slumped on the sofa staring down the pill bottles, wondering if she should swallow all of them and then dial 911. That would show Angela. She stretched her leg and gently placed her foot on the glass coffee table, her sciatica making its entrance as expected, an inseparable companion to anxiety and sleeplessness.
Like a monkey, she grabbed the amber vial of Vicodin with her toes and dropped it into her lap. She shook it and felt a sense of relief, the weight telling her she had enough to get through another few days. Twisting the label-less vial with her fingers, she examined her palm through the other side. This was the bottle Angela gave her a few weeks earlier, along with the unchanged dialogue that accompanied every delivery.
“I’m here for you,” Angela had said, holding the vial up to June’s face and shaking the Vicodin inside with her thumb and forefinger. “As you are for me, right?”
June nodded, wanting nothing more than a pill to cool the hot poker in her lower back that had been stabbing at her for two days. “Definitely,” she said, almost a whisper. “Whatever you need.”
With the door closed, they stood in the storage closet on the seventh floor of the hospital, the buzzing fluorescent ceiling lights sending a chill down the back of June’s neck. She was about to grab the pills from Angela when she noticed the slightest change in her friend’s expression, a combination of kindness and malevolence that made her uncertain what her next move should be. She froze, waiting for Angela to say something.
“That’s great to know,” Angela finally replied, handing June the vial. “Because there’s something coming up I might need your help with.” Angela turned and slowly moved toward the door. She turned back to June, the shadow cast from the lights above making her eyes look frightfully black. “I’m glad we became friends, June. I really am.” Another smile. “And please say hi to your mom the next time you speak with her.”
Still nodding, June pushed the vial into the pocket of her scrubs, regretting the pain in her back, her move up north, and the unspoken deal she’d just made.
*
A few months later, on a frigid February night, ten inch icicles hung from the fire escape ladder and glistened sparkles of light into June’s living room window.
Angela sat close beside her on the sofa, bundled up in an afghan blanket. Without warning, she swiped a pill vial off the coffee table.
“Remember that day in the storage room, June? The day we kind of made an oath to help each other?”
June nodded, a twinge of panic stirring in her groin. Since that day, Angela had been supplying her with the medication she needed, never saying a word about where it came from. The automated dispenser at work made it virtually impossible for her to be stealing meds from the hospital. In fact, the nursing staff continually griped about the complexity of security: passwords, PIN numbers, med codes. So unless Angela was a technological genius, she had to be getting the pills from outside the hospital. June finally decided her source was one of the slimy characters she’d seen Angela bring to her apartment, drunk and fumbling up the stairs, one hand on the banister and the other up her skirt. This conclusion only added to June’s anxiety. She worried that one day she’d take a pill without any potency, or worse, swallow a pill laced with a lethal substance.
And now, with Angela sitting so close to her, a different kind of anxiety arose. Somewhere inside she knew Angela wasn’t paying attention to the television and the topic of conversation was about to turn to how she would pay for her addiction.
“I’ve been thinking.” Angela hit the remote’s mute button without taking her eyes of the screen.
“Uh oh.” June laughed nervously, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She wrapped her robe more tightly around her, grabbed the crocheted blanket lying on top of the sofa, and threw it over her
Like a monkey, she grabbed the amber vial of Vicodin with her toes and dropped it into her lap. She shook it and felt a sense of relief, the weight telling her she had enough to get through another few days. Twisting the label-less vial with her fingers, she examined her palm through the other side. This was the bottle Angela gave her a few weeks earlier, along with the unchanged dialogue that accompanied every delivery.
“I’m here for you,” Angela had said, holding the vial up to June’s face and shaking the Vicodin inside with her thumb and forefinger. “As you are for me, right?”
June nodded, wanting nothing more than a pill to cool the hot poker in her lower back that had been stabbing at her for two days. “Definitely,” she said, almost a whisper. “Whatever you need.”
With the door closed, they stood in the storage closet on the seventh floor of the hospital, the buzzing fluorescent ceiling lights sending a chill down the back of June’s neck. She was about to grab the pills from Angela when she noticed the slightest change in her friend’s expression, a combination of kindness and malevolence that made her uncertain what her next move should be. She froze, waiting for Angela to say something.
“That’s great to know,” Angela finally replied, handing June the vial. “Because there’s something coming up I might need your help with.” Angela turned and slowly moved toward the door. She turned back to June, the shadow cast from the lights above making her eyes look frightfully black. “I’m glad we became friends, June. I really am.” Another smile. “And please say hi to your mom the next time you speak with her.”
Still nodding, June pushed the vial into the pocket of her scrubs, regretting the pain in her back, her move up north, and the unspoken deal she’d just made.
*
A few months later, on a frigid February night, ten inch icicles hung from the fire escape ladder and glistened sparkles of light into June’s living room window.
Angela sat close beside her on the sofa, bundled up in an afghan blanket. Without warning, she swiped a pill vial off the coffee table.
“Remember that day in the storage room, June? The day we kind of made an oath to help each other?”
June nodded, a twinge of panic stirring in her groin. Since that day, Angela had been supplying her with the medication she needed, never saying a word about where it came from. The automated dispenser at work made it virtually impossible for her to be stealing meds from the hospital. In fact, the nursing staff continually griped about the complexity of security: passwords, PIN numbers, med codes. So unless Angela was a technological genius, she had to be getting the pills from outside the hospital. June finally decided her source was one of the slimy characters she’d seen Angela bring to her apartment, drunk and fumbling up the stairs, one hand on the banister and the other up her skirt. This conclusion only added to June’s anxiety. She worried that one day she’d take a pill without any potency, or worse, swallow a pill laced with a lethal substance.
And now, with Angela sitting so close to her, a different kind of anxiety arose. Somewhere inside she knew Angela wasn’t paying attention to the television and the topic of conversation was about to turn to how she would pay for her addiction.
“I’ve been thinking.” Angela hit the remote’s mute button without taking her eyes of the screen.
“Uh oh.” June laughed nervously, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She wrapped her robe more tightly around her, grabbed the crocheted blanket lying on top of the sofa, and threw it over her
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