Sleep Well, Dr. Peters

Every week of November we’re given little surprise events. They pop up around our little town almost overnight and disappear just as quickly. One year a string of balloons were released into the sky and the few lucky people who could catch them were given elite invites to a grand party. Sometimes, things are spiced up and take the form of a treasure hunt with little clues, hints, and surprises waiting for the town to find and fight over.

It’s a shit show really. But it adds a bit of excitement to people’s lives. The mayor of our town thought it would build community spirit and “unite us in trying times” but all it really did was define our divides even more. At first, it felt magical. Like we were in some sci-fi, fantasy movie running after a golden egg. The prizes were enticing; 1 million dollars, gift cards for a year, holiday getaways, you name it. Sometimes the prizes were stupid - rigged for the older generations to participate. One week the big prize was a whooping four free days of unlimited bingo. That was a real sight for sore eyes- grannies running around, hitting each other with their walking sticks and screaming “IT’S MINE JANICE” with that croaky, stretchy voice that comes with age.

Like I said, a real shit show. But this week, it’s something even better. “One month getaway to a tropical island for one person only”. Normally this would sound incredibly lame but it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. It’s right there on my bucket list.

 Number one: Fly on a plane for the first time!

Number two: Go on holiday to somewhere that looks like it’s right out of Pinterest.

It really doesn’t get better than this. I've known about this for a while. All it took was a dinner at the Mayor's house for him to spill the beans on this month's prize. This time, I'm all in. I need to get it and I’m on a time limit. For private reasons, I won't be back in this town again next year. So this is it. The last and final November special before I leave. I've planned it all out for a while. These are the things I must remember. One, I have…a condition. Two, my condition makes it hard to breathe, and walk and live. And this time…it’s bad. Three, According to Dr. Peters- who is three parts a pain in the arse and one part a life-saving God-there’s nothing he can do this time.

Three days ago, I asked him a question all doctors hate, “So how much time do I have then Doc?”

I can still remember how Dr. Peters sighed. Deep and heavy like he didn’t even want to say the answer.

 I heard this though when you’re a doctor, you rely on graphs and statistics to measure a life. In these times, doctors feel more like a robot then ever before. They want to say “a long, long time” but they have to whisper out clear, concise data depending on how your condition is progressing in comparison to the research at their hands.

“A few months maybe more. August of next year at the most.”

After that, he goes on some long dawdle about how maybe it’s time to stop treatment and live with my family for the rest of my short life.

“Comfortably”, he says.

 He uses words like “better quality of life”, “time”, “death” but nowhere there does he say “longer” “old age”. The words I want to hear are not uttered.

I memorize this conversation. All its details, all the emotions, all of it. I repeat. I think. I take it in. If you want to lie about anything, you have to believe the lie yourself. You have to really dive into the role so that sometimes you actually forget you're lying. You have to create a story. A good one. And you must believe it happened, even if it never did.

These are the essential parts of any sob story. A sudden unexpected calamity. Check. A lifelong dream that can come true with help from charitable and generous people. Check. And a little tragedy. Check, check, and check.

That's why in a few hours, I’ve called all of my friends, fed them my sob story, and begged them to work with me to get the prize. They buy the story - of course, they do. There are obvious holes in the story but I remind them that three months ago ( right after the dinner at the Mayor's house), I took a month away from work and was on sick leave. They can't quite understand it all yet. But that's how I want it. Shock makes it hard to really think of all the details. You need time to digest the news. And by the time they do, I'll be long gone so I won't really be around for questions.

I'm relieved to find out it's quite an easy mission this time. The mayor has made the whole town into one big race. It involves a string of activities from archery to creative games. And the winner of them all gets that beautiful, sacred prize of a month away on a tropical island. Glorious. Free. So close yet so far.

“Right then, you’ve all agreed, right? We all try our best and whoever wins will give the prize to me, right? By doing so you will become the town’s hero for fulfilling a dying girl’s last wish, yippee yoo-hoo.”, I say nonchalantly, excitement buried down.

Guilt, I find, is the best way to convince someone. Although, it’s hard to shut people’s minds up. They have endless questions. There goes the benefit of shock, I guess.

“I didn’t even know you were sick, Molly!”, my friend Daisy says to me. She’s in hysterics, crying, snot everywhere, the works.

I sniffle a little, “I just didn’t want to burden you, you see. But I want to live my last days peacefully, you can understand that, right?”

“Of course, you silly bean, I’m going to try my absolute hardest to get this for you. And if you don’t, I’ll even pay for you to go on a trip, okay?”

“Oh, Daisy! You’re the sweetest pie there ever was. But I know you’ll win; you can do this. Do it for me, do it for all the people suffering from this horrible disease.”

“Right.”, Daisy shifts awkwardly, “I feel like the absolute worst, but like, what is your disease called exactly?”

“Oh. I wouldn’t bother, I can barely remember it myself most days, it’s just so long and complicated”, My eyes shift, “oh I’m feeling quite dizzy”, I say weakly, a small voice coming out in airy whispers.

After that, Daisy is nicely distracted. I learnt this thing too, why do something when others can do it for you?

For the rest of the day, I watch as my story spreads in a controlled wildfire. People come forth and agree to participate and give me the prize and some drop off some money. “For charity”, I hear them say.

Somehow, I don’t mind all that much. These people who live in this town, are all nuts. They’re absolutely crazy nutjobs who don’t even think for one millisecond. All they want is to look good and I’ve given them a perfect opportunity that they can’t refuse. Who wouldn’t love neighbours who go to extreme lengths to make a dying girl happy and on top of that even donate big bucks to help her lead a “quality of life that most people would never get.” Lucky me. Lucky Molly.

