way.  He wore a white lab coat over green scrubs and a Stethoscope draped over his neck. His hair was thick and curly, still sandy brown but now with a hint of grey. His pale blue eyes squinted at her from behind rimless glasses. He started with a smile.  It was clean and disinfected like everything else in the room; detached, clinical.

“So, Gloria, is it?  What brings you in today?”

“It’s my head, doc.  It’s killin' me.  I think it’s one of those migraines, I feel like I’m gonna puke.  I need something for the pain, maybe some vicodin or something.”

“Ummm Hmmmm.”  He nodded his head and flipped a few pages on her chart.  “It says here that a few weeks ago we saw you for a twisted ankle.  X-rays were negative.  How’s it doing?”

“Oh fine, fine.  It’s better now.  I was sore for a few more days
but it got better just like you guys said it would.”  She talked too
fast and bit every word hard to show she meant it.

“Hmmmm, good, good.”  His head was still bowed over her chart. “And before that, it was your back.  We gave you a shot of Fentanyl and sent you home with a scrip for Percocet.”  He paused.  “Now, here you are again.  Looks like it’s been a rough few months for you hasn’t it?”

Gloria didn’t say anything, she couldn’t, she didn’t dare; but she answered anyway.  Her shoulders sagged and her chest hitched where she tried to catch a sob.  She turned it into a cough to hide it and just nodded at him.

He stopped pretending to look at the chart.  His eyes turned on her and dissected her like any other specimen; they pried her open and analyzed the secrets underneath.

Her legs were long.  Too long, too thin.  Not enough meat.  They were just bones balanced lengthwise on top of each other and held in place by the thin layer of skin wrapped around it all like duct tape.  Her hands jerked and twitched and were afraid to stay in the same spot for too long.  Her right hand reached out and clutched at her left elbow and pulled her arm in tight against her side like she wanted to give herself a hug but just couldn’t get it right.  Her eyes looked old and hollow.  Her pupils were swollen and heavy but they wouldn’t slow down.  They kept darting back and forth; watching, waiting for something heavy to finally land on her.  To fall out of nowhere and crush her.  She wasn’t strong enough for the weight of being alive.

His eyes softened, he’d seen enough.  Too much.  He set the chart aside.  “So, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

He waited.

The quiet between them grew until it filled the exam room and he still waited.

It was finally too much.  She opened her mouth and the words tumbled out but made no sense, they piled up at her feet.  This time Gloria couldn’t hide the sobs; sloppy tears fought past her eyelids and fell to the clean white linoleum.  It felt like she cried forever but finally the tears were done.  They left her empty but calm.

Clean.  She could see clearly and it terrified her.  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then she jumped.

“It’s the fucking pills.  I think...I think I need some help.”

If she fell, she knew she’d fall forever.  She hoped to god he would catch her.

The doctor leaned back on his stool.  He looked around the room for help but there was no one else there.  He took a deep breath then reached out and laid his hand on top of hers.  Her skin felt wrong to him without a clean layer of latex between them.  He was terrified.

He needed to quantify, to diagnose, to biopsy and sanitize.  He needed to do anything else but this but he could feel Gloria’s pulse quivering through her warm skin and it caught him and held him and brought him back to her.  The spark in her touched him and found something familiar, common to them both.  Universal.  Human. Something he had forgotten about a long time ago.

Gloria felt his hand on hers, then looked up at him.  He squeezed her hand once, gently.  He wasn’t sure how to do it but it seemed to turn out alright; she smiled.  For the first time in a long time he saw a person filling in the white space where a patient used to be.

Maybe they both were going to be alright.

Bio: Paul Newman's most recent published stories appeared in: Ethereal Tales May/10, Midnight In Hell March/10, and Beat To A Pulp Feb./10. If you're interested, you can find a few more stories on his website http://www.logicalvoodoo.com/

TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT by Paul Newman

Take it or Leave it


“C’mon, now. You know it’s worth more than that! That’s real gold!” The little man’s voice cracked as he said it.

Mick didn’t give a shit.

“Look at that counter. You see that? Watches! Two dozen fucking watches! I need another watch like I need another heart attack. You want money? Go steal a laptop or something! Twenty bucks; take it or leave it.” Mick pretended to clean the glass showcase but he watched the old man and waited.

While he waited the bell over the door rang. A kid walked in. Late teens. Long hair and shredded jeans and a worn out leather jacket. He was long and stringy, not much meat on him. He carried a hard black plastic guitar case. It still had a price tag dangling from it on a piece of string.

Mick walked over to talk to the kid while the old man made up his mind. He heard the old guy talking to himself as he walked away. “I’m sorry Annie. You know I’d never do it if I didn’t have to...” Mick laughed to himself as he walked away. Who the fuck was Annie? Crazy old bastard.

When Mick got close enough he noticed the kid’s eyes. His pupils were drawn in tight like dots and they didn’t want to focus on anything. He got a bad feeling but it was too late.

The punk reached in his jacket and pulled out a revolver. Its barrel was short and stubby and scarred in places where the paint had worn away. Its handle was wrapped in worn duct tape. His hands shook as he pointed the thing at Mick.

“Gimme the money, Asshole!” He shouted. The words got jumbled on their way out but Mick got the point.

