SORTING PILLS
An excerpt from Gene, Everywhere: A Life-Changing Visit from my Father-In-Law, the new book by Delta Child columnist Talya Tate Boerner. My hand on the paper sack cues him. The top of Gene’s white head juts above the edge of the newspaper. “Gene, do you want to move to the den? To a more comfortable chair?” I ask. Nonchalantly, I carry his bag of medication to the island and deposit it next to the stovetop. “No. I’m fine here.” He ruffles the newspaper in my direction as though to prove his busyness. I glance at the clock on the microwave. It’s only 9:15, day one. “If you’re sure.” I open the sack and feel Gene’s eyes bore into me. I pull out prescription bottles by the fistful, 10 in total, and line them up on the countertop. From inside filmy orange bottles, the contents stare at me. Capsules, tablets, pills; unremarkable-looking medication. To dull pain, lubricate joints, clear the brain, mask problems, thin the blood? I really don’t know. If I am going to help my father-in-law, even for a few days, I should understand. With my phone, I begin snapping photos of the pill labels so that I can research each one later. “Talya, what are you doing with my medicine?” “I thought I’d get your pills organized. John bought a dispenser.” I reach inside the junk drawer and pull out a daysof-the-week dispenser. “See?” I wave it through the air with a flourish. Maybe this piece of clear plastic will be our magic wand. “I don’t need that crazy contraption.” He shakes his head from side-to-side. His white eyebrows scrunch into a line. “I do. I can’t keep track of all your pills without it.” “How much did John pay for that thing? It’s a waste of money.” “Not if it keeps your medication straight.” He murmurs something I can’t make out and disappears behind the sports page again. Will everything be a battle with this man? I slide my reading glasses onto my nose and each label, printed in a miniscule font, comes into better focus. Still, the medication names are unpronounceable, and instructions vary wildly. Does he really need so much medicine? Half a pill two times a day. One pill in the morning on a full stomach and half at bedtime. One pill at lunch with food. How on earth does my mother-in-law, Pauline, keep this straight, I wonder. “Pauline doesn’t use one of those plastic things,” he says. “Pauline’s better at this than I am.” I twist open the first cap and resist saying what I’m thinking. Actually, Gene, at this moment, Pauline, isn’t better at this. She’s lying in a hospital bed back home in Arkansas, which is the entire reason you’re sitting at my kitchen bar when I should be at work. For a while, neither of us speaks. Silence spreads over the kitchen, growing louder and louder, magnifying each rustle of the newspaper, exaggerating each of Gene’s shallow exhalations. Shiny capsules, flat blue pills, and round tablets no bigger than baby teeth, I sort them all into piles. One at a time, I begin dropping a week’s worth into morning and evening slots. Gene’s eyes sweep over the news. I’m aware of the sharp glances he sends my way, but I keep my head down and continue working. Gene is the first to crack the quiet. “How’s it going over there?”
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Front Porch
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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • SPRING 2020
