The Storms of Life

Phil walked up to the edge of the road and carefully looked both ways. A car eased up to the intersection lagging behind the other. He tapped his foot against the curb as he watched it slowly pass. He almost stepped onto the road when he looked further down and grimaced as a vehicle turned one of the exits of the truck stop he was trying to get to. Phil wincing as the roar of the engine overpowered the rest of the traffic and put his hands over his ears as the truck shot by. “I hate those things,” he thought as he looked at the distinctive wide mouth of the tailpipe.

Finally clear, he dashed across the road. He looked at his watch and shook his head. It was 1:33. The brief respite in the chaos of his workday was rapidly slipping through his fingers. He had heard the shutters closing at 1:28 as the others clustered around the door, like they always did.

He stayed until slightly after 1:30, like he always did, staring at the phone as if it was a snake coiled for the strike. Too often a call had come during those final minutes, ignored by everyone but him. Today he was fortunate, it remained silent until he decided to make his escape.

Phil jogged briskly across the lot making up for the lost time. He headed for the door on the left side of the building and darted through. He walked past the short line of people waiting to place orders and over to the shelves near the register. He instinctively reached for the middle shelf, only briefly pausing to see Philip on the receipt stapled to the bag before he eagerly grabbed it.

His immediate thought was to retreat across the road. But he took one step and froze. Every nerve fiber still tingled with an energy that was relentless and restless. He didn’t want to go back right now. Clutching the bag tightly, he turned looked for a good place to sit. “Someplace away from everything … and everyone.”

Keeping close to the wall, he stole his way quietly and quickly back towards a corner of the His eyebrow arched as he saw a door in the back, nestled between booths. He slowly stepped over and pushed it open. Inside was a separate dining area.

A few more booths and tables set up. He gingerly stepped in and let the door shut behind him. The noise of the music playing on the overhead faded away completely. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. It was quiet.

He quickly made his way to the far booth. There were a few crumbs scattered on the tables, he brushed them aside with his sleeve and sat down. He quickly unwrapped the sandwich and tore into it with the ravenous fury of somebody who hadn’t tasted food in the last 24 hours. He knew he should have stopped somewhere last night, that had been one of his first thoughts this morning. He should have gotten up earlier and had something then. But last night any other impulse was overwhelmed by the singular desire to crawl into bed.

Phil gave little thought to his meal as he devoured it. He had ordered the first thing that came up, only wanting to get his order in so it would be ready when he made it over. He had hoped going to get something to eat would have been enough of a distraction. But his mind continued to swirl with everything that had happened.

“I have one entered for Adams.”

“No,” Phil thought, shaking his head. “I don’t want to think about it, not while I’m here.”

His resolve could not stop the memories from pressing in. He had barely pulled the phone from his ear when he heard those words. And he hadn’t set it down when it started ringing again. “No,” he muttered weakly before sighing and picking it up.

“I need to check the status of a prescription.”

“Name.”

“Adam Jones, J, O –”

Phil had closed his eyes in resignation. “Is it the Zepbound?”

“Yes.”

He frowned. The script had no notes. It had been sent yesterday so I he already knew the answer before looking. He ran it through and say insurance was still rejecting. “It needs a prior authorization.”

“What’s that?”

“Paperwork that the doctor’s office does with the insurance.”

“The doctor sent in the prescription, isn’t that authorization?”

“Were it so easy?” Phil thought wearily. “Unfortunately, they want more information from the doctor.”

“Does this mean I can’t get my prescription?”

“No, but it’ll be … $1309 without insurance.”

“Okay, fine.”

The call ended. Phil’s relief was short lived. More calls continued to come in. He pushed the button to answer it. “Jackson Street Pharmacy”

“Is this my local pharmacy?”

Phil recognized the number on the caller ID. He called yesterday and asked the same question. “Yes”

Several seconds of silence stretched into an eternity as Phil waited for a response. “Hello?”

“Is this my local pharmacy?”

“Yes, this is Jackson Street Pharmacy.”

“In Horton?”

“Yes!”

“If I come down there, I’ll see you there.”

“Yes.”

Another long pause followed. Phil felt every fiber in the back of his neck tightening with each moment. “Hello?”

“Is this my local pharmacy?”

“I can’t believe this guy,” Phil thought with a grimace. “Yes, I believe I talked to you yesterday.”

“What’s your name?”

“Phil.”

“So, Phil, I’m three blocks away. If I come down there, I’ll see you right?”

“I wish you didn’t,” Phil thought letting the phone drop down and squeezing his eyes shut. “I really, REALLY wish I was not here right now.”

“Yes, how may we help you.”

“I picked up a Farxiga a few months ago, how much did I pay for it?”

Phil blinked a few times. He pulled up the profile and looked back at that date. “Looks like $10.70.”

“Alright, thank you.”

He saw the call disconnect. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Hey Phil.”

“What?” he hissed through his clenched teeth, barely keeping his frustration in check.

“That’s still entered for Adams.”

Phil paused in the middle of taking a bite of his sandwich. “This has been a rough day. And I don’t think the afternoon is going to be any better.”

He quickly finished his sandwich. He sat staring at the table blankly. Everything in his head felt as if it were slowly oozing downward. He recognized that feeling, it was the overwhelming fatigue finally taking hold now that he had dropped his guard for a moment. The many moments that had taken a piece of his peace continued to dig at him.

“Enough!”

Just like that, everything calmed down. He no longer felt the raging torment of the constant calls and demands. He closed his eyes and let them wash away. Serenity was now a feeling and not an abstract concept that he had all but forgotten. This isolated room had become a cocoon shielding him from the raging waves and winds.

Then the sharp sound of a bell echoed in the silent space. He looked down at his phone, the alarm he set blaring the call to return to reality. He looked down at it with a contemptuous sneer and hit the button to mute it. As his glazed gaze locked on the same corner of the table he had stared out for most of his time here, one thought keep repeating.

“I just want to stay here.”

His eyes drifting shut again. He gripped the edges of the table, as if he was clinging desperately to this life raft amidst waves that towered over him. He knew it was 1:55. It was the time he had told himself that he needed to leave, past that time really. He needed to go.

Phil sighed softly. He fought to get up but remained seated. The will to go on had collapsed. He considered staying here, not going back. His head bowed, and he felt the slimy film of moisture at the lids of his eyes. He sighed, shook his head, and wiped the tears away before they formed.

Placing his palms firmly against the table with both his arms and legs, he pushed himself up. Gathering up the bag and the wrapper for the sandwich, he slowly walked to the door, tossing them in the trash bin near the door.

He laid his hand on the handle for the door, looked back at the booth that had been his brief refuge, looked down. He gripped the handle tightly and pulled the door open.

As he made his way back across the lot towards the road, he promised himself he would come back here. “I’ve at least found one place that I can have refuge from the storms of life.”