Chapter 3: The Good Symptom

     

            Chapter Three

           The Good Symptom

 

                                 

 

 

     Ritch woke up lying in his bed. He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, as if in some sort of trance. He then blinked and threw the covers off of him. He sat up and began massaging his left leg.

     "Wonder why my leg hurts," he thought to himself. He got out of bed and went into the kitchen, where is mother was buttering her toast. She had a towel wrapped around her head as if she had just gotten done taking a bath. Her long yellow robe almost dragged against the floor when she walked.

     "Good morning," she said.

     "Good morning," said Ritch as he walked to the cabinet which held his favorite breakfast meal, cereal.

     "You don't have to take your meds this morning since you took some last night," said his mother.

     "I did? When?" Ritch said, setting the box of cereal by his mother's toast. She stopped what she was doing and looked at him, who was getting the milk out of the refridgerator.

     "Last night. When you had that pain in your leg. Remember?" Ritch set the milk down on the counter and replied, "Wh-what? I didn't have pain last night. I mean..my leg hurts a little right now, but not last night."

     "You don't remember it at all? Seriously?" she said, a serious yet concerned look on her face. Before Ritch replied, he realized what she was thinking.

     "Y-you don't think my amnesia has returned do you?"

     He remembered a few occasions where there were times he woke up in places he had not gone to, clothes he was wearing he had not put on, and things he was doing that he had never started doing. When his mother took him to the doctor to have it checked out, knowing amnesia could be a symptom of his MPD, (multiple personality disorder), the doctor confirmed her suspicions. But since then, his medicene had reduced this symptom to the point where he almost never had it anymore.   

     "I hope to find out soon," she said. Ritch knew exactly what that meant. Another trip to the hospital.

 

                    . . .

 

     Ritch and his mother sat in the waiting room at the local hospital. The TV hanging from the wall showed a soap opera no one ever watched, the volume seemed to be turned down as low as possible, and the others in the room sat quietly, flipping through pages in magazines or the newspaper, expressing the illnesses they were at the hospital for by sneezing, coughing, moaning, and massaging the sore areas of their bodies.

    

     Ritch glanced to his right at the large black man sitting there reading a sports magazine. The man was breathing heavily through his mouth, and occasionally began snorting, as if sucking up large amounts of snot. On the far side of the wall was a large white woman who wore a tank top. The shirt sunk in with every roll of the large lady's skin, and her stomach hung out at the bottom. And beside this lady was an extremely thin man, wearing a muscle shirt and shorts, who was spitting wads of dip into a plastic bottle.

     Ritch couldn't help thinking negative thoughts about all these people. They all looked very strange, and acted even stranger. But then he remembered just how strange he was, and how his illness wouldn't be cured anytime soon.

     A nurse came into the waiting room, holding a file, and called out Ritch's name. When Ritch and his mother stood up, she smiled to them and led them down the hallway. She took them to a small room with the bed the patient would lie on, a sink in the corner, and a small desk for the doctor who would make sure they waited long enough before he came in.

     When he did finally come in, he did the friendly "doctor smile" and "doctor greeting." Ritch knew both of these friendly introductions were fake, because what doctor is not so stressed that he has time to truly be friendly to his patients?

     "Or maybe," Ritch thought, "this greeting is not fake. Maybe he's just tired of seeing me here."

     Ritch had been to this same doctor several times in just the last couple of months. Most of those times were for check-ups, but this time was different.

     "What seems to be the problem?" Dr. Montgomery asked, looking at Ritch but knowing his mother would answer for him, as she always did.

     "Well," his mother started, "it all started last night when he had another one of those aches in his leg. I had heard him yelling from my room, and when I came to check on him he was on the floor. He was holding his leg, so I knew immediately what was going on. I went to get his meds and gave them to him. The pain quickly went away and he fell asleep, as you said would happen."

     "Yes," said Dr. Montgomery, hands in his pockets.

     "Well, this morning I told him he didn't have to take his meds since he had taken them that night, see. He then told me he had not remembered taking any medicene. When I brought up the pain in his leg, he told me he had not even remembered having pain in his leg. I thought that maybe his amnesia may be returning. I wanted to get your opinion."

     "I see," said Dr. Montgomery, turning to Ritch. "Is all that right? Anything else you'd like to tell me? Anything else strange happening?"

     "Nothing else," said Ritch. "Only that. I can remember everything before the pain in my leg, though."

     "Yes. MPD can cause loss of memory of traumatic events, which would explain why you can't remember the pain in your leg but you can remember everything before. You have been taking your meds every morning and night?"

     "Yes, sir," Ritch said.

     "He did forget to take them Friday morning, but he took them when he got home from school. I wasn't sure if he should take another pill that night, since he had taken one just a few hours before when he got home. So I told him not to take one. Could that be a problem?" Ritch's mother said.

