It

I may remember before tonight’s over, but how scared I am doesn’t matter, because it’s going to come anyway. It’s all there, like a great big bubble that’s growing in my mind. But I’m going, because all I’ve ever gotten and all I have now is somehow due to what we did then, and you pay for what you get in this world. Maybe that’s why God made us kids first and built us close to the ground, because He knows you got to fall down a lot and bleed a lot before you learn that one simple lesson. You pay for what you get, you own what you pay for . . . and sooner or later whatever you own comes back home to you.’
‘You gonna be back this weekend, though, ain’t you?’ Ricky Lee asked through numbed lips. In his increasing distress this was all he could find to hold on to. ‘You gonna be back this weekend just like always, ain’t you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mr Hanscom said, and smiled a terrible smile. ‘I’m going a lot farther than London this time, Ricky Lee.’
‘Mr Hanscom — !’
‘You give those cartwheels to your kids,’ he repeated, and slipped out into the night.
‘What the blue hell? Annie asked, but Ricky Lee ignored her. He flipped up the bar’s partition and ran over to one of the windows which looked out on the parking lot. He saw the headlights of Mr Hanscom’s Caddy come on, heard the engine rev. It pulled out of the dirt lot, kicking up a rooster-tail of dust behind it. The taillights dwindled away to red points down Highway 63, and the Nebraska nightwind began to pull the hanging dust apart.
‘He took on a boxcar full of booze and you let him get in that big car of his and drive away,’ Annie said. ‘Way to go, Ricky Lee.’
‘Never mind.’
‘He’s going to kill himself.’
And although this had been Ricky Lee’s own thought less than five minutes ago, he turned to her when the taillights winked out of sight and shook his head.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Although the way he looked tonight, it might be better for him if he did.’
‘What did he say to you?’
He shook his head. It was all confused in his mind, and the sum total of it seemed to mean nothing. ‘It doesn’t matter. But I don’t think we’re ever going to see that old boy again.’
4
Eddie Kaspbrak Takes His Medicine
If you would know all there is to know about an American man or woman of the middle class as the millennium nears ti s end, you would need only to look in his or her medicine cabinet — or so it has been said. But dear Lord, get a look into this one as Eddie Kaspbrak slides it open, mercifully sliding aside his white face and wide, staring eyes.
On the top shelf there’s Anacin, Excedrin, Excedrin PM, Contac, Gelusil, Tylenol, and a large blue jar of Vicks, looking like a bit of brooding deep twilight under glass. There is a bottle of Vivarin, a bottle of Serutan (That’s ‘Nature’s’ spelled backwards, the ads on Lawrence Welk used to say when Eddie Kaspbrak was but a wee slip of a lad), and two bottles of Phillips Milk of Magnesia — the regular, which tastes like liquid chalk, and the new mint flavor, which tastes like mint-flavored liquid chalk. Here is a large bottle of Rolaids standing chummily close to a large bottle of Turns. The Turns are standing next to a large bottle of orange-flavored Di-Gel tablets. The three of them look like a trio of strange piggy-banks, stuffed with pills instead of dimes.
Second shelf, and dig the vites: you got your E, your C, your C with rosehips. You got B-simple and B-complex and B-12. There’s L-Lysine, which is supposed to do something about those embarrassing skin problems, and lecithin, which is supposed to do something about that embarrassing cholesterol build –up in and around the Big Pump. There’s iron, calcium, and cod liver oil. There’s One –A-Day multiples, Myadec multiples, Centrum multiples. And sitting up on top of the cabinet itself is a gigantic bottle of Geritol, just for good measure.
Moving right along to Eddie’s third shelf, we find the utility infielders of the patent-medicine world. Ex-Lax. Carter’s Little Pills. Those two keep Eddie Kaspbrak moving the mail. Here, nearby, is Kaopectate, Pepto-Bismol, and Preparation H in case the mail moves too fast or too painfully. Also some Tucks in a screw-top jar just to keep everything tidy after the mail has gone through, be it just an advertising circular or two addressed to OCCUPANT or a big old special-delivery package. Here is Formula 44 for coughs, Nyquil and Dristan for colds, and a big bottle of castor oil. There’s a tin of Sucrets in case Eddie’s throat gets sore, and there’s a quartet of mouthwashes: Chloraseptic, Cepacol, Cepestat in the spray bottle, and of course good old Listerine, often imitated but never duplicated. Visine and Murine for the eyes.