Submission for: NYC Midnight 2016 Short Story Challenge Round 1

Requirements
In 8 days, write a story no longer than 2,500 words that utilizes the following:
Genre - Horror
Subject - A doctor checkup
Character - A truck driver

Brad
by Nick Mercurio

I’d like you to meet Brad.

Brad is a truck driver. That’s a noble, honest profession, truck driver. And Brad, he’s a good truck driver. Did you know that Brad has never been late on a delivery? Isn’t that right Brad? Neither rain nor sleet nor hail nor snow, there’s never been a place where Brad wouldn’t go, oh no! He’s like the post office, Brad is. Except the post office doesn’t really hold to that mantra. Have you noticed that Brad? When it snows, do you get your mail Brad? I guess you wouldn’t know, would you Brad? You’re probably on the road. Well, I don’t get my mail Brad. Even if there’s not that much snow. Do you know that once, my neighbor Eleanor—Eleanor, she was a kind lady Brad, you’d’ve like her—well one time, it snowed, and do you know what Eleanor did? She got in her car. It was an old car Brad, a ‘92 Buick LeSabre. A wonder it was still running, don’t you think Brad? Just a wonder. Her son, he kept it in good working order for her. Tom was his name, I think. Well anyway, it snowed, and Eleanor drove her car to the supermarket to get some eggs because she felt like baking. Eleanor was 94 Brad. I don’t think I mentioned that, did I? She was 94, and she drove her car to the supermarket and back. And I didn’t get my mail for two days after that! If only there were more Brads and Eleanors at the post office, maybe then their mantra would be true, huh Brad?

I guess I’m not painting you a very good picture, am I? My apologies. Let me try and remedy that.

Brad and I are in Brad’s truck right now. I know what you’re thinking, “Ah ha! That’s why Brad hasn’t been talking much! Because he’s too busy driving!” Well first, let me correct you by saying that Brad hasn’t been talking at all. And there’s a very good reason for that. But it’s not that Brad’s driving. I’m actually driving Brad’s truck right now. Surprise! It’s very kind of Brad to let me drive his truck, don’t you think? Dedicated truck driver and all around nice guy, Brad is. Are you single ladies? Because I have a good man for you right here. Do you like women Brad? Or are you a “man’s man?” I don’t have strong feelings either way Brad, I’m just curious. And more importantly, I want to make sure I market you correctly. It wouldn’t do to have a nice girl come around asking about you, say a pretty blonde girl named Colleen, only to find out you’d rather her chestnut-haired brother Colin had come instead. Or are you…what was it…“asexual?” That’s a thing now Brad. Did you know that? It means that a person isn’t into other people in that way at all Brad, in a sexual way. Not at all! Doesn’t make much sense to me. I think they’re just shy. But then again, that’s just speculation on my part. I’m not a student of the mind, Brad. That’s not my area of expertise. But then again, you know that. You’re very familiar with my area of expertise.

But you! You’re not! My goodness, now that I think about it, you don’t even know my name. I’m sorry about that.

My name is Phillip. I’m a doctor. I’m Brad’s doctor, in fact. That’s how we know each other, Brad and I. Brad is my number one patient right now. He’s my focus. My main man. Isn’t that right Brad? Sometimes I wish I had lollipops. Pediatricians have lollipops. Barbers too, come to think of it. Pediatricians give lollipops to good patients like Brad. Well, not like Brad, per se. Brad’s too old to go to a pediatrician. But patients that are good like Brad, young patients—or regular age for a pediatrician, I guess. Those patients, sometimes their doctors give them lollipops to thank them for being such good sports. I’m sorry I don’t have lollipops Brad. But then again, that wouldn’t be the best reward for you, would it Brad? Not much you can do with a lollipop, huh? Never mind then. Don’t think about lollipops Brad. Forget I ever mentioned lollipops!

Where were we? Oh that’s right, I was painting you a picture. Painting you a picture with words!

My mother would’ve liked that. She always thought a doctor was too clinical a profession. She was a colorful woman, my mother. Colorful and creative. And supportive! She clapped and cheered at my graduation from medical school. Did I tell you that Brad? I don’t think so. I still get choked up when I think about it. She would’ve liked that we’re “on the open road.” A free spirit, my mother. I miss her dearly. What about you Brad? Are you close with your mother? Is she proud of you being on the open road? My mother would be Brad. A “globetrotter.” That’s what she would’ve called you.

You must be wondering why Brad’s been so reserved this whole time.

You may be thinking, “Poor Phillip, having to hold both sides of the conversation all by himself!” But please, don’t think ill of Brad. Truth be told, it’s my fault that he’s no “Chatty Cathy.” You see, though Brad is practically bursting with things to say, I’m afraid he’s unable to say them. Brad is unable to say anything because Brad’s lips are sewn up tight, and healing rather badly I’d say. You really must stop trying to mumble so much Brad.

