Pills

Yale sat in his cubicle, hunched over the newspaper, forcing himself to read bits and pieces of articles. He didn’t really care about the news of the day, as if it really mattered. The newspaper was more than news stories and advertisements to him.

It was his shield.

His coworkers would stroll by, looking to chit chat before their lunch breaks ended, but if his nose was buried in the newspaper, they would just walk on by.

Finished with the world news section of the paper, he paused to toss the wrapper of his usual lunch, a vending machine tuna fish sandwich, into the trash can under his desk. Then he turned his attention to the metro section and was stopped cold by the first headline.

“Local Man Dies in Apartment Fire.”

He devoured the article that followed. A 34 year old man fell asleep but left a barbecue grill, rigged up to be a meat smoker, cooking on his balcony. This meat smoker ignited a fire that was fortunately contained to his apartment. Unfortunately, he died of smoke inhalation.

A guy trying to smoke a brisket or something dies of smoke inhalation. Ironic. But it was more than that. The reason he read this article was suddenly clear. This guy, 34 years old, had plans. Maybe he had to go to work in the morning. Maybe he was going to go grocery shopping after work. Maybe he was going to watch the big game this weekend. Maybe this Thanksgiving he was planning an over due visit to the mom or dad or sister he hadn’t seen in a while. Maybe he was dreaming about retiring some day.

But now that was all gone. In a moment. A house of cards burned to ashes. And then the random brutality of it hit Yale in the face. It was exactly the same for all of us. Some day, a time that only God could know, it would all end, just like that.

Really.

So that’s all there was to it? Life was just a futile struggle and the randomness of death would catch up with each and every one of us? Yale was suddenly overwhelmed, suffocating, frozen. Why should he go back to work? Why should he push forward? Why should he care about any of this?

The only thing that made sense was the routine.


“No music, no pills. Stick to the routine.” he mumbled.


No pills.


He stared blankly at his computer screen, and slowly, painfully remembered.

Harvard John Lafayette was only six, and that was his excuse. He followed Yale everywhere, peppering him with stupid questions. “How come you like peanut butter? Why are you wearing that superhero shirt again? What time is it? Can we watch my T.V. Shows?”

Stupid questions. But tonight would be different. After supper, he would close the door to his room and let mom and dad take care of little Bubba John. Then he would watch his shows on his T.V. Alone, in peace for once.

“Yale!”


He trotted into the kitchen, eager to see what she wanted. Of course she was listening to music, the headphone only covering one ear. She was swaying to the rhythm, stirring a pot of what smelled like spaghetti. She smiled as he came in and hugged him.

“I need a favor hon’.” Yale nodded and returned the smile. “Dad and I are going out tonight. We scored some tickets to a concert.”

Yale pondered scoring tickets for a second and then said “Ok.”


“So I need you to watch Bubba John while we’re gone.”


“What!”


“Sweetie,” she had stopped swaying to the music and was using her mom voice, “we need you to do this. You’re a big boy, ten years old, you can do it. Besides, you’ve done this like a million times before. Just eat supper, make sure Bubba John goes to bed at 9 and don’t forget to take your pills. You can stay up late if you want.”

“But mom, tonight is the first episode of season 3 of SuperHeroes. I can’t miss it.”

“You won’t. Bubba John can watch that stuff too.”


“He’ll ruin it! He always does. He’s such a baby!”


“Don’t yell,” her voice soft, sweet, ” you can do this and what’s more you have to. Now go get Bubba John and you guys can start eating. I need to get ready.”


He managed a defiant grunt before doing as he was told. He pried his brother from in front of the T.V. in the living room. Once he had gotten out the plates and forks, and scooped out the spaghetti, he sat at the table across from his stupid brother. Bubba John peppered him with stupid questions the whole way through dinner, but the only response he got was an angry glare.

Mom and dad came into the kitchen, she with her headphones firmly in place. Hugs and kisses were given to each boy with dad yelling from the door “See you at ten boys!”

