Riverton, WY
April, 1968
“This is a prescription for penicillin,” said the doctor, ripping the sheet off the small pad. “Ten days, like before, make sure she takes all of it.”
Alma nodded as she took the paper. The physician slipped the pad into his black bag and snapped it shut. “This is Jenny’s third bout of tonsillitis in a year,” he said. “You might want to think about getting her tonsils out.”
“Surgery, ya mean?” asked Alma. The doctor nodded yes. “We ain’t got insurance,” she said, her voice soft.
“I understand.” He paused. “It’s ten dollars, for the house call.”
Alma fished in her purse, pulling out a few worn bills. “I have nine here. Ennis,” she said, turning to her husband, “you have a dollar?”
He pulled a crumpled bill from his jeans pocket and handed it over, then took the prescription from Alma. “I’ll go down ta the Rexall for this.”
“Thank you,” said Alma. “Stop at the post office, too.”
*****
Ennis looked at his truck, then decided to walk to the drug store. He felt cramped and confined, stuck in the small apartment, Jenny crying from her fever and sore throat.
Damn, what kinda father am I? he thought.
I’m supposed ta be protectin’ my family, takin’ care of em, and I can barely put food on the table. And now the lil one needs an operation?At the Rexall, he pushed open the door, the bell tinkling, and walked to the counter. Wordlessly, he handed slip of paper to the pharmacist, who read it, then looked up. “Jenny sick again?” he said.
Ennis nodded. “Her tonsils. Doc says she may need em out.”
“That’s a hard decision,” he said, his eyes reflecting genuine concern. “This’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
“You can put it on account for us?”
“A course. Alma always settles up when she gets her paycheck.”
Ennis nodded. “I’m goin’ ta the post office. I’ll be back.”
“Mornin’ Ennis,” said the postmistress, handing him a sheaf of mail. “Nothin’ much for ya, but ya did get a postcard with a picture a that newfangled Astrodome down ta Houston.”
He looked at her sharply. Ennis had always had a feeling that she read their mail—probably everybody’s mail. He really should get a post office box, but that was just another expense that he couldn’t afford.
He stopped on the sidewalk and looked for a minute at the picture on card, then turned it over slowly.
May 8 at the Wind Rivers
camping spot.
See ya then.
Jack
Ennis slipped the card into his pocket, his worries about money and illness momentarily forgotten.
A week a Jack. A week a somebody else protectin’ me. He smiled for the first time that day, then turned and walked back to the drug store.
(470 words)
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