Brass Screws

Brass Screws
By: Evan Borchert

Afternoon in the drugstore business held countless opportunities to be interrupted by elderly people. This thought ran through Mike's head more than he felt it should. He'd become fixated on the patrons who marched in an out on a daily basis and decided the percentage swung well into the sixty percentile towards people of senior age. The younger crowd would come in and sheepishly buy condoms or pregnancy test. The in between in age tended to visit the pharmacy and nothing else. His position as photo shop attendant seemed to align him with all of the above.

His friends always joked with him about looking at naked pictures of less than attractive people. He never looked at the pictures. No one bothered to film the interesting stuff and the internet made amateur pornography a moot issue. Mike would pick out whatever babe his friends were lusting after and tell them she filled her Valtrex prescription regularly. He felt the joking warranted the payback. The male mind incorporates an odd filter. Guys can sit and discuss the curves and angles of the female form, but the minute you get to the root of the matter and explain 'she sticks to the pads... no tampons for her' the information is frowned upon.

"Dude, nobody wants to hear that crap!" his friends would yell in unison.

Mike knew they didn't want to hear it, but being able to cow his friends gave him a certain amount of power over them.

He snapped the last button on his smock and glanced out of the tiny break room. There wasn't an old person in sight. He didn't see anyone at all anywhere and he rejoiced a little. If he made it to the photo station at the front, he could do work behind the curtains and be left alone for hours. The only other person he needed to worry about, Susan, the store manager, would be stuffing her face at the all you can eat pizza place across the way. She wouldn't go looking for him once he made it to the station. There were several steps involved and she'd nearly faint lumbering to the back where her office and large desk chair awaited her.

Mike stepped out into the back aisle and began to cut right towards the soft drink side, but he spotted a woman pushing a stroller: bad news. Mothers with children always asked questions. He figured they wanted to be in an out as quick as possible with their brats and looked for any means to make it possible. Their level of patience got them moving quick, once he told them he didn't know the photo station. However, they tended to be rude and sometimes would ask him to find someone else. This could lead to numerous questions almost impossible to answer. “There is no one else.... Who do we ask if we don't know? No one.... Is the manager here? No, she's at lunch... A phone number to call? The phone number is on the door up front... Am I retarded? No, I've answered all your questions with honest answers." Of course he would avoid this mommy by heading towards the other end.

Cutting left brought him down towards the pain relievers. The aisles sat relatively low and he could see no one approaching anywhere near the end where a center aisle divided the store. He cut down the fiber aisle containing diet supplements like Citrucel and Metamucil. Three quarters of the way down past the newest miracle drug for osteoporosis a wheel chair cut into the aisle hard and fast. Mike knew directly behind him lie the pharmacy desk and the older man in the wheelchair would probably head there. The man locked eyes in an intense stare and Mike smiled, throwing out the only defense he could.

"Hello, Sir. Are you finding everything okay today?" Mike squeaked.

"Son, how old are you?" the man asked. His intense stare didn't diminish.

"Sir, I'm twenty-five."

"Well you got the 'sir' right, but you need to sound off like you've got a pair!" The old man reached out and grabbed Mike's testicles. "I can feel them!"

Mike fell forward in the only direction you can go when somebody grabs you by the balls.

The old man used his free hand to grasp him by the smock. He pulled Mike closer and whispered in his ear. "Now ask me again and make it good or I’m taking these with me." The vise on his scrotum increased for emphasis.

Mike swallowed all the cobwebs from his throat and bellowed, "Sir, are you finding everything okay today?"

Sweet relief swept through Mike's groin and he doubled over and lowered to his haunches. The PE teachers from his youth always made them drop like that when they'd been hit in the nads. Mike always believed the injured person usually stood up because they felt embarrassed by the position and not because they felt better. He had to admit the pain seemed to subside with speed.

Looking at the man in the wheelchair, he felt dumbfounded and pissed. "Was that really called for... Sir?" he asked.

"No, not really. You can stop calling me, sir. Name's Murphy. Now, if your head is out of the clouds, I need some help on the next aisle."

Murphy didn't wait for his response, but spun the chair and broke right at the end of the aisle. Mike didn't know what to say. He stood up straight and moved towards the next aisle, careful to keep his pelvis out of reach.

"I need this big bottle of ibuprofen right here," he said, smacking the empty shelf with his hand. "Got anymore in the back?"

Mike opened his mouth and started to toss out his normal excuse ‘if it's not on the shelf, we don't have it.’ He subconsciously rubbed his package. "I'll check in the back, Sir... Murphy."