     "I don't believe that one incident could have led to his amnesia returning. Unless.." Dr. Montgomery paused for a few seconds.

     "Unless what?" Ritch's mother said quickly, eyes wide.

     "Unless his illness has become worse, as it sometimes does with patients with MPD."

     "Worse? Is-is that still okay? C-" Ritch's mother frantically asked.

     "Don't worry, Mrs. Simmons," Dr. Montgomery said in the famous optimistic voice of a professional doctor, "I'll just double up his meds. It should help with the symptoms."

     "Are you sure? I mean four pills a day may be-"

     "Mom," Ritch said, "he's the doctor." She sighed and became a bit more calm. Dr. Montgomery smiled at this as he wrote on a small sheet of paper.

     "He may have a few headaches for the first couple of days. The worse symptom of taking twice the pills as before is vomitting. There isn't much more than a few lost meals and a few headaches that you have to worry about. He should begin taking two pills in the morning and at night every day, starting tomorrow morning. He should not take any meds tonight. It may interfere with the doubled amount of pills he'll be taking tomorrow. And because he won't be taking any meds tonight, he may have a headache tonight and possibly more aches. If anything other than aches and headaches occur tonight, give me a call." Dr. Montgomery tore the sheet of paper from the small notebook and handed it to Mrs. Simmons.

     Dr. Montgomery continued to talk about Ritch and MPD, answering Mrs. Simmons's many questions. When they were finally done talking, Ritch and his mother left the room and walked down the hall to the lady at the desk. Mrs. Simmons gave the lady the piece of paper Dr. Montgomery had given her earlier.

     While standing at the desk, Ritch saw a man behind him reading the newspaper. But it wasn't the man who caught his attention this time, but a headline on the front page of the newspaper. It read: "Teen Commits Suicide." Ritch took a step closer and leaned towards the paper, not noticing the man holding the newspaper staring at him strangely. Ritch was able to make out a few words in the article. He took another step closer. The man holding the newspaper slowly tilted away from Ritch, staring at him strangely.

     Finally, Ritch found what he had been looking for. He saw the name Meko Smith. Ritch's eyes widened.

     "Wh-what? Meko? Why?" Ritch thought to himself.

     "Um, can you please move back, young man?" said the man holding the paper. Ritch said nothing to him, but he stood up straight and took a few steps back. A nurse called out a name and the man holding the paper stood up, setting the newspaper down in his chair. Ritch saw the man leave the room, so he turned around and took the newspaper off the seat.

     He knew his mother would be ready to leave soon, so he frantically scanned the article, skipping over sentences that seemed of little importance. He read to himself:

Friday night, Mrs. Janette Smith called for emergency help

when she found her son, Meko Smith, lying in a puddle of blood

in her kitchen........

Officer Henry Jackman says,"I knew it was a suicide when....."

Meko Smith went to school at.....

He was seventeen years old....

Many people suspect the reason for him killing himself was

due to him being gay....

The funeral for Meko Smith will be at.....

 

     "Let's go, Ritch," said Ritch's mother. Ritch turned to her and handed her the newspaper. He pointed to the article and told her to read it.

     "I went to school with him. He was at Selina's party, too," Ritch said. Mrs. Simmons put a hand over her mouth as she read it. Ritch stood next to her, reading what he had skipped when he first read it.

     "This is horrible! Oh, how horrible!" Mrs. Simmons said when she neared the end of the article. When she had finished, she told Ritch they would pay their respect and go to the funeral. Ritch nodded in agreement.

     When they were leaving the hospital, Ritch felt an emotion he had not felt in awhile. He knew that this emotion had not come to him because of MPD. It felt real, not like the emotions his illness makes him get. He felt guilty. Guilty for Meko's death.

    

     After all, he had witnessed Meko being bullied on several occasions, but not once did he stand up for him. He just watched, not wanting to get involved. And because of that, Meko was dead.

     "If only I had helped him," Ritch thought to himself, "he may still be alive today."

. . .

 

     When Ritch got home from the hospital, he had nothing to do other than play video games and text Megan and other friends. He got on a few websites on his laptop, mostly facebook. He found it funny how many people, mostly girls, had over a thousand friends on facebook, but in real life he knew that person only had about six friends.

     His mother had fallen asleep watching reruns of the show House on the couch. He tried not to wake her up, because if she slept, he could get away with things he normally couldn't do if she were awake. And so he turned the volume down on his TV in his room as he flipped through the channels, desperately searching for a show to entertain him.

     It was getting kind of late, and the moonlight was shining through the windows. He almost got up to take his meds, as he normally does at this hour, but remembered what Dr. Montgomery had told him. He was not to take any pills that night because of the double dosage he would get in the morning. He then remembered that the doctor had also told him that he may, because of not taking the pills that night, have a few headaches and body aches that night. He dreaded the body aches the most. He had become quite use to the headaches over the years, however.