Wait!

Brad is fine. I’m a doctor, remember? Brad’s personal physician, in fact. Sure, I may have started as simply the first physician on the insurance company’s “covered providers” list. But I think it’s safe to say that Brad and I have become a whole lot closer since then. And I like to think that’s because I’m the kind of doctor who goes the extra mile. It all started when—

Excuse me for a second.

Brad, why do you cry whenever I talk about how all this began? You’re not sorry you met me, are you? That would certainly hurt my feelings, so I truly hope that’s not what’s happening. Why, I don’t think I could bear to watch you cry, thinking they might be tears of regret at our meeting. That would hurt me so much, I think I’d have to sew your eyelids shut just to go on driving. I don’t want to do that. You have such lovely, expressive eyes. Such a frantic energy there. So please Brad, buck up!

Where was I? Oh, the phone call that began our friendship, that’s right! I love this story, and I think Brad does too.

He called me, you see, to complain about a rash that simply wouldn’t quit, and bowels that were similarly energetic. He described his lifestyle to me, citing his profession as a truck driver as a likely cause of his health woes. But Brad’s problems seemed more severe than a simple lack of ambulation would account for. So I dug deeper, as any good physician would. And sure enough, Brad’s diet read like a travelogue of our nation’s fast food eateries. I knew I had to act quickly. Unfortunately, Brad was not able to come in for an appointment. He had simply pulled over for a moment because his rash was irritating him so badly, and he decided he’d best reach out for some advice. But the road was calling, and he had to answer. Like I said, Brad’s a wonderfully dedicated man. And I figured he deserved an equally dedicated physician. I asked Brad where he was headed, and decided to meet up with him.

Oh, you’d be amazed at how surprised Brad was to see me.

At first, he didn’t even know who I was. Luckily, I was able to find him online to see what he looked like, and after calling his company, even knew what rest stop I could reach him at. Now, you might be thinking that Brad’s surprise stemmed primarily from seeing my dedication to the job. And you’re partially right. But he was also, I think, a little surprised at the venue of our meeting. Though I found Brad at a truck stop, and watched him eat his dinner through the window (and what a dinner it was), I didn’t approach him there. You see, I’ve found that, paradoxically, when it comes to patients’ health, they’re often they’re own worst enemies. I knew a dentist once, and he would rant and rave about how if people simply flossed regularly, they could put half the dental profession out of a job. Imagine that! Think about how often you hear people complain about money, vanity, and trips to the dentist. Yet they won’t pass a little piece of string back and forth through their teeth every once in a while to help out with all three. But I’m not a ranter and a raver like that dentist was. Never have been. No sirree. I’m a problem solver. I can’t bear to let my patients hurt themselves.

So I don’t let them.

Which is why Brad and I met in the cab of his truck, in its spot at the back of the truck stop parking lot. The first time we met, it was only for a few seconds. Brad didn’t stay conscious for very long once the needle went into his neck. The next time we met, though, it was for a bit longer. I’m afraid I wasn’t prepared for quite how large Brad was, and my “sleepy time” concoction didn’t quite keep Brad in Slumberland for as long as I had intended. I’m sorry to say, I caused Brad a little pain there, something I truly hate to do. You see, when Brad woke up, I was only about halfway through stitching up his mouth. You made such unique sounds Brad, screaming with only half of your mouth open. I’ll admit, it took me a little longer to react than I would’ve liked, I was just so entranced by those sounds. Poor Brad, you know he was so frightened, he even took a swing at me. I don’t hold it against him—we weren’t as great pals then as we are now. Luckily, Brad was still groggy, and his “swing” didn’t take his hand very far at all. And before Brad knew it, he’d gotten another dose of sleepy time!

Brad, you look agitated. Brad, what are you—stop Brad! Stop right there! Don’t you try and get out that door Brad! We’re on the open road! Just think of the consequences! Brad! Brad STOP! Oh, I hate to do this Brad. I hate to do it! You’re always so cranky after the sleepy time wears off.

Shhh. There now. You’re alright. I gave you a smaller dose this time, just enough to settle you down. But you still get to stay awake with me. I hate it when you get reckless like that Brad. It’s so hard to watch. Especially since we removed your hands and feet. You know you can’t work the door handles like that. It pains me to watch you try Brad. And now all your bandages are bloody. That’s not good Brad. You could get an infection. After all the weight you’ve lost these past few months on the IV drip, I’d hate to see you succumb to illness. You know Brad, I’m starting to think we’ll just have to sever that spine of yours. So you don’t hurt yourself. Ooo, now your eyes are really lighting up! Those wonderful, fiery eyes! Don’t cry Brad. Don’t squirm. Just close those eyes, and I’ll get to work. Don’t worry. We’ll have you in tip top shape soon Brad. 

How about you? How are you feeling today?  

© 2016 Nick Mercurio