The Percocet Diaries — 4

Carol frantically searches through her underwear drawer looking for her prescription drugs she’s procured illegally, it’s in that gray area of illegality, really, it’s more on the lines of a barter system, she helps her doctor with his odd sexual fantasies in return he doles out prescriptions. Tonight Carol has to sleep with her husband, something she tries her best to put off until absolutely necessary. She thought about divorce but that means the end of her life of privilege and even worse, having to get a job. Carol hasn’t always felt sex with her husband was a form of cruel punishment for the year she spent introducing the pastor’s son to all things sin, she use to enjoy it. But that was ten years ago when he had a head full of hair. Now it’s thinning around the edges and there’s a tiny island of hair left on top surrounded by an ocean of baldness, his solution, a hideous toupee, that somehow manages to not sit fully on his head, but hovers just above that tiny island of hair. He’s also put on some weight, so has she, but her ten pounds over the last ten years she deems an acceptable ratio for a woman in her mid forties. His sixty pounds isn’t acceptable at any year to weight ratio. And she swears his penis has shrunk at least a half an inch. “Gotcha.” She pulls out a bottle of Xanax. “Dammit.” There’s only one, she reaches back into the drawer and pulls out the Valium. “Shit,” it’s empty. One last hope, she reaches further back, the drawer eating up her arm, and pulls out the Percocets. These will have to do. She downs three Percocets and a Xanax, tequila her throat cleanser. Carol fixes the top to her French maid outfit, takes a deep breath, and…“Cherie, je viens ici!”