     He then recalled, staring at the screen of his TV, not understanding anything that was going on in the show he had stopped on, that Dr. Montgomery had also said that if anything, other than the headaches and body aches, should occur that night, to give him a call.

     Ritch thought to himself: "Wonder what not taking your nightly pills for one night could possibly do to you? I mean..it's just one night. And if not taking my pills tonight was really dangerous, then the doc would not have told me to not take them. Nothing to worry about." But Ritch was only thinking about this because he was worried. He remembered times before when he had not taken his pills, and he had had migraines and severe body aches all night long. Ritch was scared that that would happen again.

     A strange noise woke him from his trance, and he blinked. He immediately thought it was from the television, and so grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. It was getting too late, and he was becoming too sleepy. He figured his mother was still asleep on the couch, or doing some "motherly chores" around the house, and so he turned off his lamp and slid his legs underneath the covers. The bed was cold, and it felt good against his skin. He closed his eyes, hoping the night would not be as bad as he figured it would be.

     Before he could fall asleep, he heard another noise, similar to the noise he had heard earlier. He opened his eyes, which made no difference, because his room was just as dark as when his eyes were closed. The only light coming from the crack between the curtain which hung from the one window to his room, and the golden light that shined through the edges of his door from outside of his room.

     He figured it was his mother, and closed his eyes again.

     Around five minutes later, the noise occurred again, closer this time. It sounded like some distant murmur from a man's voice. But the noise formed no words, or atleast, Ritch could not make out any words. He once again opened his eyes and tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. It stopped abruptly when he opened his eyes, however.

     He felt a small sense of fear deep within him. He sighed, which helped calm the fear. But when the noise came again, as if a man was lying right beside him on his bed, murmuring the lyrics to some ancient song, he reached over to turn on his lamp. He sat up and looked at the spot where the sound seemed to come from. There was nothing there.

     Suddenly, his door opened. He gasped, but relaxed when his saw his mother peek her head around the corner of the door.

     "Just checking if you were asleep," she told him.

     "I was just about to," he told her. He figured the noise had come from his mother again, or perhaps the plumbing in the walls.

     "Okay," she said, "You didn't take your meds did you?"

     "No, ma'am."

     "Good. Good night. Sweet dreams," she told him as she slowly shut the door.

     "Good night." He could hear her, from outside the door, murmuring to herself, "How could I have fallen asleep? I have so much work to catch up on now."

     He turned his lamp back off and slid back under the covers. He closed his eyes again.

      He finally entered the time of "half awake, half asleep" period. The time where you are neither completely awake, nor completely asleep, but a little mixture of both. But that didn't last long, because the noise had returned.

     But this time, it was no longer a faint murmuring. It was a word, seemingly spoken from a man who was speaking directly into Ritch's ear. The word was whispered so close that he could almost feel the soft breeze from a speaking mouth. The same breeze you feel when someone whispers into your ear. "Ritch" the voice had spoken.

     Ritch's eyes quickly widened in fear as he turned his lamp on again, almost falling out of his bed. He turned to where the voice came from, and what he saw was even more frightening than the voice itself. It was more painful than any of his headaches and body aches.

     A man was there, kneeling down just low enough to whisper into his ear. But Ritch did not run or scream. He did nothing but stared at the man. The same man he had hoped to see again one day. The same man he use to walk along the beaches with, play games with, and travel on vacations with.

     Ritch stuttered with the word he had not called someone in years. It was a word he only spoke in his mind and in his prayers. He looked into the man's eyes, the eyes he thought he'd never see again until the day he died, and said: "Dad?"

 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The chapter had no weakness. From the mother conversation to the doctor office. The pace was fast and the story was strong. Death of Meiko left a mystery. I like how you described the locations and the people. Thank you for a excelelnt chapter.
Coyote

[0_o Abbie]

Okay wow! Dad? I was totally thinking Meko. Like he was hallucinating cuz of his meds and guilt! But dad! Surprise surprise! Wonderful! I loved it!

[Dreamer<3]

Oh my goodness! I figured it'd be "Meko". Like he made him up because of his guilt. I like how it wasn't what I thought it'd be. The surprise, and the suspense, and the EVERYTHING is amazing. Great job(:

[halflives]

Wow! This is a powerful story with excellent potencial. I'm interested to see where you go with this. This is amazing for realistic fiction!

[Short.Nerd]

Very surprising ending. Great job!

[Liz]

I liked this(:
The ending leaves the reader hanging and craving more!!
I hope you add the next chapter soon(:

-Liz-

[Miss Sally Sunshine]

OMG!!!! Great chapter!!!!! I liked the ending, and it was a little bit of a surprise!!! Fantabulous job!!!!

[~Lizzy♬]

Oh, wow! That was a surprising ending! :) I really loved the chapter, it brought a lot of suspense to it. The description was really well and the book's plot feels like it's moving at a well announced pace.

~Lizzard~