Yale was determined not to speak to his stupid brother all night, but first he had to lay down the law.

“Ok, look stupid. I’m watching my shows down here on the big T.V. and so are you.”

“Are we gonna watch SuperHeroes?”


“What else would I watch stupid.”


“I don’t wanna.”

“Too bad!” A punch on Bubba John’s arm ended the conversation and they made their way to the living room where they sprawled in front of the T.V. Yale was proud of himself for ignoring every stupid question Bubba John threw at him during SuperHeroes. Not a single word in reply. After the show, Yale got his bottle of pills from the bathroom and brought them to the kitchen so that he could get some water.

“Why you take pills Yale?”


“Shut up!”


“It’s for your pie polar bear isn’t it?”


“Bi polar.” Yale corrected, taking a pill from the bottle and washing it down with a glass of water. He set the open bottle of pills on the counter.

“They help me think straight. And if I don’t take ’em I can’t sleep stupid.”

The rest of the night was easy. Bubba John actually went to sleep in his room without a fight. Yale curled up on the couch, determined to stay up really late, but he was fast asleep in minutes.

What seemed like a second later, he started to wake.

“Yale!” Dad was screaming and shaking Yale. “Get up!”

Yale sat straight up and instantly looked to the kitchen where mom was on the floor crying hysterically, cradling Bubba John. Yale remembered being in the kitchen, trying to talk to mom, trying to find out what was wrong. Bubba John wasn’t moving, mom wasn’t talking, and dad was on the phone holding the empty bottle of pills. An ambulance came, and took mom and Bubba John away. Yale and dad went to the hospital and waited, and waited, and waited. Finally they came and said Bubba John was gone. Gone as in never coming back.

After that, there were no more pills. Mom and dad made him “manage his stuff” by enforcing a strict routine. Wake up at the same time, eat at the same time, watch the same shows at the same time, go to bed at the same time.

And there was no more music in the house, anymore, ever.

“No music, no pills. Stick to the routine.”

TITLE OF BOOK: Three

GENRE: Fiction

AGE RANGE: adult

WORD COUNT: 16,500

AUTHOR NAME: Kevin Fitch

WHY THIS PROJECT IS A GOOD FIT: I think a lot of people can relate to this story because it follows one mans journey to overcome unimaginable tragedy. Some of us have experienced tragedy, and try to live with it every day. The rest of us know that it could strike at any time, and we do our best to ignore it and live our lives. We all wish, I think, that when tragedy reshapes our lives, we could have three wishes to help us, to make everything right again. Or not.

THE HOOK: What if you were given three wishes? It could be the chance you need to make things right in your life, to get ahead. But be careful what you wish for, wishes can come true in ways you never imagined.

SYNOPSIS: Yale Lafayette is a man who has learned to deal with his bi-polar disorder in an unusual way. The tragic death of his younger brother leads his parents to enforce a routine on him that will follow him throughout his life; “no music, no pills, stick to the routine.” He carefully crafts a life of doing things a certain way each day, that completely unravels when he is diagnosed with terminal cancer. His life is in danger of spiraling out of control until his new neighbor comes to him with an incredible, but true offer. Yale can have three wishes, anything he wants. These wishes become what he could never imagine and turn his life in unusual directions.

TARGET AUDIENCE: adults

BIO: My name is Kevin Fitch. Sometimes I write as K.R. Fitch, sometimes I write as K. Fitch, but the names don’t matter. What matters to me is that somehow, someway, I write. My bio is simply this. Policeman. Social worker. Lawyers Assistant. Teacher. Painter. Always, always a writer.

ETC.: I am 56, I live in Colorado Springs, Colorado and I have a Masters Degree in Education. I grew up in a ski resort, and rank skiing as my top hobby. I use my life experiences as a police officer, social worker, and teacher to write realistic fiction that I think tries to capture a few of the lessons and truths that life constantly flings at us. I hope my writing touches people in ways that make their worlds a little easier to be in.