"Heck, now I'm royalty."

Mike hurried towards the small stock room in the back. Sure enough, the first box on the pallet contained a box of ibuprofen matching the number on the shelf. He wondered how many other customers he'd lied to previously.

He returned to the aisle feeling a little proud of his accomplishment. It must have shown on his face.

"Quite pleased with yourself aren't you?" Murphy asked, grabbing the bottle from his proffered hand. "If you'd have stocked this stuff when it came in, your coin purse wouldn’t be aching right now."

"Well, ah, Murphy, I work in the photo station." He saw something glint in Murphy's eye. "But you're right. We should have stocked this when it came off the truck. My manager’s not on top of much, unless it's a jelly donut."

Murphy smiled for the first time. "Really, is she a real porker?"

Mike nodded.

"She have brown hair and drive a white Honda?"

"Yeah, that's her. Tires are usually low when she's inside. You know her?"

"Yep, she's my daughter." Murphy fixed him with ice cold dagger like pupils.

Mike bolted for the end of the aisle and careened around the corner heading for the small break area. He flew through the door and locked it behind him. Leaning against the door he panted and thought about the situation. He'd insulted an old man in a wheelchair’s daughter, his boss, and then ran from the man. His head shook on its own, discussed with its owner. He heard a sound outside and held his breath. Several cadences of sound crescendo outside and after a moment, it becomes clear he heard laughing. He pushed open the door and careened his neck around the corner of the aisle where Murphy's face, the color of an apple, contorted to let loose a whole body laugh.

Careful not to make a noise, Mike stepped one foot at a time back in Murphy's direction. The man's raucous laughter made it clear he'd been had by the man's story. "She's not your daughter is she?"

Murphy gasps for air in order to answer. "Nope, saw her driving out as I came in." He gulped in more air. "Takes a minute to get out of the van you know."

Mike shook his head. "You should come around here more often. I've learned two things already today."

Murphy's breathing began to steady and carry into a calm resonance. He turned the pill bottle around in his hand. "Mike, do you know what these are for?"

"Headaches, pain I believe."

"Exactly, pain. They'll prescribe harder stuff than this, but I don't want it. Never wanted to be a dope fiend."

At the bottom of the aisle near Murphy's chair a stretch of the lower shelf sat bare. Mike took a seat and listened.

"Back's been no good since the Korean War."

"You were shot?"

"Yes, but that's not what did my back in. I fell from the chopper, fifty feet… After they shot me. I did some damage in the landing, but nothing they could do anything about."

"That's incredible. Did they land to pick you back up?"

Murphy shook his head. "It would have cost them a lot more than me to land. We were under heavy fire."  He paused for a moment. "The Koreans, they found me. Threw me in one of their camps. Took a couple of months, but I healed up and scaled out of there before they starved me to death."

Mike's mouth dropped open. "You're a bona fide war hero!"

"Not even close. A lot of boys and men who looked just like you that didn't make it out of there. I couldn’t save them. They had the same expression on their faces that you did when I came around that corner. Mind was somewhere else. Cost them their lives." Murphy started to turn the wheelchair and paused. "You want to see something?"

Mike pondered every word from the man's mouth now. It took him a second to catch up. "Yeah, of course."

He pulled out an old green cloth wallet and fished around in the back of it for something. He pulled out a quarter inch thick, two inch long bronze screw. It looked like something you would put a wooden deck together with.

"What's that?" Mike asked.

"That's what they put in my back two years ago. Ten of them. Said if all went well I'd be able to walk." Murphy answered, placing it in Mike's hand.

He fumbled around with it for a moment. "Are they still there?'

"Yep, but things didn't go well and I still can't walk anymore without being in serous pain. I could dope up, but at my age, I gauge what parts failing by what hurts the most. It's the only thing that keeps me sharp." Murphy held out his hand and Mike dropped the screw back in. "Look, Kid. I don't know why you’re here and neither does anyone else. If all you ever do is think about living you'll miss out on life." He pocketed the screw and turned the chair, heading back towards the front.

"Thank you, Murphy. Anytime you want to talk, I... I’ll be here."

"I hope you won't be... I hope you're living!" he called back over his shoulder.

Mike didn't stand up. He kept sitting on the shelf until Susan wobbled up to him an hour and a half later. He felt aware of her shouts and questions, but ignored her. He stood up and threw the smock on the ground. He exited the drugstore and never returned.

The End

Word Count: 1926