He held his hands way up high and talked nice and slow. “Heh, heh. Calm down now, buddy. Nice and easy. Nobodies gotta get hurt here.” Mick moved sideways toward the counter and the cash register. Nothing sudden. Nice and slow. He pushed a button on the dusty register and a bell rang and the cash drawer kicked open.

The kid seemed to relax, his hand shook a little less and he let the barrel of the gun drop toward the floor.

The old man must have recognized the kid. He shuffled over closer, waving his cane at the punk like a billy club. “Peter? Is that you? Peter Matthews from down the street? What are you doing with that gun? Does your mother know what you’re doing?”

Mick could see from the look on the punk’s face that he knew the old man. It was enough to panic the kid; he dropped the guitar case and started shooting.

Mick ducked down low behind the display case. Glass exploded all around him. He pushed the alarm button and grabbed the sawed-off then looked around the counter. The old man was on the floor. He wasn’t moving. There was a big dark stain spreading on the linoleum underneath him.

The kid looked around like he wasn’t sure where he was or how he got there. He said something to himself, just a couple mumbled words; then shoved the barrel of the pistol in his mouth. He pulled the trigger and slumped to the floor.

Mick heard the sirens already. He moved over to the old man on the floor. He smelled like chicken noodle soup and cheap laundry soap. His face was stuck with his mouth half open like he had one last thing he wanted to say.

Mick reached in the old man’s pocket and took out the watch. He replaced it with two ten dollar bills. After a half second, he reached back in the pocket and took one of the bills back. He went back behind the counter to wait for the cops to show up.

BIO:
Paul Newman's most recent published stories appeared in: Ethereal Tales May/10, Midnight In Hell March/10, and Beat To A Pulp Feb./10. If you're interested, you can find a few more stories on his website http://www.logicalvoodoo.com/

BEDTIME STORIES by Paul Newman

Paul debut's with...

Bedtime Stories

“But mommy, I don’t want you to go. I don’t like him.” The little girl’s eyes were round and big. She was sitting up in the small motel bed. She looked too serious to be five years old.

The woman sighed. Jesus, why tonight? Why now? The guy was waiting out in the small living room/kitchenette. She could hear him pacing through the thin door.

“Sammi, we’ve been through this before, c’mon kiddo. I’ll be right in the next room. Momma’s gotta work.”

Sammi knew what she meant. Sometimes five isn’t so young anymore.

“Mommy, I don’t like that man, he scares me.”

Leave it to a kid to cut the bullshit.

The woman brushed a stray lock of thin blonde hair out of the little girl’s eyes and kissed her on the forehead. She took her time, felt the girl’s warm forehead tremble through her lips.

“For Christ’s sake, c’mon in there.” His voice was sharp, impatient.

It was the guy. She didn’t know this one’s name, it was better that way. She didn’t charge by the hour but he was getting tired of waiting. She could hear his heavy footsteps pacing back and forth.

The little girl sniffed. She was trying hard, the kid was tough. She was five going on forty but she was still only five. Her mother reached out and pulled the little girl half out of the thin covers and hugged her as tight as she could.

Gloria’s lip shook. She knew if she sniffled she’d lose it. Right on the edge. If she lost it, the kid would too. Gotta suck it up. Life gets that way; God knows it makes you hard but you’re never tough enough for this.

She made herself push Sammi back into the bed, it felt like peeling off her own skin. Then she pulled a smile out of somewhere and showed it to the little girl so everything would be ok. It wasn’t, but at least they could pretend again. Sammi smiled back, her own a miniature version of her mother’s. It must have run in the family. Gloria ruffled the little girl’s hair and stood to go.
"Luv ya, pumpkin.”

The little girl sniffed one more time. “Luv you tons, mommy.”

The woman paused in the doorway and watched her little girl burrow back into her blankets. Her head settled down on the thin motel pillow. Gloria pulled the door closed behind her.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the little girl’s eyes shot open. She spent the next half an hour pretending she didn’t hear the noises coming from the other room. She didn’t know what they were but they scared her. She only knew that when they stopped she could have her mommy back and the bad man would be gone. It was enough for now; she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

When he finally left, Gloria opened the door and crept back in to check on her. She saw Sammi was asleep and collapsed into the armchair next to the window and just watched her breathe.

The eyes she recognized from pictures of her own mother. The nose she remembered from Sammi’s father. Gloria couldn’t help it, she started to cry. She fought to keep it quiet so the little girl wouldn’t wake up but it didn’t work.

Sammi rolled over awake; she heard her mommy crying. She saw the door was open and knew the man was gone. She unwrapped herself from the tangled blankets and dangled her feet onto the cold floor then ran to her mother sitting in the brown chair by the window. “I love you, mommy,” she said as she wrapped her arms around Gloria’s waist in a hug.

Gloria wiped her eyes with the back of a hand and faked a grin. “I love you too, pumpkin.” She pulled the girl up into her lap and held her tight to her chest. Sammi snuggled into her mother’s arms and soon was asleep again. Safe and warm.

The tears came again but quietly this time; from somewhere different. A softer calmer place. Gloria kissed the girl gently on her forehead. Her heart overflowed with too much to feel all at once. It wasn’t a lot but it was all she had and it was enough to get her through another day.


BIO:
Paul Newman's most recent published stories appeared in: Ethereal Tales May/10, Midnight In Hell March/10, and Beat To A Pulp Feb./10. If you're interested, you can find a few more stories on his website http://www.logicalvoodoo.com/.