Witch Doctor?

This novella is about the unique friendship between a young man and an older woman.
It is written with dual narrators. Each chapter will be first person point of view.

So far, Jameson Petry, meets seventy something, Iris. There is a warmth and wisdom that he needs right now. But Iris needs him just as much.

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IRIS

The light on my telephone's answering machine is blinking as I set my purse and keys on the table in the entry way.

"Not now, Gertrude," I say, knowing who the messages are from. My best friend calls every morning. Most days, she calls multiple times. There doesn't seem to be any particular reason for some of her calls. Just a random "whatcha doing?" Other times she's chomping at the bit to tell me some juicy gossip from her church.

She used to be relentless about my going to church. But I just don't want to go. Yes, I believe in God. Wouldn't have made it through half the stuff I've been through without Him. But I relish my privacy. I like my space. Gertrude can't be alone. And I feel bad for her. Silence frightens her. She's either on the phone, at some social function, or at church. On the off chance I call her, the television is blaring in the background when she answers.

I plop my tired rear-end in the overstuffed chair and promise myself I'll call her back in a few minutes.

This morning has worn me out. The tests at the doctor's office never seem to end. There is always a blood test and a breathing test. I get a little sick of tests. And there is always the mention of a new medication they want me to try.

I'm not proud to admit it, but today I got quite cross with Dr. Chalmers.

"I'm not sure what you're still testing for," I say as I struggle to remove my jacket for the inevitable jab of the needle.

He reaches out and helps me pull it off. "Just keeping an eye on things."

"It's congestive heart failure," I snap.

The sweet young nurse gently taps my arm for a vein. She doesn't look a day over thirteen, but then most people look like children to me now. She's always sweet and cheerful.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm old and crotchety."

"Nonsense. You're one of my favorite patients."

I place my hand on hers. "Thank you for lying."

She grins, then starts the business of drawing my blood. When she's done filling the four vials and sticking the labels on them, she takes them out of the room.

Dr. Chalmers rolls his stool over to me. His cool fingertips gently press the flesh of my ankles and feet, checking for fluid. "How have you been feeling lately, Iris?"

"Fabulous, thanks for asking," I say, waiting for him to understand the stupidity of his question.

"Good," he says, adjusting the stethoscope in his ears. The cold metal slides from spot to spot across my chest. "Out of breath more often?"

"Only after sex," I say dryly.

"Good, good." He moves to my back. "Deep breaths."

He pulls the stethoscope out of his ears and rolls over to the computer. He taps something in, then looks at me. "Your lungs sound clear. Heart sounds the same as last visit. That's excellent."

"Must be that million dollar medicine you prescribed."

"It's been proven to extend a patient's life for several months."

"So, what is this new one?"

"Entresto. It's expensive, but it's good."

I fiddle with the edge of my blouse, biding my time to address the elephant in the room. "So, Dr. Chalmers, how many things are we going to try before we give up "

He frowns. "We never give up, Iris. You're young. We won't give up."

I look at my spotted hands. "Death is inevitable. "

"Well, if you're ready to throw in the towel, say the word."

When I don't answer, he smiles triumphantly. "I'm in this with you. Got it?"

"I've got it."

He stands and goes to the door. "All done today. Stop by reception and let Helen set your next appointment. Two weeks, okay?"

I step down off the examination table and brush the wrinkles from my slacks. "Got it."

"Oh, and Iris, the sex is okay, just don't have a cigarette afterwards." He grins and winks.

Several more months. I should be ecstatic, but what's that going to do?

I leave the comfort of the chair and carry the new medicine to the kitchen. Reluctantly, I place it with the others.

The ringing of the phone pulls me out of my funk. "Coming, Gertrude," I call to the empty house.