The Itch (301 hits)
Category: NoneRating: -1.14 on 12 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by vexx (View user info) at 2008-07-15 22:38:43 EDT
(Around dusk. The storeroom of the Raymond General Store. The proprietor, Wallace Meyers, is handcuffed and speaks to his neighbor, John, in a determined but subdued tone.)
Wallace:
You're a good man, John. Didn't I always say that about you? I said that. That's why every winter I help you dig your tractor out of that four feet of snow. A man helps someone in need and they help him. It's the way the world works. Should work. (No, move that latch down, it has to swing through). And you're helping me. If Maggie could see me now... did you know I could barely make it through the funeral? That's when it started, the affliction I mean. It started right before the wake. Here I am trying to be proper, self-disciplined about things. "Yes, thank you for coming—you're right she was a lovely woman." "This plot-- right next to the hill so she can see the ocean." "Put the casserole with on the counter with the others." Why do they always bring goddamn casserole to wakes? Anyway—what happens but I come down with shingles. I don't know how, must have been when I was babysitting the Hann twins. That wasn't the problem though. That I could take. The blisters and the pain responded to Nevirapine, some antiviral medication, but my entire torso started to go numb, and the pain was replaced by this constant, relentless itch. Not your everyday-housefly on my hand- kind of itch. It was goddamn awful--I couldn't stop scratching. Every time I scratched it just became worse. At first, I thought it would pass. I just had to be determined and wait for it to go away. You should have seen how people in the store were looking at me. No one wants to buy tomatoes from a guy who can't stop scratching himself. I see them think it. During the day it wasn't so bad. I tried putting ice packs on my chest. Distracting myself with stocking the store. Only giving in and scratching with a finecombed toothbrush when I really had to. But at night, when I was sleeping, I couldn't control it. I would wake up and there would be blood on the pillowcase. Yellowish Silver dollar-sized scabs all over my arms. No way to stop it. Like there were thousands of little fire-ants under my skin. Isn't it funny how the body works—why do you feel like you got to itch by just thinking about it? Why are we not bothered by our shirt collar but if we feel a single thread poking out, it sets us scratching furiously? (The mirror above the sink.) And then it spread. Slowly, but with intent, that bloodthirsty itch, from my chest—crawled its way up my neck and finally onto my head. I waited it out three days before I went to Sharon's kid—what's his name... that young doctor, the one who just got married, whatshis name? Roder, right. Good kid but dumb as a box of rocks. (No, John, highest setting.) He said it might be allergic reactions, bacterial or fungal infections, skin cancer. Second one tested for psoriasis, dandruff, scabies, lice, poison ivy, sun damage. More doctors, more hogwash: hyperthyroidism, iron deficiency, liver disease, and Hodgkin's lymphoma. You could worry yourself into the ground by just listening to the way these guys talk. The third one said posttraumatic stress disorder. That I should take lithium and wear a football helmet to bed. Well you know where I told him to shove that one. I told them all that is there is scratch marks. That's it. I'm not an opium addict. I don't think there are government bugs under my skin. I just... can't control my hands anymore is all. Scratch marks. Some people, their brains go, some people get arthritis and can't knit. I can't keep from pawing myself. The worst though was this one morning, Johnny. (Wipe it with a rag, first. No, the red one.) I woke up to my alarm clock as usual. Was about to come down here to the store when I noticed this greenish liquid on my cheek--kinda looked like that anti-freeze that tractor of yours always leaks-- was sliding down the side of my face. I pressed some gauze by my ear and went to see the Roder boy. He looked at the gauze with the green goop on it, shined his flashlight in my eyes, and immediately left the room to call an ambulance. It wasn't until I get to the ER at St. Mary's with all these doctors swarming around me, telling me I need surgery now that I found out that during the night I had scratched through my skull—and all the way to the brain. Now, John. You know we mean business. You're looking a little green yourself, and I can't say I blame you. This is why you're a good man. You help me with my affliction as we help each other, more than the doctors could. You understand that men don't roll the dice with fate. When life takes control from us, wrestles it out our grasp, we have no choice but to reach, hand over fist, and take it back. Clean enough. Ready? Turn it on and one glorious swipe on ONE, TWO, THREE--
(Blackout.)
User Reviews
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-07-15 23:45:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I think this needed just one additional paragraph, Hemingway.
Submitted by BlueVersion (user info) at 2008-07-15 23:00:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Worth reading if the end/grammar was more clear. Did he make him cut his hands off?
Good voice.