It feels too easy though. I’ve never sat at home during the competition day. I can finally watch that Netflix show and maybe even bake a cake to celebrate. Or start packing. The options are almost infinite. Yet, stupid Dr. Peter had to ring my stupid bell on the day when finally, everything was falling into place.

“Yes Dr. Peters”, I say, opening the door wide, I'm wearing a small smile on my face - the kind that looks pitiful.

“What is this nonsense about you being sick and dying?”, He says, angry, fuming…scared.

“I’m not lying”, I say deadpan.

“You’re not lying? And how is that? You came for a check-up three days ago and you were healthier than ever before.”

“You see, the mind is so beautiful, you can convince yourself of a memory that never existed and then it becomes truth, and then a reality”, I explain, “If I say I’m dying. I’m dying, do you understand?”

“You’re insane. My medical license will be on the line, do you know this? Why would you lie about dying? Why do you want this prize so bad?”

 He’s panicking. Dr. Peters never was one to remain cool.

“Listen carefully Dr. Peters. After I get this prize, I’m out of here. For good. I got a bunch of money stacked up thanks to the “generous people of this town”. So, you don’t have to worry. I’ll be as good as dead. Heck, I’ll even let you tell everyone the story of how till my last breath I was happy on that island. How’s that sound?”

“You’re insane.”

“And, how about this? For all your time and patience, I’ll donate a whooping hundred thousand dollars to your practice.”

“Molly, I think you need help. I don’t understand why you’re doing this but let’s work on it together. Let’s sort this out. Return the money. They’ll be plenty of chances to go holidaying on a tropical island when you’re older.”

“But that’s no fun, Dr. Peters. Besides, I’m sick of this boring, old cuckoo town. It’s time things are stirred up. I don’t think you understand just how bad I want to go to that island. I’ll do anything. I don’t care about the rest. I just want to have fun damn it. So, I just need you to keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?”

Dr. Peters is too much of a straight arrow for this. He’s a boring 9 to 5 kind of a guy. What a shame really.

“Fine Dr. Peters, let’s sit outside and talk this out. I’ll bring some juice.”

Dr. Peters looks relieved. What a cute guy. I feel sorry for him. He probably thinks that I'm, at worst, the kind of psychopath that plucks wings off of butterflies or something but I'm much worse. That's child's play compared to the things I do to make sure I get what I want.

“I’m glad you’re sounding more normal now, Molly. Let’s talk okay? I’ll be outside then", Dr. Peter says this, he's back to the professional medical man. He's all collected and naive. So stupid.

Here’s something else I’ve picked up; if you want someone gone, bribes work wonders to keep them quiet. If that doesn’t work, you need to get rid of them. Threats might work but it’s a jump and it makes people’s warning lights go off so you never know what might happen. The last option is to kill them. You have an almost unlimited choice on how you'd go about killing someone. You could stab, shoot or throw them off a cliff but you leave a string of evidence behind. It’s better if you know their history; what they love, what they hate, their weaknesses. Dr. Peters has just gotten divorced. He feels abandoned. He’s struggling with his practice. He has access to many many prescription drugs. He’s a good guy but life is so very, very hard. In this circumstance, the best option is a disguise. Suicide might just be believable and it’ll keep me safe for a long enough time.

I hum while making his juice. It’s so sunny out. That island must be even warmer. I bet there’s an endless supply of fruits and extravagance waiting for me. I grind up those white pills my mom used to take to help her sleep. I pop in three, four, ten. And mix it with the juice. It’s bitter-sweet. Delicious.

“Thanks, Molly”, he says as he takes the juice.

When he’s taken a good solid sip, a big gulp, I say, rushed and urgent, “Can we go to your office to talk? I feel more comfortable there. It’s only a few minutes away too.”

“Sure, Molly. Your comfort is my top priority.” He says kindly. What a good solid guy he is.

We drive there and you can tell he’s sleepy. He says it too in a slur “I’m feeling so out of it these days. I should sleep more.”

I can’t help but giggle. He’s a funny guy because he never really knows what’s coming.

I help him out of the car, and into his office chair. He’s almost completely gone by then, so I just whisper, “Goodnight Dr. Peters. Sleep well.”

Later, on the walk back, I’m all rainbows and puppies. I’m on cloud nine. I can’t wait for the trip, the money, the good life ahead away from this crackhead town. Hours later, you can hear cheers and yells. It's a dead giveaway that the contest is over. Although I'm almost 100% sure they'll give the prize to me, you never really know. I find out minutes later that Daisy didn’t win. She sends me this text with sad emoji's saying "sorry hun I really tried my best but Betty's an athlete. Anyway just give me your bank details and that trip is yours!". I thank her anyway. She's pretty useless but at least she's rich.

Betty, one of my neighbours is the winner. She finds me after the competition and she hugs me tight and says "I want to give the one month away to a tropical island to you. I hope your last days are spent with joy and love” and I smile with crafted tears in my eyes and graciously accept it.

Paradise, it's too easy.

The police find Dr. Peters three days later on the day I’m leaving. I tell everyone how it breaks my heart to see someone so sweet pass away so suddenly. I cry enough that it seems like I’m a family member and I buy a big box of roses to use at the funeral which the mayor is ever so grateful for. And then when I’m on the plane and when I’m departing that’s when I really smile. Big and wide and happy. Because I'm on the way to a tropical island even Pinterest would envy, without even breaking a sweat! I look outside the plane's window; the sun is shining outside, the sky is blue and the future looks so very, very bright.