{"id":533,"date":"2018-11-17T04:02:28","date_gmt":"2018-11-17T04:02:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/?p=533"},"modified":"2018-11-25T01:24:42","modified_gmt":"2018-11-25T01:24:42","slug":"doctor-said-itd-kill-me-didnt-say-when-by-dean-quarrell","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/2018\/11\/17\/doctor-said-itd-kill-me-didnt-say-when-by-dean-quarrell\/","title":{"rendered":"Doctor Said It Kill Me, Didn’t Say When by Dean Quarrell"},"content":{"rendered":"
Mr. Quarrell was born in 1946, in Springfield, Massachusetts. He has so far survived public schools, community college, and university (his baccalaureate degree is in English but written in Latin), the US Air Force, and various employment. He lives and writes in New Hampshire.<\/em><\/h6>\n

 <\/p>\n

Doctor Said It Kill Me, Didn’t Say When<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing now?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell cut it out. The floor\u2019s vibrating.\u201d<\/p>\n

She stuck her tongue out at him, then grimaced. He picked up his tweezers and rotated the model about a quarter-turn clockwise. \u201cHonest-to-god,\u201d he muttered, picking up a tiny section of yardarm.<\/p>\n

\u201cHonest to Pete,\u201d she murmured, \u201chonest Abe, no honestly, honesty\u2019s not even a policy,\u201d she chanted.<\/p>\n

He put the piece of yardarm and tweezers down on the table and pushed the green visor back off his forehead. \u201cI\u2019ll bet it didn\u2019t take them this long to build the real one,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

She sat on her heels beside his table and looked up into his face. \u201cThey didn\u2019t have me,\u201d she purred. \u201cNo one has me except you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat luck,\u201d he said. He stood shakily and stretched. \u201cOuch,\u201d he said, and limped toward the kitchen. \u201cWanna beer?\u201d He reached up into the cupboard.<\/p>\n

She stood up too, and conquered a reluctant knee, then followed him. \u201cI do,\u201d she said. \u201cI do, I do, and pretzels too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBibbity-bobbity-boo,\u201d he said as he popped two naked bottles free of their caps and held one out to her.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust taste it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s very dark.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike my soul.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh bullshit,\u201d and she sipped. \u201cVery nice,\u201d she said. \u201cCold fermented, no hops to speak of, not too much \u2018lasses.\u201d She sipped again. \u201cMaybe eight percent?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNine-and-a-half.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYummy,\u201d she said, \u201ceven better. Quickly shit-faced, and so to bed.\u201d She took a longer sip.<\/p>\n

\u201cNever on beer, m\u2019dear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI happen to know we have no madeira, m\u2019dear,\u201d she said. They laughed together.<\/p>\n

ffff<\/p>\n

The wheezing woke her, even from down the hall, even through the doors he\u2019d closed. Her robe was not quite on when she reached the little bedroom he\u2019d used as a study since their son grew up. She stood in the hall, listening through the closed door for a moment. Then she opened the door and said, \u201cThis time it\u2019s 911 for sure.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked up but didn\u2019t move his forearms from his knees, stayed bent double, leaning far forward, just his butt resting in the big stuffed chair. He shook his head. \u201c-t\u2019s ok,\u201d he whispered, \u201cit\u2019ll pass.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo\u2019ll you,\u201d she said softly, \u201cand soon if you don\u2019t take care of that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c-s nothing,\u201d he whispered. \u201cI\u2019m ok.\u201d<\/p>\n

ffff<\/p>\n

A few hours later she looked up as the young doctor came through the door carrying a folder and papers. \u201cIs he ok?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, he\u2019s not,\u201d said the doctor, \u201cbut he will be. This time. How long has he been like this?\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked down. \u201cA couple of years; \u2026 maybe five.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd he\u2019s\u2026\u201d the doctor looked at the chart, \u201cseventy-two?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t smoke?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUsed to.\u201d<\/p>\n

The doctor nodded and scribbled on a sheet of paper. He looked at his watch, then looked at her. \u201cWell it won\u2019t kill him in a hurry,\u201d he said, \u201cbut it\u2019ll surely take a lot of the fun out of his life. He\u2019s lucky he has you. You can go in.\u201d And the doctor stepped away toward the nurse\u2019s station.<\/p>\n

She stood still, alone, looking down the corridor toward the swinging doors. \u201cLucky,\u201d she whispered, and started toward them.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Mr. Quarrell was born in 1946, in Springfield, Massachusetts. He has so far survived public schools, community college, and university (his baccalaureate degree is in English but written in Latin), the US Air Force, and various employment. He lives and writes in New Hampshire.   Doctor Said It Kill Me, Didn’t Say When   \u201cWhat … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-533","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pa867U-8B","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/533","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=533"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/533\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":595,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/533\/revisions\/595"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=533"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=533"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=533"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}