Submitted by billjenkins13090 (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:56:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
You're a good man, John. Didn't I always say that about you? I said that. That's why every winter I help you dig your tractor out of that four feet of snow. A man helps someone in need and they help him. It's the way the world works. Should work. (No, move that latch down, it has to swing through). And you're helping me. If Maggie could see me now... did you know I could barely make it through the funeral? That's when it started, the affliction I mean. It started right before the wake. Here I am trying to be proper, self-disciplined about things. "Yes, thank you for coming—you're right she was a lovely woman." "This plot-- right next to the hill so she can see the ocean." "Put the casserole with on the counter with the others." Why do they always bring goddamn casserole to wakes? Anyway—what happens but I come down with shingles. I don't know how, must have been when I was babysitting the Hann twins. That wasn't the problem though. That I could take. The blisters and the pain responded to Nevirapine, some antiviral medication, but my entire torso started to go numb, and the pain was replaced by this constant, relentless itch. Not your everyday-housefly on my hand- kind of itch. It was goddamn awful--I couldn't stop scratching. Every time I scratched it just became worse. At first, I thought it would pass. I just had to be determined and wait for it to go away. You should have seen how people in the store were looking at me. No one wants to buy tomatoes from a guy who can't stop scratching himself. I see them think it. During the day it wasn't so bad. I tried putting ice packs on my chest. Distracting myself with stocking the store. Only giving in and scratching with a finecombed toothbrush when I really had to. But at night, when I was sleeping, I couldn't control it. I would wake up and there would be blood on the pillowcase. Yellowish Silver dollar-sized scabs all over my arms. No way to stop it. Like there were thousands of little fire-ants under my skin. Isn't it funny how the body works—why do you feel like you got to itch by just thinking about it? Why are we not bothered by our shirt collar but if we feel a single thread poking out, it sets us scratching furiously? (The mirror above the sink.) And then it spread. Slowly, but with intent, that bloodthirsty itch, from my chest—crawled its way up my neck and finally onto my head. I waited it out three days before I went to Sharon's kid—what's his name... that young doctor, the one who just got married, whatshis name? Roder, right. Good kid but dumb as a box of rocks. (No, John, highest setting.) He said it might be allergic reactions, bacterial or fungal infections, skin cancer. Second one tested for psoriasis, dandruff, scabies, lice, poison ivy, sun damage. More doctors, more hogwash: hyperthyroidism, iron deficiency, liver disease, and Hodgkin's lymphoma. You could worry yourself into the ground by just listening to the way these guys talk. The third one said posttraumatic stress disorder. That I should take lithium and wear a football helmet to bed. Well you know where I told him to shove that one. I told them all that is there is scratch marks. That's it. I'm not an opium addict. I don't think there are government bugs under my skin. I just... can't control my hands anymore is all. Scratch marks. Some people, their brains go, some people get arthritis and can't knit. I can't keep from pawing myself. The worst though was this one morning, Johnny. (Wipe it with a rag, first. No, the red one.) I woke up to my alarm clock as usual. Was about to come down here to the store when I noticed this greenish liquid on my cheek--kinda looked like that anti-freeze that tractor of yours always leaks-- was sliding down the side of my face. I pressed some gauze by my ear and went to see the Roder boy. He looked at the gauze with the green goop on it, shined his flashlight in my eyes, and immediately left the room to call an ambulance. It wasn't until I get to the ER at St. Mary's with all these doctors swarming around me, telling me I need surgery now that I found out that during the night I had scratched through my skull—and all the way to the brain. Now, John. You know we mean business. You're looking a little green yourself, and I can't say I blame you. This is why you're a good man. You help me with my affliction as we help each other, more than the doctors could. You understand that men don't roll the dice with fate. When life takes control from us, wrestles it out our grasp, we have no choice but to reach, hand over fist, and take it back. Clean enough. Ready? Turn it on and one glorious swipe on ONE, TWO, THREE--
FUCKING OUCH!
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:53:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
i'm still gonna -2 it.
Submitted by vexx (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:53:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
grrrr. prepare for a repost.
Submitted by Phallic_Cymbals (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:52:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Can someone please break it into nice 2-3 line paragraphs?
Submitted by vexx (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:51:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
can someone please just read the damn thing
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:50:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Fuck. I agree with Apollo.
Submitted by Phallic_Cymbals (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:49:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
SOrry, but that's unreadable in that format.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:49:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
wtf
Submitted by vexx (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:48:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
It's playwrighting format =/
Submitted by Linus (user info) at 2008-07-15 22:43:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
The BIG WALL O TEXT